. . .

I must be bored

And I am, of course. Very bored. Very bored and in a tentatively wacky mood, so I may write you an email. Or not. If not, disregard this message.

I just realized something. (Come on, man, realize something! If you don't, this segue will have been worthless!) I just realized... that I may not actually have vast telekinetic prowess. No, no, don't look so shocked, it's true. The fact that I don't recall ever having moved anything with my mind instead of my body is what tipped me off. I could be blocking out the memory! No. Accept it. You don't have telekinesis.

Not that this prevents me from continuing to make the attempt. After all, nothing preventing me from spontaneously developing tk! Ha hA! Thought I had a lapse into sanity there, dintya! Wrong. I pity your ignorance. I feed your ignorance nutcakes to compensate.

I'm only halfnaked right now. (You really want to hear about what I'm wearing and not wearing. I can tell.) I'm wearing pants and underwear. And glasses. You're welcome. Any time.

Fear and ignorance. Ignorance and fear. And toga parties!

Direct quote: "Alloni somehow I get the feeling that you enjoy warping the warped." Why, thank you. Thankyewverramuch.

Of course, since I'm in the habit of sending my cosmic witticisms to a half dozen different groups of people, and one of them was the one which produced the previous commentary, then I'm going to have to edit the email to that group to remove the offending paragraph. Damn the luck! Damn the extra work!

Why? So as to conceal... the fact that I send... to different groups... whatever. I don't even understand my "logic" any more. It has to do with being Wacky. All hail Wacky!

I could recycle previously used material. I could find old emails that I thought to be amusing and resend them, and no one would be the wiser. Except for those of you who've seen them before, which would be many of you, who would know that I'm now a pathetic broken shell of a man who couldn't produce original thoughts if my life depended on it. Since this is common knowledge, I've got some digging to do.

Not that I'm implying that I don't write individual emailses to individual people. This very email is written directly to you, ___insert recipient's name here___, and, in fact, to prove it, I'll write something customized to the particular recipient that this email could only be for: ___mock something only the recipient will recognize as being worth mockery here___. Ha HA! Take THAT, disbeliever!

I exaggerate. It's not a half dozen. Unless you count individual members. Must be only-the-monitors-know-for-sure-how-many-some-odd people who are going to recieve this, almost all of whom will toss it unread, and the few remaining will skim it and respond only to accusations that they aren't reading it. I don't accuse. I simply imply. Vas deferens.

What? It sounds almost the same.

Oh. I promised someone I would mock short people at some point. So. Here: Short. Ha ha!

It lacks a certain zing, admittedly. I'll have to add something. Ahem. Short is Silly. Ha HA!

The Ha Ha is for dramatic effect, you see. Without it it wouldn't be clear that it was mockery. It all has to do with the subconscious alliterative processes, you see, which virtually guarantee that the underlying metaphor exfoliates from the page, spreading chaos and wreaking destruction wherever it goes, causing a few, brave people to cast aside their mortal identities and fight evil as the Super Squid! Squad! I said Squad! Squid would just be silly! And lord knows we wouldn't want that around here!

When last we left Our Heroes, they were trapped in the bowels of the station where the Incredible Shrinking Violet had last been known to molt by the armada of Kang the Merciful, and he had just given Our Heroes (Ooh! Don't you just love that phrase?) their one, final chance for survival.

"So, we meet at last, Super Squid! Squad, I mean!"

"We'll never surrender to you, Kang! You give mercy a bad name!"

"Well, then, choose your fate! Either suffer through my Maze of Death, which has slain countless so-called Heroes, in which the bones of a thousand thousand Fighters for Justice and Warriors of Hope lie moldering, or! I WILL SET YOU FREE AND TELL YOU EXACTLY HOW TO STOP ALL MY PLANS! MUAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!"

"You fiend!"

"You know it. Suck the pipe, baby."

(Our Heroes (mmmmmmm) Our Heroes confer together for a moment, then turn to Kang as one man, except for the female ones, who are all built like brick outhouses with revealing outfits and erect nipples... pardon. A brief digression, there. Turn to Kang as one person.) "We would rather die then have you release us, Kang!"

"Very well. THROW THEM IN THE MAZE!"

Our Heroes (I really do. I really love that phrase. It sings to me. Sings sweet sonnets in my ear, sonnets that sound like the chirping of nightingales against a starlit sky. Still not as good as defenestrate, though. One day I will throw things out the window just to get a chance to seriously use that word.) quickly die screaming. I said they were heroic, not smart.

My subconscious is getting equally uncreative. I'm dreaming things that are easily traced back to things that are actually happening in my life. This is a new thing for me.

Me go now.