Pnårp’s May, 1999 sticks & stones

Semper sic tyrannis

Calculated and compiled on May 2, 1999

Tags: Bill Clinton, Monica Lewinski, dogs, pi, screaming stars.

Every day at about 6:14 PM, for the last six days, I have walked from my house to the house down the street where the flying pi lives, and brought it an apple and crudberry pie. Tell me you don’t have that problem. Flying transcendental numbers never like pies.

After this week, I’m not going to McDonald’s or Dunkin’ Donuts anymore. What? What, what…? The spotted, three-eyed dog with the chew toy shaped like the state of Missouri saw the shingles on my house and had to go chew on them for some reason, so I went home to pick up a piece of paper. Nothing’s that funny. Do you really think I need it? I do not. I found the dog, I found 3.141592654 shingles peeled off the walls, so I brought each piece back to the house of the flying pi.

Consarn it. Semper sic tyrannis took on a whole new meaning to me this Thursday as I saw the stars again. And the sun. And Bill Clinton, and Monica Lewinski. And the moon, even. Well, I tell you what, this is all as gregarious and egregious as I’m going to be this week, so that is the end.

The file cabinet and car door was malfunctioning again yesterday, so I walked along the line until they stopped, and the feet started walking. Recently, someone had written, “Hot XXX Babes!” on the wall. Could you keep the gopher quiet while I think about the voices in my phone? There is an inherent difference between the numbers seven and 4,092,115, but I have yet to find it.

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The perfunctory margin of disbelief

Apprenticed to May 9, 1999

Tags: Alyssa Milano, dogs, screaming stars, semper sic tyrannis, Y2K.

On the sixth day of this month of this year, within this millennium, I think, I was matriculated into the perfunctory margin of disbelief as usual. After eating my almond and pepperoni pizza, and drinking another keg of coffee, I pondered more on the new meaning of semper sic tyrannis. The matrix was a moot point after someone made a mockery of everything it stood for.

Y2K is coming??? This Friday? Or this Saturday?? You got the wrong guy, buddy. That’s a hell of a plan. Why are you telling me this? I’m not crazy. You don’t want to go there. Nor do you want to go to Dorset. It’s terrifying. I’ve said more than enough, especially about differentiation. Differentiation. Differentiation.

At this moment, I hear the knocking of the carousel at the door of my life of opportunities wasting away here in this website’s window. Feed me to Alyssa Milano. The beer hall putsch continues unabated. I submitted my résumé to the eleventh aggregate before the deadline—February 29, 1996—but I was still rematriculated… the dog was baying at the half-waned moon as usual, when the stars began their usual screaming. It was bad. Bad, bad. I don’t want to stop her. Yeah, so do you. Finally, we can breathe. I matriculate like an amphibious cloud. Semper sic tyrannis means something at the University of Tromsø…

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Dangerous evidence kept cropping up

Regurgitated prior to May 16, 1999

Tags: dogs, Englebee Troobles, screaming stars.

The hurly-burly finished shortly after the brouhaha, and all was finished shortly after. I ate a pile of steak Tuesday night, watched my nine-inch television Wednesday, and after dismissing and redressing the laws of thermodynamics on Thursday, I settled down at my desk to stare intently out the window at a pink triangular piece of paper hanging from a branch in an oak tree Friday. I barely remember her; where is she now? He even had the photographs of her destroyed—every single one of them. Another mêlée started so I ran, or rather jumped, back to my house. Everything there was a negotiation, as I expected; the dog sat on the chair with a cat and a pile of ferns. I suddenly realized what the Englebee Troobles were doing in Seattle now.

Dangerous evidence kept cropping up, so I had to depart from the soda can store immediately. Oh, I’m fine. Really swell. Then Microsoft Word and an old beta copy of Explorer went galloping by and I had to yet again listen to the screaming of the stars as I watched a dancing log.

Recognize the importance of this. You won’t see it again.

It’s been seven years since 1992, but it’s only been six years since 1993. I sat down at my fish tank contemplating this interesting difference Sunday, when suddenly I heard Judge Joe Brown accuse a TV Guide of murder. I reluctantly turned the television off by putting my fist through it. An Englebee Trooble exploded across page 204 of the aforementioned TV Guide, obscuring the name “Jeri Ryan” and everything on channel 8 from 9:30 PM to 10:05 PM.

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I found a scrap of paper in my pocket

Rebutted on May 23, 1999

Tags: Alyssa Milano, Christina Applegate, Lucy Lawless, cows, Jesus, screaming stars.

I yet again ignored Fermat’s Last Theorem as I drove from St. Croix to Tucson early Tuesday morning. The interstate was closed, as a large meteor had blown it off the face of the earth last Sunday, so I drove all the way on dirt roads and cow paths (and cow pies). Stay out of this! I don’t need any crap from you now!!

I found a scrap of paper in my pocket when I picked up my clothing from the dry cleaner’s on Thursday; it wasn’t there when I had brought my clothes in. Printed in faded brown ink was a list of names. After jumping over a burning Siamese cat, I read the names: Jerry Falwell, Bebe Neuwirth, Alfonse Capone, Karyn Parsons, Jimi Hendrix, Alan Bates, Jack Lord, Lucy Lawless, Michele Maika, David Ben-Gurion, Zen Gesner, Joseph Stalin, Paul Newman, William Shakespeare, Slobodan Milosovic, Enrico Fermi, Tom Hanks, Meg Ryan, Drew Barrymore, Wayne Gretzky, Bruce Wayne, John Doe, Alex Borstein, John Wilkes Boothe, Clark Kent, Khaled Mardam-Bey, John Knowles, Tiger Woods, Jesus Christ, Charles De Gaulle, Hafez Al-Assad, Phillip Årp, Barney Gumble, Milton Berle, Karl Marx, Michael Jordan, Martin Luther, Christina Applegate, John Calvin, Robert Hode, Christopher Reeves, Pathet Lao, Jerry Springer, Herman Göring, Cordell Walker, Alyssa Milano, Peter Parker, and Colin L. Powell.

When I saw my name there, I spun around and screamed, “Yayowww! Yayowww! Yayowww! Yayowww!” I knew the screaming stars, or maybe the bottles of melted butter in my glove compartment, were responsible. Look at this. What are you gonna do with this? I won’t allow it! Like it or not, I’m gonna have to hold you to it. The spiders sang loudly again, as the stars screamed and the straw in my soda cowered under a tire.

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Hypoglycemia and digititis have no sway over me

Intubated on May 30, 1999

Tags: cows, digititis, feces, hypoglycemia, screaming stars.

As I wrote, I sat in the dark with only the light of the stars to guide me as I slowly ate a ham, mustard and provolone sandwich. Last time I tried, they locked me up in a hole in the ground. The cows are mooing and lowing at an amazing rate as I sit here and eat. I see an ear floating in the river nearby. Wow.

Hypoglycemia and digititis have no sway over me as I scream back at the screaming stars. All week, damn it! Delete me. Backspace, delete. Well it seems a little warm to me, and how we looked at the safety of the product. Bang. Boom. Crash! Was I here at all? My sandwich exploded suddenly; I couldn’t find all the pieces, so I ate a pile of feces and went to sleep.

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