Pnårp’s June, 1999 fenestration & haberdashery

The spiders began to sing and chant

Refracted after June 6, 1999

Tags: screaming stars, singing spiders.

Wednesday, after returning home from a digitized dog house, I discovered counting. “One potato, two potato, three potato four; five potato, six potato, seven potato, more.” It meant nothing. It meant less than nothing. It meant more than nothing.

Sunday, I glimpsed seventeen refracted, gelatinous piles of spiders under my F9 key on my 105-key keyboard, the one that I bought for $19.95. The spiders, having already met the screaming stars, began to sing and chant, “Yadda yadda yadda!” It’s the season finale, isn’t it? I know it is. The spiders say so…! It was definitely built to last. Let me call the super, and he will let us in. I am watching seven televisions at once, and the spiders, the ones who know the screaming stars, do not like it. Whatever…

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The triangular briefcase I had found

Reintegrated on June 13, 1999

Tags: screaming stars, singing spiders, triangular briefcase.

Someone dressed in a white business suit came to my door this week, merely to tell me, “I’ll hear about it.” I, of course, had no idea what he was talking about. Who was he? Who was I? When I asked, he repeated, “I’ll hear about it,” and promptly departed, leaving behind his triangular briefcase. I counted to seven (if you remember, I recently learned how to count), then danced around in seven circles, kicked the briefcase seven times, shouted at my doorknob and doorbell seven times each, then picked up the briefcase and went back into my house.

Emblazoned on the side of the briefcase were the initials PNA. This struck me as odd, as those were my initials. The man in the white business suit had the same initials as me, or he had stolen my triangular briefcase and just now brought it back! I decided to investigate. The spiders sang. The stars screamed again. I fell over, and into my toilet as I was searching my closet for the briefcase, my briefcase.

It was mine. The triangular briefcase I had found on my steps was my own. I opened it, and found an adiabatic stack of amphoteric papers. Wow. I tossed the papers, one at a time, into the air, trying to quell the singing of the spiders and screaming of the stars—to no avail.

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I took the AK-47 down

Romanticized for June 20, 1999

Tags: AK-47, death, singing spiders.

Page up, page down, home, end, delete, backspace. Cut, copy, paste, clear, select all. Enter, return, tab, pause. Control, alt, shift, caps lock. Control alt delete. Alt F4. Control C, control V. Keyboard, keyboard, we all fall down.

There was still an AK-47 somewhere in the vicinity of my house’s roof, and I had to review the directions to climb up there and take it down. Ouch. Damn it, damn it, ouch. That sucked. No down payment, $289 a month! (How very true.) So, I took the AK-47 down, re-read the directions, stepped on one of the singing spiders, and shot the rest of them. Recognize the importance of this. You won’t see it again.

Semper sic tyrannis—It was written in bold puce letters on the side of the spider-killing AK-47. I erased it quickly, and scribbled “Årp!” in its place. The user guide was also covered in writing, all of which I erased.

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I have nothing to write today

Repatriated on June 27, 1999

I have nothing to write today. I have nothing to write today. I have nothing to write today. I have nothing to write today. I have nothing to write today. I have nothing to write today. I have nothing to write today. I have nothing to write today. I have nothing to write today.

I have nothing to write today. I have nothing to write today. I have nothing to write today. I have nothing to write today. I have nothing to write today. I have nothing to write today. I have nothing to write today. I have nothing to write today. I have nothing to write today. I have nothing to write today. I have nothing to write today. I have nothing to write today. I have nothing to write today. I have nothing to write today.

I have nothing to write today.

I have nothing to write today. I have nothing to write today. I have nothing to write today. I have nothing to write today.

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