Pnårp’s October, 1999 bobbles & baubles

I forgot about Hitler

Plundered shortly after October 3, 1999

Tags: Adolf Hitler, Englebee Troobles, flatulence, Jesus, nose, screaming stars, singing spiders.

Hey, look, it’s Jesus! Jesus Christ!

He was on the plane I took back to America this Tuesday. I saw the letter Æ in his hand. He had a bag full of Englebee Troobles. Live Englebee Troobles! I begged him to at least see them, see what they looked like, ask them if they liked to have stars screaming at them, and spiders singing at them, and if they wanted to borrow my tub of butter.

Jesus wouldn’t let me see them. He didn’t want me to talk to them, either. He kept the bag closed, as the Englebee Troobles meowed and farted inside. I thought he was very evil. But then again, I forgot about Hitler. And my lunch. My lunch was stupidly evil. It had jumped off the table, betrayed me, and tried to climb up my nose and then out my ears. I had to force it to exit through my anus. So I cried, and bit Jesus.

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Fight the future

Hidden under my bed on October 10, 1999

Tags: singing spiders.

Fight the future. Lycos loves me. It really does, for I know not what I do. Do you own a car that is a certified lemon? Do you want to sell it to me for fifty-thousand yen? I’d much rather have a brochure, or a five-button and two-lever mouse, rather than a car or yen.

Fight the future. Engage it in battle. Wrap a plastic bag around it, laugh at it, and make noises like fangèd zebras (“Mlaaaw! Mlaaaw!!”). Spit on it. Spit at it. Engrave it with a spoon and catheter. Catharsis. Metastasis. I found another singing spider hiding beneath a dust bunny near my tube of toothpaste, and thus told it to eat a lightbulb, convert to Zoroastrianism, and call me in the morning. I then went to sleep and forgot about everything that ever happened to me.

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I had failed

Hidden above my bed on October 17, 1999

Tags: death, Englebee Troobles, outer space, screaming stars, urine, Mister Wilson.

I remembered what happened to me the next morning.

I arrived back in America, and saw a spotted owl spit at a cat, whereupon the cat promptly ate the owl, spun around, ate its own tail, and wrapped itself up in a cocoon.

My search for the Englebee Troobles was over. I had failed. And I needed to pee.

I returned home and found that Mr. Wilson, my neighbor, was not dead. He was, in fact, quite alive, however not exactly living, per se. I blamed the screaming stars. There was no way I would go into space to see these stars, even if it meant I would find the Englebee Troobles for which I had spent so much time spinning and tunnelling.

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The stars scream at me louder than ever!!

Suspended from October 24, 1999

Tags: Alyssa Milano, Ambrose Burnside, Afghanistan, AK-47, death, fez, foxes, pi, screaming stars, triangular briefcase, Y2K.

The stars scream at me louder than ever!! What did I do to deserve this!? I must stop them, somehow! Anyway!! One followed me home and tried to take my triangular briefcase! I was acquitted, damn it! The floating pi returned, and told me that it had been nearly killed—tortured to death, nearly—in the Afghanistani prison! Y2K is coming!!! It blamed me, but I just put my fez back on, picked up my briefcase, and shoved its decimal point in!

It didn’t like that, and started cursing and trying to hit me. I remembered Alyssa Milano. The hypercube? (Ambrose Burnside?) I smelled an AK-47. Then the thought: “The man who talked way too much was killed. He was dead. Dead, and wrapped in a purple blanket of some sort.” I wrote that on April 4.

April 4, 1999. Ah, now that was a day! A brown (or red) fox had spoken to me that day, warning me never to talk to floating pis, or trap them in Afghan prisons. I forgot to write that that day, and forgot to contemplate it until today. Now I knew I was wrong, as this pissed pi came at me with a razor and a canteen!

I almost died.

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Searching forever for the elusive Troobles

Squandered because of October 31, 1999

Tags: death, Englebee Troobles, feces, pi, screaming stars, Mister Wilson.

I did almost die. But Lycos still loves me. I only lived because an accountant was passing by my house, with his friend, a statistician, and they wrestled the pi off me, and killed it. They sent it to Mardis Gras. I thanked the two, cleaned the blood off of my clothes with the help of a fish which I had hidden in my throat, then said goodbye to the sun, and went away.

Farewell. Farewell, today is Halloween, farewell!! Farewell, my world! For I am leaving!! I am going to the stars, searching forever for the elusive Troobles—the Englebee Troobles!! Oh, how I have longed to find them and speak with them and ask them what they know of Fermat’s Last Theorem, and cabbages and kings! And how the music died! And why a cat takes a shit on my head every morning! And who really shot JFK! And why floating pis try to kill me! And why Mr. Wilson is still alive, but decomposing as if he died months ago! And if I really am the Archduke of Austria! And if there really is a Santa Clause! And more, so much more!!!

So many questions!! So little time!! I must go now and seek out these Englebee Troobles and stop the stars from screaming at me so loudly. They call to me; I must go!!! Farewell, my planet Earth!!!

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