No idea about anything
Flummoxed on October 27, 2024.
I have no idea what I’m writing about today. No one has any idea what I’m writing about today. I don’t even know what day it is. No one even knows what day it is.
Does anybody know what this is about? I don’t even know what this is about!
I am totally ignorant about all of this. Wholly bereft of any cognizance, perception, knowledge, or awareness. Utterly lacking in appreciation, comprehension, apprehension, depreciation, deprecation, or even imprecation.
I don’t comprehend. I can’t apprehend. And I won’t even try to deprehend—or even just prehend! (My prehensile tail is in the shop!)
Does anybody know what this is about? I don’t even know what this is about!
Why do I have no idea what I’m doing? Or what this is? Or what anything is? Or what anything is for? Or what anything is about?
Is my morning coffee being laced with cadmium and arsenic? Is the Church of the SubGenius spiking my morning coffee with GHB and PFAS? Did I leave my brain in the backseat of my car like President Piggy-Man did that one time in Dallas? Am I so overwhelmed with Thelemic pronoia that I forget how bad things really are? And then forget everything else, like how dumb they are or even how are they are?
Is this my forgetty training coming back to me? But then I remember: I haven’t remembered my forgetty training. I have forgotten to forget it! And so… I forget everything else.
Does anybody know what this is about? I don’t even know what this is about!
Halloween comes this Thursday. Ghosts and goblins, ghasts and grues, gremlins and even Gerhardt Groompkin’s ghost will be out and about! Dozens of trick-or-treaters and smell-my-feeters will be banging on my door, after my decrepit old neighbor Mrs. Farnston tries to poison them again by giving them candied shoe leather instead of real candy. Everyone comes to me for real candy. Delicious, ultra-processed, corn syrup–laden candy!
Suddenly, my doorbell hooted. “Trick or treat! Smell my feet! Give us something good to eat!” rang out at the door. But I wasn’t sure where my door even was anymore! I lost track of my doorbell a few days ago, which was soon followed by losing track of the whole door. And I wasn’t sure why this was happening when Halloween is still days away.
I panicked and dove behind the nearest sofa (which luckily was a few feet away). The doorbell hooted again. I piled up all the cushions and built a fort not unlike a twelve-year-old might build. The doorbell hooted a third time. I hunkered down and initiated some dire hooting myself. And I didn’t come out until Becasue gave me something good to eat.
Does anybody know what this is about? I don’t even know what this is about!
This morning, I went out for a wee bit of a walk. My prehensile tail was still in the shop—something about needing a new Johnson rod. All the trees are dying, many of whom have resolved, with their last, dying gasps, to attempt to kill all the humans by burying us in a suffocating blanket of fallen leaves. And if the sheer volume wouldn’t smother us in our beds, the rampant mold growth the leaves would cause will kill us all in a more delightful way!
One of these malevolent trees took a more direct approach and threw a huge branch at me as I walked beneath him. (He missed.)
And so, trying to find my way home amidst 10′ piles of moldy leaves burying every street and sidewalk, I got lost where Hrunkner Boulevard intersected with Unnerby Lane. Dealing with such a surreal ordeal, at such a surreally-named intersection, what was I to do?
“Eep! Eep!” I bleated. “Eep! Eep! Akh! Ork! Yerk! Eep, meep! Meep, eep! Meep, murp! Boing! Moof!” (And I still don’t know what any of this is about.)
Does anybody know what this is about? I don’t even know what this is about!
Maybe I should put all those paperclips away! There are spilled paperclips everywhere!
Maybe I should fix the printer! They keep telling me to fix the printer! The printer is eating all the paperclips!
Maybe I should put some coffee on! Some delicious, arsenic- and cadmium-laced coffee!
Maybe I should make another photocopy of my buttocks! That’s the only way to keep it from filling up with gnomes!
This year, I’m voting for the prettier feet.