Plårped again
Curled up before November 24, 2024 by
Pnårp is hiding in his basement again and won’t come out.
It started with him spinning around in a chair making bubbling noises and screeching, very loudly, “Down with shampoo! Demand real poo!” Then he wouldn’t stop laughing at his own nonstop, puerile jokes about “Butte,” “Sunapee,” and some place I swear he made up called “Contoocook.” Then he went down into his basement, locked the door, and started rambling about birds being fake (not again) but fish being all too real.
Last time he went off his nut like this, he insisted I don’t exist and gnomes had kept him tied up in an asylum for thirty-six years. When I tried to talk him down from that, he insisted he worked in a laundromat keeping the dormfuddies clean and the chairs warm. I don’t know what a dormfuddie is, but it probably entails gnomes. Finally, he just started insisting on insisting on things.
Then, he had taken up residence in his attic and it took a twenty-mule team to drag him out. The time before that, when he squirreled himself away in his closet for weeks, he finally came out on his own after he ran out of food and crayons to eat. Now he’s made himself a comfortable little hole in the floor of the basement, with a cover and everything. And he has enough crayons to last years.
I told him he should not have voted for the one with the prettier feet, but he didn’t listen.