Further information as events warrant
Tag team back again. That was a line from a famous song of the nineties called "Whoop there it is" by Tag team. I won't embarrass myself by attempting to quote further words from the song so I will stop there. I can't drop rhymes like Tag team, but I can drop some pretty crisp beats. Things are okay. I've been finding it difficult to sleep and I've been losing more weight, but thats okay. Its slower and more balanced, its being turned to muscle. I'm attempting to form a six pack by december. I figure if I can do that, I shouldn't have any trouble at boot camp. I was thinking about trying out for the musical at church, but I'm not very good at singing. I can act. But I think the more practical thing to do would be to finish up the work that needs to be done so the house can be sold, and then get a job. I'm watching History Detectives on kcts as I type this. Its a good show, but it has one of the stupidest theme songs ever. Don't you just hate it when good shows have terrible theme songs? Swat Kats, a cartoon by Hannah Barberra, had two theme songs; both of which were quite awesome. Dawson's Creek, Grand Ol' Opry, and pretty much everything on the Disney Channel all have terrible theme songs. But thats fitting as those are all terrible shows to begin with. I thank God for the blessings he has bestowed upon me and others and I thank him for Carrie and allowing me to lose a little over sixty pounds in a little over three months. The wonderful things would not have happened without God. None of the wonderful things that happen would happen without God. Below is a story I've been working on. I will probably add to it in the form of further installments. Enjoy.
The Worst Manuscript Ever Written
I
Fangrid Appleton sat back in the chair and stared at the manuscript in growing shock. He struggled to come to grips with the horrible abomination he had created. He quelled the nausea welling up inside him and resisted the urge to vomit. Questions like "What have I done?" and "What could have possessed me to write such a thing?" pervaded his mind. It had begun as a brilliant treatise on phillosophy, meandering into history, mathematics, and physics, before finally mutating into a horrible mess of convoluted rubish. It soon became clear that the tangled mass of literary quicksand would be enough to suck in and drown even the most savvy and patient of readers. He could feel his intelligence decaying and his sanity slipping away as he read over the pestilence he had committed to paper. And yet, there was a certain pride that came with the realization that he had written possibly the worst manuscirpt ever. Once in a great while, an author will write something considered to be the best literature. But it takes a truly talented writer to create a work of such malign chaos that it cannot be comprehended by a sane person. Works of note in this department include The Necronomicon and The King in Yellow. But those works were designed to encourage evil and chaos. Fangrid Appleton had created his completely by accident. Not only was it unpleasant to read, but the paper itself emitted a strange aura of forboding as if runes of evil pagan origin had been burned into the paper. But of course that was absurd, not even the Pagans would have dabbled in madness as great as this. Appleton also realized that he could profit quite a bit from a manuscript rumoured to be the worst in history. People would buy it just to see how bad it was. Thats the way people are. Attracted to dark avenues as a moth toward a flame.
He immediatelly contacted his publisher who was skeptical at first, but then agreed to look it over. They would meet for coffee at the cafe on Lakefront Boulevard at noon tomorrow. In the mean time, Appleton attempted to sleep, but the memory of the words he himself had written tortured him until he cried and laughed himself to sleep. Was it a dream? A nightmare? Surely it couldn't be real. Things like this weren't supposed to be real. Dreams of raging madness enveloped him in the depths of slumber. There were screams and rantings, objects that were wrong in ways that were incomprehensible, and many many things that just didn't fit into the logical order of things. He journeyed to far off places where monoliths beckoned him to worship dark unspeakable Gods and madmen screamed blasphemies at the sky. Just as an ancient and terrible evil was descending from space, the alarm clock awoke him. Fangrid had slept for eight hours but felt exhausted like he hadn't slept at all. It was clear that the manuscript was affecting him physically as well as mentally.
The Worst Manuscript Ever Written
I
Fangrid Appleton sat back in the chair and stared at the manuscript in growing shock. He struggled to come to grips with the horrible abomination he had created. He quelled the nausea welling up inside him and resisted the urge to vomit. Questions like "What have I done?" and "What could have possessed me to write such a thing?" pervaded his mind. It had begun as a brilliant treatise on phillosophy, meandering into history, mathematics, and physics, before finally mutating into a horrible mess of convoluted rubish. It soon became clear that the tangled mass of literary quicksand would be enough to suck in and drown even the most savvy and patient of readers. He could feel his intelligence decaying and his sanity slipping away as he read over the pestilence he had committed to paper. And yet, there was a certain pride that came with the realization that he had written possibly the worst manuscirpt ever. Once in a great while, an author will write something considered to be the best literature. But it takes a truly talented writer to create a work of such malign chaos that it cannot be comprehended by a sane person. Works of note in this department include The Necronomicon and The King in Yellow. But those works were designed to encourage evil and chaos. Fangrid Appleton had created his completely by accident. Not only was it unpleasant to read, but the paper itself emitted a strange aura of forboding as if runes of evil pagan origin had been burned into the paper. But of course that was absurd, not even the Pagans would have dabbled in madness as great as this. Appleton also realized that he could profit quite a bit from a manuscript rumoured to be the worst in history. People would buy it just to see how bad it was. Thats the way people are. Attracted to dark avenues as a moth toward a flame.
He immediatelly contacted his publisher who was skeptical at first, but then agreed to look it over. They would meet for coffee at the cafe on Lakefront Boulevard at noon tomorrow. In the mean time, Appleton attempted to sleep, but the memory of the words he himself had written tortured him until he cried and laughed himself to sleep. Was it a dream? A nightmare? Surely it couldn't be real. Things like this weren't supposed to be real. Dreams of raging madness enveloped him in the depths of slumber. There were screams and rantings, objects that were wrong in ways that were incomprehensible, and many many things that just didn't fit into the logical order of things. He journeyed to far off places where monoliths beckoned him to worship dark unspeakable Gods and madmen screamed blasphemies at the sky. Just as an ancient and terrible evil was descending from space, the alarm clock awoke him. Fangrid had slept for eight hours but felt exhausted like he hadn't slept at all. It was clear that the manuscript was affecting him physically as well as mentally.