(no subject)
Thanks to the multitude of electrical outlets installed by the friendly and seemy Samuel Smiles (always an upside-down smile on his rocky physiognomy, but a smile nevertheless), so many things are possible that would be physically and metaphysically impermissable on a reasonably deserted island. After Samuel repaired my defunct notebook computer using intigrated circuits from an old Atari Twenty-six Hundred (an ancient gaming machine used by the Egyptians after the Thirty Years War during which the great King Richard III was tragically woken from his bed by a sudden case of bedbugs), I was able to supply power to my Bose 7.1 surround sound home theatre speaker set.
Gathered around my computer, hugged in close with our arms around each others' shoulders to prevent the perceived discoloration that results in viewing LSD screens from too much of an angle, we were enjoying DVD episodes of Saved by the Bell: the New Class, when I suddenly thought of Osirus Stows, the lovely Secretia Creep, my wicker home, my beard of bees, and my imminently-approaching fiftieth birthday and planned quinceanera. I expressed my desire to return home to my new dear friend-followers Samuel, Maribeth, Alain, and Lloyd (who had emerged from under a rock and (en)joined us early in the afternoon, saying nothing, redolent of old chocolate and new aspirations); and Maribeth offered, "There may be something that can be done about your problem, for local legend speaks of an old ship's bladder and a helium tank hidden within my bedroom." "Yes!" Alain von Flippifloppi shouted. "We can build our new friend and wise, handsome teach Alvin Stomack, friend and provider of video entertainment, a balloon!" "Let's go," Samuel Smiles said in his trademark (all rights reserved) monotone voice of neutrality. "But it's late," Lloyd said discouragingly. "We will build the balloon tomorrow." And so we settled on this plan. My heart beat faster and I could feel the blood change directions through my veins and arteries as it often does when I become hopeful and excited (at least three times a day), and, the upcoming quinceanera on my mind, I had to pause the episode we were watching (the one where Screech tells the new kids about how he used to be a student at the school too), and I managed to book Mel Tormé, the Velvet Fog, to perform on November 7th on Christmas Island, the day of my fiftieth birthday. Oh, what wonders the world wide internet brings to my heart and eyes and the flat planet on which we all live! How my intestines giggle and my muscles squirm uncontrollably to picture myself in my birthday robes in the giant pumpkin. I cannot wait, and now I simply must emigrate from this island back to my home of homes as soon as probable.
Gathered around my computer, hugged in close with our arms around each others' shoulders to prevent the perceived discoloration that results in viewing LSD screens from too much of an angle, we were enjoying DVD episodes of Saved by the Bell: the New Class, when I suddenly thought of Osirus Stows, the lovely Secretia Creep, my wicker home, my beard of bees, and my imminently-approaching fiftieth birthday and planned quinceanera. I expressed my desire to return home to my new dear friend-followers Samuel, Maribeth, Alain, and Lloyd (who had emerged from under a rock and (en)joined us early in the afternoon, saying nothing, redolent of old chocolate and new aspirations); and Maribeth offered, "There may be something that can be done about your problem, for local legend speaks of an old ship's bladder and a helium tank hidden within my bedroom." "Yes!" Alain von Flippifloppi shouted. "We can build our new friend and wise, handsome teach Alvin Stomack, friend and provider of video entertainment, a balloon!" "Let's go," Samuel Smiles said in his trademark (all rights reserved) monotone voice of neutrality. "But it's late," Lloyd said discouragingly. "We will build the balloon tomorrow." And so we settled on this plan. My heart beat faster and I could feel the blood change directions through my veins and arteries as it often does when I become hopeful and excited (at least three times a day), and, the upcoming quinceanera on my mind, I had to pause the episode we were watching (the one where Screech tells the new kids about how he used to be a student at the school too), and I managed to book Mel Tormé, the Velvet Fog, to perform on November 7th on Christmas Island, the day of my fiftieth birthday. Oh, what wonders the world wide internet brings to my heart and eyes and the flat planet on which we all live! How my intestines giggle and my muscles squirm uncontrollably to picture myself in my birthday robes in the giant pumpkin. I cannot wait, and now I simply must emigrate from this island back to my home of homes as soon as probable.