The unrestrained use of losing your own name to a sweaty old man named Harold
Just this week, I returned from a grand adventure on the high seas of literacy. The adbenture that two months ago I said I was going to take. The main problem with this adventure was that I confused “Adventure and literacy” with “Boiling acid and nudity.” I now have chemical burns over 173 percent of my body (100 percent of the outside, and 73 percent of the inside). Even typing causes excruciating pain in my fingertips, though they are bandaged and saturated with salves and ointments which smell painfully antiseptic. The ointments are supposed to help with the pain and the healing, but all they seem to do is attract flies and cats, both of which love ot eat the stuff, so I’ve been enduring quite a lot of bites in addition to the burns.
Also, one of the cats seems to have been a werecat, since when the moon came out last night, I grew fuzz over my enture body which stuck in the salves, getting really goopy all over the place. I also sprouted a tail, shrank a lot and couldn’t say much of anything other than “Meow” and “Oh my god, turning into a cat really hurts!”
It look slike I’m going to wait a at least a few eternities before the next adventure.
Also, one of the cats seems to have been a werecat, since when the moon came out last night, I grew fuzz over my enture body which stuck in the salves, getting really goopy all over the place. I also sprouted a tail, shrank a lot and couldn’t say much of anything other than “Meow” and “Oh my god, turning into a cat really hurts!”
It look slike I’m going to wait a at least a few eternities before the next adventure.