Chapter Text
We tend to think we have the best methods.
Until we expose ourselves, we cannot truly know the error of our ways.
Luckily for me, I am trapped here, and have no other frame of reference.
I AM KING.
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Package together the random questions floating in the minds of all humanity, and you just might determine the meaning of life.
Or at least, maybe you'd really confuse someone.
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What makes 'super' such a great word?
It's just a meal with one less 'p'.
If I peed less, then that would be pretty super.
I guess that must be why.
Language works in mysterious ways.
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Some things are never final.
Some people think they are, but even so, they are not.
Nothing is ever final until it has been ruined beyond the point of saving.
Even then, it probably won't be final until those developing it run short of funds or will.
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First the cloud, then the squall.
Which is another form of cloud.
Truly, mimicry is the finest form of flattery, but only to those on the outside.
What does the cloud think?
Probably nothing, because clouds are not sentient.
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When you can't think, then you are a complete warrior.
Because then nothing can get in the way of your battle prowess.
Like the annoying need to breathe.
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"What's in the bottle?" I asked. "I don't want whatever it is. I can smell rot and decay on your breath."
"Ooooh! Someone is hungry! Yes! This bottle is yours. Now drink up!"
My captors torment me daily with their lack of knowledge of the language of abyssal gibberish.
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What maddens us makes us stronger.
Faster.
Better.
Harder.
Look at yourself.
Now there's a guy who, when he runs, he goes faster.
Boom.
He's the best there is, and can't be denied.
I then think, when I tell myself these things....
"Boy I wish I could run."
We all require personal validation as a form of primeval sustenance weather it makes sense or not.
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Trust me.
You, reader, do not want to be in this place.
Especially if they start asking questions.
It's a bad time.
No one rates this place very well on yelp.
They do yelp well here, though.
HYPOCRITES!
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I need feeding!
And a bath!
It is ludicrous that this method of communication might be the fastest.
No one seems to understand when I ask them for my favorite thing I mean 'boiled clams' and not 'the rattle.'
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Not to wax poetic, but perhaps I should author a haiku.
Waaah! Waa wa waaaaaahwah…
Wa waaah wah, ma wa waaah ma.
Wa waa waaa waaaaaaaaaaaah ma!
Was that one any good?
Not better? Worst ever? Stinks?
No one likes my art.
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All play and no work makes Goule a strange boy.
All Play and no Work makes Goule a strange Boy.
All ʎɐlԀ and ou work sǝʞɐɯ Goule ɐ strange ʎoq.
All paly and no wrok mkeas Gluoe a sgrtnae boy.
Al ply an o wrk make Gole a strage by.
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We and you make a bigger we.
Perhaps there should be more than one word for we, to tell just how many of us there are.
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The whitest water will rush slowly if you want it to.
It's all just your frame of reference.
Time is a river.
Just slow it down.
It's simple.
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Fire clutches the passive best.
Those who have given in to their mortality.
This is for the best.
No one wants to smell you any more after that bridge has been traversed.
Least of all you, I'd imagine.
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My ultimate goal is to be published upon nothing but the finest parchment for all the world to see.
Perhaps then, when the entire world is at my beck and call, I'd get those boiled clams I so desire.
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Two dulcimers raised to the degree of forty half dulcimers,
divided into equal parts by the third cackle of grouse geese,
put over the result of ten fine mackerels
(albeit 'SMALL' fine mackerels),
stretched over the total of 53 and a third bottles of wildebeest lard...
yields a gilded minnow of precise measure;
Two thousand sixty-nine centidrils by three million twenty-three punds
(NOT punts, as might be expected).
This is not to say,
however any sense,
whatsoever,
that deviations in mean temperature of 5 or 6 degrees or so...
indicate a fabrication or derivation sufficiently broad enough to exacerbate the conclusions uncovered in due course,
with regards to dimensions,
consistency,
mass,
or thickness inherent in the menial suckling grouse.
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In ancient times, I am sure that you folk must have been smarter than you are now.
Everyone pays so much money for information these days.
Why don't people ask the right questions in a courteous manner?
Surely society is a lost cause.
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Moistness is my least favorite part of being.
Nothing good can come of it.
Based on personal experience, I would recommend that you buy stock in towels.
Sponges.
Cloths.
These are commodities that can never go out of fashion.
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Wild arms hug the fiercest.
Don't allow anyone to dissuade you from this universal truth.
It will only bring misery and bland hugs, which are a more different misery.
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A black cat that does not cross your path, but rather sits directly IN your path is the most unlucky of all.
Not for you, mainly just for the cat.