A timid family of Blind Sniffers, taking turns sniffing a daisy. Notice their color-shifting camouflage, which, apart from their incredible sense of smell, is their most essential defense against predators. Sniffer steaks are best served with citrus, as they can taste quite gamey.
This is a dream I had. It’s very random and silly, but it’s all I have written down that I like right now.
The house where we lived was infested.
Repeatedly throughout the day my kids would call to me, crying. “There’s a monster, mommy, there’s a monster!”
I would rush into the room. Whenever one appeared, the air would get strange, heavy, muted, like having ears stuffed with foam plugs or plunging underwater.
I could see the monster’s shadow under the door, or sometimes it would be even closer, about to harm the kids. It was made of twisted purple and raw red flesh, its head was stretched out of any human semblance, and it lacked a face. When I killed it with a slash, it would disappear, and the air would come back in the room.
This happened so much it became commonplace. The kids and I were the only ones who could see them.
One day a boss-level monster appeared. I opened the front door and there it was. It had a wild circular mane of red hair like a lion. Its nonexistent face was an oversized, blank, caucasian smear. It wore a horizontally striped t-shirt and shorts like kids in the 50’s wore, except its body underneath the clothes was wrongly lumped and muscled against the laws of biology.
It moved in glitches. It glitched past me and went straight for the kids, chasing them across the back lawn. They couldn’t outrun this thing. I ran to save them.
The dream changed. I was a boy with corn-on-the-cob hair. I was trying to sneak through the mall unnoticed, but my high school was having a grand parade right through the center. I’d lied to my girlfriend, telling her I couldn’t come to the parade, and she was sure to see me here, so I hid. Having been strengthened by my fights against the monsters in the earlier dream, I stuck to the ceiling and tried to clamber my way to the door. It was really nerve wracking though, because anyone who looked up would instantly spot me.
Then I saw the perfect hiding place: a float with a human-sized cob of corn. My natural camouflage. I landed right beside it, covered myself in corn, and lay as still as I could.
My friend saw movement and suspected. He came over and tried to sweep all the corn off of me. Panicking, and for lack of better options, I responded by pulling more corn over me. This went on for too long.
Then someone woke me up!
Yes, we’d had corn with dinner that night. Also the beginning part of the dream was almost entirely lifted from the beginning of Hogfather, except the monsters were more like Stranger Things. Sometimes I wonder if I ever actually have an original thought.
Well, the corn cob hair might be too dumb to have been thought of before. Anyway… who cares.
Goodnight!
Jeb was a park ranger. Bill was a sheriff.
One day Bill took Jeb out to lunch. They had a nice time. They fell in love. Marriage it wasn’t legal for them yet, so they moved to a cabin in the woods and taxidermied simple woodland creatures together. It was a happy life, until Jeb blew up.
Bill was in the cabin going through his glass eye collection when it happened. When he heard the blast, he immediately knew that Jeb was gone.
He sat quietly for a long time.
Then he got the keys to the Subaru, he got his shotgun, he got all the leftover dynamite, he packed himself a nice salami sandwich with mustard, and went to get his revenge.
The only recognizable thing he found at the site of the explosion were Jeb’s boots, standing upright in the center of a crater.
The remains of the truck were in orbit over Manitoba.
But Bill wasn’t sheriff for nothing. He was smart. He used his senses. He sniffed, he scratched, he dug, he burrowed, at last unearthing an ancient bunny burial burrow. Jeb must have unknowingly trespassed, incensing the wildlife, sealing his doom.
Bill stuffed all the dried up bunny mummies into the Subaru, loaded the burrow with dynamite, and blew their sacred area up the rest of the goddamn way.
Then he went home and feverishly worked on taxidermying the ancient bunny mummies all night, gluing them into embarrassing poses for all eternity, as he waited for the retaliation of the forest.
A scratching sounded at his door, but it was nothing. Only a stray mountain lion.
Just when dawn touched the horizon, the bunnies came for him.
Bill was prepared.
They tripped a wire in front of his cabin door.
BOOM.
Up went all the bunnies, Bill, his cabin, and six acres of woodland besides.
He got revenge. He left his mark. But he did not win, as he knew he wouldn’t. No man can defeat the Sequoia & Kings Canyon National Parks.
I HAVE BEEN OFFICIALLY BLOGGING FOR ONE YEAR. Bloggiversary? Am I allowed to say that word? It feels like a gross portmanteau… like synergy, or mayochup, or chillax, or meatplosion.
What a crazy year. I’ve learned so much. Even in the past week, I’ve learned so much. Can I even begin to quantify the learning I’ve learned in a year?
Ah, no, I can’t. Unfortunately I can’t remember what I learned. But I know it’s a lot.
Here’s some of what I’ve learned in just the past week:
So… thanks for a year of blogging. You’re all nuts. I love you so much.
Why would anyone want their sagging world
Repainted in lying colors?
Life is shit.
Roll in it.
We have to take it up the ass
on a daily basis.
As long as we are stuck
In this compromising position
A sense of humor
Is required.
Sarah D. Silvey 