In my head is a great big empty room
White walls, white light, white floor
Endless nothingness
Except
Something small there is
On the very center of the floor
A line of text.
It reads,
“This space intentionally left blank.”
Penorama said we should post something pointless. I’m always up for that!
I spent most of middle school writing stories with my friend Liz and giggling insanely in the corner of the classroom instead of doing work. When we wrote this, we must have been in… seventh grade, so 12-13ish?
This doesn’t make much sense… it was written by kids after all. Enjoy!
Darla and Doug
One day, a girl named Doug was walking along at the Zoo. Suddenly a monkey swooped down from a tree and hit her on the head. Then he threw coconuts at her.
“Ow! Ow! Owwwongle? Waahlamop.”
Then the monkey stole her purse and ran into the zookeeper. Then the zookeepers took the monkey way and gassed it.
Doug said, “Glop-op-do? Wa… Wha… Where am I?”
A passerby said, “You were just hit on the head with coconuts when a zookeeper gassed a monkey who swooped down from a tree. Or maybe it was a rhino. I’m not sure. I couldn’t tell the difference.”
Doug said, “Cool!”
The passerby said, “Where are your parents?”
Doug said, “I don’t know. I don’t remember having any. Can I live with you?”
Passerby said, “But I’m a guy named Darla. guys and girls don’t live together… Oh, well, I guess it’s an exception for me and you.
“OK.” Darla said. “I have to warn you, I’m forty-five and I live with my parents still.”
Doug said, “Oh, that’s alright. I dig old guys.”
Darla said, “Don’t you go hitting on my dad!”
Doug said, “OK, I’ll just hit on you. OK?”
“Sure!”
Darla and Doug walked away. On the way home, they visited a pet shop and bought a monkey.
“Be good now,” said Doug.
“Okay,” said the monkey, Bart. Then he stole some girl’s purse.
“I guess that just primate nature!” Doug laughed, then Darla laughed, and they walked home talking about cancer. They also bought some ice cream with the money from the monkey’s new purse.
You are my comfort.
You wrap me in your warm embrace.
Softly console me when I cry.
You know me inside and out.
The only one I can rely on.
Any time, day or night
You are there
Always willing to spark a little joy
Into my waning mindset.
You are so tender
But sometimes you have a little bite.
Rough around the edges
You are bitter enough to match me
You are sweet enough to sweeten me
I can feel my brain chemistry change in your presence
When you are gone your memory lingers.
Why is it that nothing good can last?
My greatest love
My finest friend
My hopeless addiction
O chocolate brownie
Last night I was consumed with worry for my fellow human beings. There is only one form which can carry this sentiment, but I fear I lack the talent to really do it justice.
I’m concerned about people who go
Through their lives doing just as they’re told.
They insist they’re too pure
To get down on the floor
And take a look at their own asshole.
Inadequate. I tried again:
Some people can live their whole lives
And apparently think that it’s fine
That they never bent over
And angled a mirror
To see where the sun doesn’t shine
Maybe I shouldn’t have bucked tradition. Maybe a limerick is no good unless it starts with Nantucket.
I realized I’ve been neglecting my Spam folder, and was pleased to discover a heap of nonsense messages. I can’t be the only person who finds spam, clickbait, etc, hilarious. Some of these messages were so confused I couldn’t even figure out what they wanted from me. Apparently I need a LOT of personalized handkerchiefs (I actually have a thing for handkerchiefs but I prefer to shop for them at places where they won’t steal my credit card number, thank you very much).
I also like clickbait. Scientifically engineered to trigger your curiosity. The perfect people-lure: curiosity killed the human. At the very least, curiosity slogged down the human’s computer with adware.
“Lose weight when this one weird trick!” Included with this intriguing caption is a picture of something confoundingly inapplicable to weight loss, like a hand holding a mysterious sea cucumbery seed pod, or a person shucking corn, or somebody slathering their toes with excessive gobs of Vaseline.
I am also fond of, “You won’t believe number 13!” The funny thing about this line is that it discredits the whole article, implying that number 13 is the only one worth reading, and even that isn’t going to be especially credible.
But I digress. Some of these comments take the element of mystery so far, I don’t even know what the hell they’re trying to say. I can tell they’re trying to flatter me but the English is an unnavigable maze.
“Its like you learn my thoughts! You seem to grasp a lot approximately this, like
you wrote the e-book in it or something. I feel that you just can do with some p.c.
to drive the message house a bit, but other than that, this is great blog.
A great read. I’ll definitely be back.” *suspicious link*
If I were more politically correct I’d be a more effective writer? That might actually be good advice… should I be swearing less? This comment appeared on a repost by the way. I didn’t say a damn word, but I’m apparently such a master of that subject matter (namely nothing), I’m on equal footing with e-book authors. I’m honored and humbled to be included in that illustrious and exclusive crowd.
This one’s brilliant:
“An upright bicycle is not cardiovascular intensive. Exercise enthusiasts will consider the phenomenon of
a strength plateau. Purell hand sanitizer can really be a variety of sizes.” *suspicious link*
They covered so many bases, surely they must have hit a target somewhere? No?
How about this?
“Choose a topic in the neighborhood . very in-demand.
What advice does Leil offer for writers? “What you write has to be something which comes from the gut. Drink protein shake before exercise acquire enough vigour.” *suspicious link*
They started off well but somehow it all keeps going back to physical fitness. If writing comes from the gut, it stands to reason that improving your gut health will improve your writing. Maybe if I drink more protein shakes I’ll be a better writer. Who am I to argue with Leil?
This one’s actually cute:
“Garage floor tiles come in varied colors, designs,
and sizes. The dads can talk and make merry while barbecuing.
This creates a setting where people actually relate with each a few other.” *suspicious link*
I appreciate the adorable image of dads barbecuing and making merry. I’m not sure if it’s a good idea to fill the garage with drunk dads and then light up a smokey grill in there, but maybe some people do it. That aside, it’s good to know that all the awkwardness and unrelatability between them will be fixed if I tile my garage floor.
I think this one is also trying to flatter me but it’s turned out deeply insulting:
“I simply needed to appreciate you once more. I’m not certain the things I could possibly have followed without these techniques contributed by you directly on such problem. Certainly was a traumatic dilemma in my position, however , finding out your specialized technique you processed that made me to jump for gladness. I’m happy for your help and then trust you find out what an amazing job your are getting into instructing the mediocre ones using your blog post. I am sure you haven’t got to know all of us.” *suspicious link*
I am truly impressed at this person’s ability to blather on without saying anything of substance. However, this was on my post Stupid Addictions, which was about being addicted to likes. It’s upsetting to imagine that this person was in a traumatic dilemma over being addicted to likes.
I guess my “specialized technique” to solve this traumatic dilemma was to put down my phone for the day. Please, please… don’t thank me. It’s my duty to instruct the mediocre ones. And you are correct, I certainly am too much of a dick to get to know all of you.
There you have it. Now we know a lot of things which we have never before dared to imagine.
Life without spam would be a safer life, but a less interesting one. Thank you spam.
Sarah D. Silvey 