Saturday, October 16, 2004
Some Titles Have Nothing But Words In Them
So there was this salamander. He would creep around a lot, and all the lizards would call him creepy. It was sort of hypocritical of them, being lizards and creepy themselves, but i guess lizards don't really have a problem with hypocrisy. Anyway, there were other times, specifically times when I was using the past tense in my story, when the salamander crept around and the lizards called him crepty. They would then have all these debates about what the correct term was, sometimes very heated debates, after which they would have to lay low for a while and chill out, you know, because they were cold-blooded and all, and they didn't want their heads to boil and turn into brain soup and the brain soup to accidentally run down their throat so that they were actually consuming their own brains, because it's not like lizards have a biological mechanism that allows digested brain matter to be returned through the bloodstream to the skull cavity intact or anything. The salamander would use these pauses in the discussion to creep around unobserved, basking in the knowledge that no one was talking about him behind his back, just as the lizards were basking in the knowledge that no one was sipping their liquefied brains behind their backs. They were very peaceful times, these pauses in the discussion. Peaceful and baskful.
It was quite amazing how most of this went on unobserved by the human eye. (That's right, i said "the human eye." Back in those days, there was only one human eye. Everyone had to take turns with it.)
One day after one of these conversational lapses, while the lizards were in their usual reflective mood, thinking about brain soup, one of them decided there might be a market for the stuff, especially if they convinced everyone it was a delicacy and that it would add bulk to your own brain by way of some biological mechanism. They started hunting for other brain-bearing things to plunder of organs, and they each pitched in a little chunk of their own brain to be fair. It was pretty creepy.
The salamander, who had been keeping an eye on the whole operation, bought half their stock on their first day in business. He sat around drinking it in the afternoons while sitting on a branch above the one the lizards sat on and chuckling to himself. It was pretty creepy also.
So the ultimate question here is: who was creepier, and who, if anyone, was creptier? And do you think crepes would have helped?
So there was this salamander. He would creep around a lot, and all the lizards would call him creepy. It was sort of hypocritical of them, being lizards and creepy themselves, but i guess lizards don't really have a problem with hypocrisy. Anyway, there were other times, specifically times when I was using the past tense in my story, when the salamander crept around and the lizards called him crepty. They would then have all these debates about what the correct term was, sometimes very heated debates, after which they would have to lay low for a while and chill out, you know, because they were cold-blooded and all, and they didn't want their heads to boil and turn into brain soup and the brain soup to accidentally run down their throat so that they were actually consuming their own brains, because it's not like lizards have a biological mechanism that allows digested brain matter to be returned through the bloodstream to the skull cavity intact or anything. The salamander would use these pauses in the discussion to creep around unobserved, basking in the knowledge that no one was talking about him behind his back, just as the lizards were basking in the knowledge that no one was sipping their liquefied brains behind their backs. They were very peaceful times, these pauses in the discussion. Peaceful and baskful.
It was quite amazing how most of this went on unobserved by the human eye. (That's right, i said "the human eye." Back in those days, there was only one human eye. Everyone had to take turns with it.)
One day after one of these conversational lapses, while the lizards were in their usual reflective mood, thinking about brain soup, one of them decided there might be a market for the stuff, especially if they convinced everyone it was a delicacy and that it would add bulk to your own brain by way of some biological mechanism. They started hunting for other brain-bearing things to plunder of organs, and they each pitched in a little chunk of their own brain to be fair. It was pretty creepy.
The salamander, who had been keeping an eye on the whole operation, bought half their stock on their first day in business. He sat around drinking it in the afternoons while sitting on a branch above the one the lizards sat on and chuckling to himself. It was pretty creepy also.
So the ultimate question here is: who was creepier, and who, if anyone, was creptier? And do you think crepes would have helped?
