Tuesday, May 8, 2007

A Lot of Frumious Noise, Nothing, and a Towel



We started out to do some serious Duerf writing. Unfortunately, the Deurf-ness constricted and refused to manifest itself in a form more causal than pig-headed meta-physical-ness. Since void is all that comes to mind (oxymoron, ahem), void is what shall be described. Or, more properly, an excuse why I must write general nothingness instead of vapid something-ness.

Casual claims his cranium clocks only after his subconscious rooster crows, that is, a point in time occuring not before than his rising from post-nocturnal-slumber. And that he can't resist the said slumber, his addiction to boiled leaves in water not withstanding.

Challenges are set. Something good must evolve. He will discover the subliminal psychoanalyst in himself and return to poke jibes at me. However, until his ego and super-ego come to terms of mutual agreement and decide to settle for the the small space in his upper cranial cavity, he shall stall and drag the interpreter of his neural spaces (yours truly) to that highest place of culinary decadence, where delicacies are prepared with utmost love by brajwashi.

ps: Dreading the next post by Casual. Give me Vogon poetry any day. Shall go find a towel.

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