Wednesday, March 16, 2005
(9:46 AM) | Anonymous:
Reflections on my nascence, or, blogger is a shitcock
Gather round, little children, for I have a story to delight your ears, noses and throats (especially the last). You're probably all wondering how many entities can be found hidden within the multifarious layers of Kamala the Ugandan Giant's onion-like skin. First we have seen, mirabile fututu, a being antithetical to Kamala spun out from what dark recesses we know not, and now, forged in fire and refined in the void (whose? whose? You dare ask me whose? Yours, while you were sleeping), I, antithetical to the antithesis, stride into Being like an intoxicated dog into a tree.The punters among you cry: antithesis, anti-antithesis, this isn't how it was supposed to be! Pshaw! In this world "aufgehoben" just means "noise band", and you'd do well to remember it—I'm sure ante-anti-anti-anti-anti-Kamala won't be so kind, and Aunty Kamala's the one to watch out for.
But we aren't here to spin out endless fantasies of negation! Rather, we're here to answer the question, "well, maybe they don't need them, but don't you think that some fish might like a bicycle?", truly one of the more pressing issues facing those of my generation (in the gerundic sense. I will address the details of my generation later should you swine evince enough pseudo-interest.).
For you see, I had prepared a truly magnificent answer to this inquiry, which was posed to me in a prize essay contest early in the 1760s, and when I saw that blogger asked the same question of me in filling out my profile (naturally, the first thing I did after leaving the safe enclosure of my parent's shaggy underbelly, in which I had nestled for a year and a day whilst sweating out my own offspring from my left armpit, a technique which I can recommend to you as both unique (so don't bite it, bitches) and relatively pain-free, if more time-consuming than the traditional gravitational method—naturally, I say, I immediately set about to restore the
Think about it. Your responses are due in 24 hours.
Patently ridiculous. What would a fish want with a bicycle? A very small fish might want a bike if, and only if (and I use that term in its technical sense because I always and only use terms in their most technical of technical senses EVER BITCH!) one of the pipes were open a crack, a wee crack, quite wee, smaller than that but big enough—but only just—for the fish to wiggle itself in, back and forth working its way in, maybe with some pressure on the scales that's kind of unpleasant but not in an unpleasant way, as I think you understand (and let's not kid ourselves, we're all thinking about bowling here) in, so that it would have what you might call a playground in which to cavort, much as among humans the smaller specimens are given to entrap themselves in "cylinders of rust" (to quote the poet) and slide around until shat out onto the sand, except, of course, the fish would be able to go up, and around and whatnot, not being unable to swim through water in a most delightful fashion.
But even in such a case, can we say that the fish wants a bicycle, and not merely an assemblage of tubes of iron (or titanium or whatever kind of yuppy ASS BIKE you have) and rubber wheels, that happens accidentally to resemble a bike??
No.
We cannot.
