Category: Numbered

The lights are switching on and off at an astonishing rate, giving the more sensitive among us a difficult time of it, sending them running and tumbling in all directions. Some don’t have the off switch it takes to stop flailing after sufficient exposure to such an infernal stimulus, and meet their untimely deaths. Right before passing, they enter a trance where they see every color imaginable, forming a pattern that’s tiled with images of themselves throughout their lives. Most of them are nostalgic, though some present challenges to keep them busy, were they to continue on with their lives, allowing them to feel a bit less urgent before their final moment eclipses them.

Great geezers of Geneva! There are entirely too many apes on my side of the bed today. Normally there aren’t any at all, but today there are six. What gives? I didn’t leave the bedroom window open overnight… I suppose someone could have snuck in and planted them here as a prank, but that just seems needlessly difficult and dangerous for something that’ll only get a small rise out of me. I mean, I love apes of all shapes and sizes–I’ve always been a bit of an ape whisperer. But now that I think about it, maybe the true prank was leaving that many apes in my place without leaving so much as a morsel of ape food behind. As much as I like apes, I still don’t know what they eat, or how much of it. And jeez, there are at least four different kinds of apes here. I’m sure they all have their own distinct diets; what a headache. I’m going to head on down to the pet store to get some recommendations. Who knows, they might have some Ape Chow in the back for me. You know what, I’m going to reach out to an ape researcher and have these beasts properly cared for in habitats that address their various needs, rather than fuss over caring for them by myself, like I’m sure the prankster wants me to do. Now, to maneuver to the bathroom without being mangled to death is my very first goal for this morning. No… sudden… movements…

A connected few have concocted a scheme more devious than the maddest of hatters’, chopped up and distributed amongst said cronies for entertainment purposes, mostly. Now, a scheme divided by itself is only as powerful as the people who hold the individual parts, and in this case the wealthy, aloof upper crust have no reason to fear a crumbling shambles of a diabolical plan, which goes as follows:

The eldest scheme-holders will each make distinct bird calls while the younger ones in the group practice sewing custom garments from natural silk. As both activities unfold, a specially-selected participant (who up until this point has been sitting in his study, contemplating the life of the average laborer) will shake up a dozen ketchup bottles to the point of bursting, one at a time. 

This combination of inconspicuous actions may seem utterly useless to the untrained eye, but if executed properly, they will reveal the true nature of stock market volatility, even going so far as to allow an accurate prediction of index performance for as many as eight years. This all just goes to prove that the rich will continue to amass fortunes while throwing commoners off the scent with eccentric rituals.

The whole time I stood in front of the window display, I was enamored with the cheap light show, no more than one color at a time, with outstanding timing for the color switching. In particular, I saw red go to green and back to red, then to white! Once more to red, back to green, then red, then white again! I thought this pattern would persist, but I would never see the lights take that sequence again. Trust me, I stood out there for three hours and fifteen minutes.

Later on, while chatting with the light engineer, I learned that the pattern would come back once every four hours, to repeat once then go back into hibernation, as it were. Charmed by this explanation, I offered to buy him a coffee drink of his choice from the cafe on campus. He countered with a flat refusal on the grounds of disliking coffee drinks of all kinds, so I offered to buy him a drink of whatever suited his fancy. The consummate smart ass, he requested an egg white daiquiri, but only one prepared by the queen of France. We’ve been the best of friends ever since.

Well wouldn’t you know it, after all those wasted hours of worrying and hand-wringing, all it took was a swift kick in the ass to send me flying in a straight line to my unobstructed future–as the crow flies.

I’ve learned that there are good piles and bad piles. I used to think they were all just piles; neutral, inoffensive. However, as piles grow, the accumulation of material magnifies the essence of the majority of its contents, leading to a hideous nine-headed monster or a raving sycophant yes-man. Perhaps it’ll grow into a doting mother of four or a casino mogul with a taste for alien flesh. At the end of the day, none of these outcomes will be reached without piles, those very building blocks of civilization; one thing on top of another on top of another, and so on and so forth until everything is either above or below everything else.

No matter your regression or the registration period, you have to get in your application by the first of this month (or you’ll forever regret your procrastination). Our multi-disciplinary graduate program offers everything: cow shaving, stalactite throwing, fear mongering, baby observation, traffic law avoidance, teleprompter reading and monkey imitation, along with several dozen other units designed to reinforce a well-rounded outlook on our contemporary society. Application fee: $475.