Tag: Predicament

So Busy

Crap dang it, now I can’t think of anything all of a sudden. Oh well, guess it can’t be helped in my current predicament. It’s not so much of a predicament as a predicate-a-mint type of situation, where the essence of mint is completely ubiquitous around the entire cosmos for everyone to enjoy, whether they like it or not. Crap dang it.

So what am I supposed to do now? Who the hell knows? I sure don’t. That’s why I’m asking myself. Maybe if I ask myself and put some kind of deadline on the thing, I can stall the inevitable existential pain associated with extreme boredom.

But you know what? I’m sick and tired of being asked so many questions all the time. It seems like every day I’m getting badgered and/or peppered with at least several dozen inquiries, and my god does it take a toll. I’ve been meaning to have a serious talk with myself, really get the whole thing straightened out once and for all, but I’ve just been so busy.

Magnum Opus

Well, seeing as I dumped the chicken wire for some crumb pastries, you can understand why my rumbling tum-tum began composing a symphony of sorts (an “ode to shortcrust” or some such), bewildering all sentient beings within a 50-foot radius.

Once I’d managed to trudge my way to the dreaded (oft-forgotten) lion cage, I immediately began questioning why I got rid of that infernal chicken wire in the first place. Clearly these lions would have had a perfectly good use for it (as far as I could see). In attempting to save face, I apologized to the few lions I saw. They didn’t know why I was apologizing. I began to explain the whole chicken wire predicament to them, but decided against insinuating that something designed for puny domestic fowl would be suitable for the kings of the jungle. Dejected, I tossed them my crumb pastries and walked away, my stomach continuing its magnum opus unopposed.

This Here

Ordinary sanctions wouldn’t apply to the effervescent pigeon toes for too much longer, scrutinizing the woes of foreverpenguins—adept at taking their time when you just want to get a movin’ to the promised land (or at least the land referenced in books of yore). What really must happen is a distancing from tyrants and despots who normally would have built their empires upon the sweat equity of the under-the-tablers brought around from the time of the Immeasurable Reckoning.

The new standard—a babe in the woods—must rear itself without even a kindly wolf or flyover pigeon at its disposal! While certainly not necessary in this predicament, self-sabotage becomes more likely with each passing day as doubt does its dubious duty of doling out a deluge of doldrums, waiting to be conquered through a steady, dedicated hand (though it knows the chances are quite slim in this here forest).