A.R.M. (kinkyturtle) wrote,
A.R.M.
kinkyturtle

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Rabbit Hole Day part I

This has been a hectic week. I've been totally unable to hold down a job!

On Monday I decided I wanted to become a galoot, so I went in for galoot auditions. The judges liked my cowboy hat and vest, and I got good marks for consarnedness, but they said I wasn't ornery enough. Oh well.

On Tuesday, I trained to be a code talker, but there were two problems with this. First, the Navajo language is so complex that by the time I finished learning it, I'd forgotten how to speak English, which kind of defeated the whole purpose. Second, WWII has been over for about half a century, so it turns out code talkers aren't even needed anymore. So I had to relearn English. I've got it all back now, except for one or two... um... what do you call those things?

On Wednesday, I volunteered to join the crew of the Proteus and draw a cartoon diary of their excursion into the body of Dr. Benes to remove the blood clot from his brain. But I was cut at the last minute by a top-ranking official who questioned the need for a cartoonist aboard a miniaturized medical mission. And well, I suppose he has a point. Still, that woulda been cool!

On Thursday, I tried skywhale hunting. Skywhales are majestic, graceful creatures, and it is literally awesome to watch them fly around in the unbroken sphere of blue sky that our little patch of land eternally floats in. Skywhale hunting is very dangerous work, though; those skyships seem safe enough, but if a whale hits one with its tail, everyone on board can easily be knocked off and fall forever into the undersky. I quit after one day, because I decided I couldn't bear to see those majestic creatures killed. Anyway, I heard a rumor that skywhales are what we turn into when we die, and that sounds creepy. It'd be like hunting your grandma!

...words! That's what you call those things.

On Friday, I signed up for a time-traveling mission. I was chosen to go and detain the guy from Porlock and give Samuel Taylor Coleridge a chance to finish "Kubla Khan". BUT GUESS WHAT! Turns out the guy from Porlock was Dirk Gently, on a time-travelling mission of his own. How was I supposed to know that?! He refused to let me interfere.

(BTW, the line "As if this earth in fast thick pants were breathing"? That's pants as in panting, y'know, like a dog. Not pants like the kind you wear. I just figured that out!)

So now I'm back to sitting around at home, listening intently to the squirrels and trying to learn their language. I think "chitter" means "acorn" and "skreee" means "go away", but I'm not confident enough to use them in conversation.
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