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The thick, meaty center of an eigenfactor

Ridiculed on October 23, 2005.

The lawn gnomes are everywhere. They haunt me in my sleep, they haunt me while awake, they dither and loiter and dingle and dangle about my house, flailing themselves around efficaciously, babbling and flabbling incessantly, always there, always here, always everywhere. The lawn gnomes, the lawn gnomes, the great big tiny little giant puny lawn gnomes, in cute little hats (not fezzes!)… how they haunt and taunt me, and flaunt themselves at me, playing with my AZERTY keyboard like it were made out of the thick, meaty center of an eigenfactor.

An eigenfactor. I remember meeting an eigenfactor once, straight from the eigenfactory it had come: It had come to unfurl itself upon me, to gregariously uncurl itself near me, to bother me and try to take me back to its eigenhouse in the eigencity up in the country known as Eigentoria (that’s near France). But I wouldn’t go. I had Englebee Troobles to hunt, so I told it—and I did.

How I regret that. How I regret wasting years—entire barnfuls of years—of my life hunting those Troobles, hunting them and grunting at them, hunting them to the ends of the Earth (Chechnya, if I recall correctly), and all for no other reason than that I had a paperclip stuck up my nose and I had been told that Englebee Troobles were experts at nasal paperclip extraction. Whatever happened to Mary?

Oh, to be in Eigentoria now that the lawn gnomes are here