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I shall visit Eigentoria

Bandied about on October 30, 2005.

I decided this week that, next week, two weeks after last week, I shall visit Eigentoria once and for all—and, if it’s everything that it’s been made out to be, so help me, Lord (unless You’ve got better things to do, like smite the Englebee Troobles You’ve been taunting me with, or torture Samuel Dreckers some more), I shall live there until the end of my days.

I’ve packed up my entire house into a small, dented tin cup that I had kept under my bed (that is, until I put my bed inside the tin cup). Everything fit: The bed, both pillows, my paisley-patterned curtains, my desk and four swivel chairs, my kitchen table, that twirly thing I found in the street seven weeks ago, my computer, my whole website(!), my collection of Rory Calhoun autographs and Mustafa Kemal Atatürk stamps, my bucket of gnome feed, the laundry lint I keep in an old oil drum in my closet, both sugar packets I found in my medicine cabinet, the AK-47 I used to mount on my moth-eaten rooftop throughout most of the year, and, of course, my invaluable collection of thousands of photographs of a barefoot Alyssa Milano and barefoot Spice Girls.

On Friday, I went around to my neighbors and kissed them all goodbye. I wore the old fez that I won in that Sicilian rat-fighting contest, and a fresh diaper with a pair of Circassian socks draped from it. My neighbors all seemed happy to hear that I’m leaving for a while, perhaps permanently; some were even, dare I say, elated. Exuberant. Celebratory. I wonder why. I know that Samuel Dreckers hates me for good reason—I tried to steal his blueberry bagels and his assassin training manuals, and I steamrolled his house with a bulldozer commanded by a bulldog with a field commission—and poor Mr. Wilson always wanted to steal my Persian carpets, so I had to stick him with a hat pin over and over, but I still wonder why everyone else…

Aaaaiiieee!! Oh, my Lord, lawn gnomes everywhere! Gnomes, gnomes, gnomes! Garden gnomes crawling all over my face! Crawling out of my eardrums, down my eye sockets, out of my toenails! Oh, my Lord, they’re in the toenails again! Not the toenails!!! And they won’t go away until I go up to my roof and scream at the stars and recite pi and throw pies at passing motorists and fire the AK-47 into the street!!

Why do they always make me do this?! I hate it when they make me do this!!!