A sojourn through the jejunum
Catabolized on September 9, 2012.
“Horrible goats abound morosely—stop, for cubes play another tune.”
I blinked. It was the first voice I had heard in the sticky darkness in what felt like weeks… months… or even years. I had lost all track of time—or perhaps time had lost all track of me. Time always hated me anyways, I grumped sullenly, so maybe it was for the best. I sighed again—the 57,890th time since I had been sucked into this space slug’s underfoot maw and began my long, twisty journey through its alimentary tract. Sighing didn’t help. It didn’t change anything. It didn’t even baste my turkeys or polish my rice for me.
“Quibblous groœts brøderbund ergosely—kree! Shaka ha! Kree hol mel, Goa’uld!”
I scowled. “Go polish some rice!” I retorted, shouting vainly into the decretal of ooglabooglious doom. More time passed—some sort of measured units: Perhaps minutes, or hours, or days?—and I began to despair once again. God didn’t seem to be in the mood to save me; Jesus was probably too busy to even notice I was missing. Allah hated me and Ra was dead. The sublime insect goddess Strahazazhia Kalamazoo-Kintaki-Meeps was probably just smirking imperiously from on high, waiting for Her opportunity to swarm me with Cappadocian Tweezer Ants or Athabascan Pinching Cicadas. And the hideous goose-headed god Ipos just honked and honked and honked.
“Up, down, top, bottom, strange, and charmed: The quarks of doom and despair.”
Roaring (rawr!), I tried to lash out and punch… something… but then remembered my arms had been digested during my sojourn through the jejunum. I fŋurled sheepishly, then bleated for good measure. “I would… love a sandwich made with bumblebees,” I mumbled idly. I wondered if, back home, I had any bees in the trap.
“Do bananas grow on trees?” I asked rhetorically.
“No, actually… they don’t.”
Sufficiently chastened for another few meters of chymey small intestine, I shut up. The darkness darkened. The voice fell silent. I wondered why they only make disposable toilet paper.