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Toiling away smoilishly

Toiled away on March 14, 2021.

While I toiled away smoilishly on new bloggery for my wobsite—the very wobbly site that you now behold between your eyeballs, dearies—that sempiternal enemy of both of my nostrils tried to pay me a visit once again. (No, not this sempiternal enemy, the other one.) This visit was wholly unsolicited, entirely unwanted, and far from desired. It was in fact the furthest thing from anything that I wanted at the moment. But here it was, a visitation from one of my many sworn enemies.

I used to have many sworn enemies, you may remember. Many, many implacable enemies. But they’ve all moved away without leaving a trace, disappeared suddenly, gone mad and been committed to faraway asylums, or perished—in mysterious explosions, dordesque misadventures, or freak keyboarding accidents. Or they simply got bored haunting and taunting me, and so moved on to better things. This enemy, currently paying me this oh-so-uninvited visit—now he was a worrisome one: A formidable and frundupulous foe, a sturddlefish of deceit and trickery, a noisome knave of abnegation and negativity. He was a scalawag, a scoundrel, a scofflaw, and a scapegrace. He was nefarious, an old goat, a boor, a lout, and a cur. A villain, he was, and furthermore—

“Christ on a cornpone!” I swore mightily as I lost my train of thought amidst needless litanies of adjectivisms and nounery. I realized: I should spend more time dispatching my enemies than purplishly constructing such prose about them. I rose from my computer-keyboarding chair, intent on dispatching this one at once. Stalking downstairs, I swung my front door open, unsure who or what would now be there: Would it be a dastardly bastard, forgotten only seconds ago amidst my cogitational derailment? Or would it be the crotch-stirrups for horsebuttock riding that I ordered from Amazon last week?

The caboose trailing my train of thought slammed into the back of my head and I fell forward on my front step. My thick, thick forehead hit the bricks and stopped, but my brain didn’t want to. I blacked out.

…Nightmare imagery of smiling Smilax and rabid Arabidopsis filled my unconscious mind. Foul flowers, towering above me, glowering and towering, these powerful flowers. Sneering and leering, licking their chops, their coronas and corollas dripping in anticipation of sinking their horrid, florid fangs into yours truly…

My brain having bounced back into place inside its bony enclosure, I regained consciousness moments later—alas, too many moments later, for whichever of my sempiternal enemies had been rap-rap-rapping at my do-do-door had now de-de-departed. I had failed to dispatch this unseen foe using one of my signature methods (such as goats), instead letting him slither blithely from my grasp. This wasn’t as embarrassing as that time I confused a piña colada with a high colonic, but at least this time I didn’t spend six hours perched in stercoraceous ignominy atop my loo.

I crawled back into my house through a first-floor window (the ground-floor windows were all too high to reach), and went back to toiling and smoiling. My clock ticked. The dust mites mated and multiplied. My clock tocked, then sprung ahead suddenly—the second time today. My fulminating and necrotic liver chose that moment to attempt an escape from my coelom, but I pushed it back down where it belonged and stapled my coelom shut again. Time passed like gas. And still I toiled away smoilishly on my new wobsite bloggery. My toilet didn’t distract me, smiling as it was. Unceasingly I went about my smoilish toiling.

Flying polyps blew forth from my rectum suddenly, but I ignored them. Hudson Leick’s feet popped into my mind again, but I ignored them.

“A tardigrade. I suppose you had to be there.” But I ignored that too.

Click! went my external hard drive suddenly.

“Click!?” I exclaimed. I looked askance at the drive. It was blinking gently. “Do you bite your thumb at me, sir?” The drive just sat there, its little white LED continuing its languid flashing. Seeing that the dense little block of plastic, magnets, and exotic rare earth metals was not challenging me to a duel at that moment, I went back to my unending, smoilish toiling. Not so hard now, eh drive…?” I sneered—my parting shot.

Back to my smoilish toiling.

Back to toiling (smoilishly).

Back to my… smoilish toiling.