Subscribe to all of my blatherings right in your wob brewser!Subscribe to my latest blatherings right in your wob brewser! Pnårp in print! Made from 35% recycled toilet paper! Send Pnårp your garrulous praise… or excretory condemnation! The less you tweet? The more you toot! Dreaming widely about my page! Tweet! Tweet! Twat! Livin’ it up… on a living journal! A whole book full of my faces? A whole book full of my faces?
You’re my favorite visitor!

Pnårp’s docile & perfunctory page

I had failed

Hidden above my bed on October 17, 1999.

I remembered what happened to me the next morning.

I arrived back in America, and saw a spotted owl spit at a cat, whereupon the cat promptly ate the owl, spun around, ate its own tail, and wrapped itself up in a cocoon.

My search for the Englebee Troobles was over. I had failed. And I needed to pee.

I returned home and found that Mr. Wilson, my neighbor, was not dead. He was, in fact, quite alive, however not exactly living, per se. I blamed the screaming stars. There was no way I would go into space to see these stars, even if it meant I would find the Englebee Troobles for which I had spent so much time spinning and tunnelling.