Subscribe to all of my blatherings right in your wob browser!Subscribe to my latest 25 blatherings right in your wob browser! Pnårp in print! Made from 35% recycled toilet paper! Send Pnårp your garrulous praise… or excretory condemnation! Tweet! Tweet! Twat! Livin’ it up… on a living journal! A whole book full of my faces? Where gravity itself gets its blog avatar! Red dits? Red edits? Read its…!?
You’re my favorite visitor!

Pnårp’s docile & perfunctory page

The stars scream at me louder than ever!!

Suspended from October 24, 1999.

The stars scream at me louder than ever!! What did I do to deserve this!? I must stop them, somehow! Anyway!! One followed me home and tried to take my triangular briefcase! I was acquitted, damn it! The floating pi returned, and told me that it had been nearly killed—tortured to death, nearly—in the Afghanistani prison! Y2K is coming!!! It blamed me, but I just put my fez back on, picked up my briefcase, and shoved its decimal point in!

It didn’t like that, and started cursing and trying to hit me. I remembered Alyssa Milano. The hypercube? (Ambrose Burnside?) I smelled an AK-47. Then the thought: “The man who talked way too much was killed. He was dead. Dead, and wrapped in a purple blanket of some sort.” I wrote that on April 4.

April 4, 1999. Ah, now that was a day! A brown (or red) fox had spoken to me that day, warning me never to talk to floating pis, or trap them in Afghan prisons. I forgot to write that that day, and forgot to contemplate it until today. Now I knew I was wrong, as this pissed pi came at me with a razor and a canteen!

I almost died.