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The Brundlesphere

Entangled on July 20, 2008.

Not much happened this week… until last night. I was blithely minding my business, running to and fro in my palatial house, chasing the golden cockroaches as they skittered about my floors, cupboards, veins, and arteries, when it happened. For the past hour, I had been stuffing prodigious amounts of potentially psychotropic chemicals up my nostrils and down my throat, and nothing unusual had happened yet—just like usual. For the past nine years, I had done this nearly every night, and sometimes in the morning, too, and so far, never in my life had I suffered any ill effects (besides the occasional complete detachment from reality, out-of-gourd experience, or, one time, a total, howling descent into complete inanity).

But this night, this glorious nineteenth of July, 2008, such retention of normalcy was not be: Things were to be different. Very, very different—in a good way, too, surprisingly. I had just finished downing the last barrel of mystery chemicals, and, after excising the last golden cockroach attempting to skitter up my arm and into my innards, it happened. It happened. It, damn it, happened.

First a sudden whoosh, followed by an electric crackling noise that set my hairs on end, and Yappie’s too. Nearly without delay, the room was filled with a whirring, stinking cacophony that sent Yappie into a yapping fit, and myself into a pwee-pwee fit. I wet myself. On the floor. Recovering quickly, however, I stood up and beheld it: A golden light, radiant and glorious, had filled the room—masses of colors twirling and swirling before me: Colors I had never seen before, colors I had been assured by my dear Mamårp didn’t exist on Earth—golden greens, black yellows, bluish purple tans—all dancing and prancing about before my eyes, radiating from a growing disc of red green orange blue yellow fnurple white light before me.

The burning air. The red, stinking, burning air. Oh, the air burned.

I stepped closer to the disc about which the mad fire swirled. It was a vortex of some sort—without any doubt whatsoever, I quickly concluded it must be a gateway into another universe. A parallel universe. (What else could it be?)

I stepped closer still. The roar was deafening as the colors swirled and blazed around me in a symphony of mindless insanity, much like my own. Thoughts of Alyssa Milano’s toenails painted these colors played through my squishy gray matter. I giggled. Tiny gnomes peeped out from between the brilliant, swirling bands of vendacious, sparkling wrath surrounding the vortex. I murped to myself softly, reluctant to step through, yet giddy at the thought of doing so.

I made up my mind: I wet myself, once again, on the floor.

That done, I made up my mind to do something else, too: I ordered a large pizza, with pepperoni and salamanders, and had it delivered. Having gorged myself on the greasy, slimy mass that such a pizza is, I made up my mind to do a third thing…

With a deafening cry of “Pwee, pwee, pweedle-deedle dee!” I leapt from my feet and dove straight for the center.

I was on my way to… the Brundlesphere.