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The harooloos grew closer

Repositioned on July 17, 2011.

And even as that Fendippitous Eggman disgorged me onto a rough-hewn wooden floor, apple fritters continued frittering away their lives as the tommygoffs continued to circle overhead and the harooloos howled off in the distance. And thus today continued a thousand-year period of the same old crap that the last thousand-year period offered.

Time reeled.

The harooloos grew closer.

Supinely I had returned to the decrepit and rotting cabin in which entrails sat upright in human chairs and ate human foods using eldritch utensils and suppurthine bowls. The smell of damp wood and chyme filled my nostrils. I reeled with time and time reeled with me. Wobbily I regained my customary upright and bipedal posture and took in my surroundings.

It was the same as it was different—no, indeed it was even more similar to the scene I had witnessed last week than what I had actually witnessed last week. Yet it was totally different. In place of the skeletal dog dreaming of woobly ooblalla-labloolloos as it senesced quietly beneath the bowelous table, there was a gnaa-aa-aa-aa-aa and a dormthneed nargly wahoo wahoo through the wideawake dumpths of the fnargbarstle and harshbargery of cnordles, depthing away neatlessly and morosely corpothianing the snozzlewlech wahoo wahooly-dooles flittering through the tommygoffery brundling abovehead not s-s-s-seen since blithe Britney Spears cast her lithe and slenderful feet about my face for the umptieth time. Ytterbium bit me and I ytterbit back.

The last vestiges of “Till the World Ends” faded from my mind, and Britney’s feet faded from view along with it.

Suddenly a thought popped into my head: “But if he is so perspicacious, he doesn’t go back: I won’t risk the possibilities!” It echoed morosely.

The harooloos grew closer.

Suddenly focus came into focus again. I splined and snipped murpishly.

The harooloos grew closer.

Through a dirty window in the cabin’s south wall I briefly watched the tommygoffs swooning and grombling overhead. They flew upon wings that didn’t quite seem to belong to this æon and most certainly didn’t obey laws Newtonian or Einsteinian. They were hungry, and they were waiting. I turned back and looked at the scene surrounding the table. My stomach lurched and time lurched with it.

I was suddenly upon the infinite mirror-like plains once more, and south was no longer south. The dolorous cabin was a mere speck upon the horizon once more, its crumbling chimney slowly puffing smoke into the ashen skies above. The tommygoffs brundled slowly above. The howling of the harooloos grew ever louder and more insistent. Goosebumps and duckpimples accreted along my skin.

Time, heretofore my faithful doppelgänger, mirroring my every move, left me then.

But I was not alone.

Men appeared, men in indistinct black suits and blazoned about their collars with glittering neckties: Men of renown, renowned for their harooloo-hoormongery and fneedful echoing shatterings of time. Words proper and common renouned around me, and words of act and deed reverberated through my mind. Adverbial proverbs interjected themselves then, prepositioning me in an almost obscene manner. I reprepositioned Britney’s bare feet upon my midface but then they were gone into the ooblee-doongoongery boogloo of harooloos that misterized abreadth my every attempt to use my synapses for cognitive thought. I conjuncted my pronouns then: The only imperative I had left.

Time discontinued outright—for 46 whole seconds.

My wallet was missing and I was absolutely sure I had left it in the laundromat: A laundromat I had never visited, at least not in this life, nor in my previous one back in 1886.

Time swerved and ran backwards. I ate my tail and did it all over again. And again and again. And still the tommygoffs flew beneath the leaden sky and the gnomes danced their wild dances.

The harooloos grew closer.

And still I murped.

Oh, how I murped!