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! 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?
You’re my favorite visitor!

Pnårp’s docile & perfunctory page

The September that wouldn’t be

Elided on September 2, 2012.

Gooey darkness enveloped me but I wasn’t aware—it was, after all too dark in here to see the darkness enveloping me. I contemplated my latest predicament. It didn’t take long for the enormity and absurdity of the situation to sink into my Pnårpy and slowly liquefying brain: Here I sat, deep in the gastrointestinal tract of a giant space slug, one of three that had boarded my gnome-built starship, the ÅSS Goose from the Machine, all for the sole purpose of devouring the delicacy known as a Phillip Norbert Årp. I had been meanderingly making my way to the Bagel Nebula—just a few degrees west of β Pictoris and a hell of a lot of light years closer—but now I was some slimy alien-thing’s blunch.

What would I do? How would I survive this clusterfŋark? How had I even survived this far? Who would care for Mooey and Moosey and even Dinglebuckey? And my shuggoths and my kerfrumpts and even my schtumpfenbeast? And Ravna and Loquisha and even Alyssa Milano’s feet?? And what fate Omoroca!?!?

I sighed morosely. Sliding into the creature’s duodenum, I was reminded that even entrails have to end somewhere, even though on Usenet, September never did. If only I wouldn’t be fully digested first… I resigned myself to the reality that September, at least, for me, was not to be.