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To be a featureless white worm

Gouged out on March 12, 2023.


I again became a detritivore parasite: A featureless white worm.

Breakfast on Friday consisted of a pig in a blanket, a toad in the hole, and a goat in a duvet. The pig was palatable and the toad was tasty, but the goat turned out to be rather past its freshness date—positively spoiled. Vigorous emesis began within moments of the last bite; by midday I was sure I had yacked up my entire alimentary tract—with my spleen, lungs, and heart sure to follow. As I lay on the floor, head spinning and ears flapping, I realized that the only thing that prevented my rectum from complete prolapse was the sad fact that I had puked it up hours earlier. And more was sure to come, I knew. Indeed, by 7:17 p.m., not unlike the diarrheic dog vomit of days past, it was coming out both ends. I prayed to the Owl Gods to make it stop (or if they couldn’t, to gouge my jugular out with their sharp talons and put an end to my ejective misery). As always they ignored me, but a demon shaped like Satan’s nose hairs visited me in my delirium and told me I had only one choice: Detritivorous parasitism.

It made perfect sense to me, and so I became a detritivore parasite. My featureless, white, wormy self would become my main feature this weekend. I wormed my way around my palatial abode and all its rooms, armlessly and leglessly propelling myself forward. I wormed my way out the front door, squirming and mivulating my way down the sidewalk. My neighbors were shocked at my new appearance; other passers-by were simply appalled. But none said anything, for they all knew better than to talk to a featureless white worm.

Last week’s unending snow had mostly melted away by the weekend. The city was hard at work removing all of the frozen corpses from the streets. No one had actually died from the 42′ of snow that fell last week, mind you. But the town’s large flock of feral geese was a total loss. Szczerbaczewicz & Smith’s butcher shop would have a special on goose for months.

“Muu-uu-uuu-uuuugh.” I reached the bus stop at the corner and waited, worm-like as always. Other people recoiled, but I didn’t mind: I was thoroughly uncoiled. When it arrived, I tried to worm my way onto the #9 Blunder Bus but the blunderbuss driver recognized me even in my devolved, vermiform state. He told me to go bait a fish hook.

“Muu-uu-uu-uugh… muu-u-u-u-u-uugh…!” I moaned in as larva-like a manner as I could muster, then slowly turned and squirmed my way back off his bus. I heard the other passengers breathing loud sighs of relief: The worm had turned. Indeed the worm had left. I mean, who wants to sit next to a six-foot-long maggot on a bus?

My six-foot-tall man–squirrel day were over, but my six-foot-long man–maggot days were just beginning.


I was again a detritivore parasite: A featureless white worm. Friday melted into Saturday. In my vermicular form I remained. The snow continued to melt, and now came the mud. But I was a featureless white worm, and worms like the mud, so I didn’t mind.

“Muu-uu-ugghh. Muuuggghhh…”

I was again a detritivore parasite: A featureless white worm. Saturday oozed into Sunday. In my vermicular form I remained. “Muhh-uhhh.”

Featureless white worms don’t have hands, which presented me with quite the dilemma: I couldn’t pick anything up. I couldn’t even pick my nose, but since featureless white worms don’t have any noses, this problem solved itself.

Featureless white worms don’t have feet (but Becasue does!), which presented me with quite the dilemma: I couldn’t walk anywhere, but I could squirm and writhe to and fro, which I did. Problem solved!

Featureless white worms don’t have eyes, which presented me with quite the dilemma: I couldn’t see anything, but since no one wants to look at a featureless white worm, why would I want to look at them? Problem solved!

Featureless white worms don’t have teeth, which presented me with quite the dilemma: Eating anything beyond featureless white paste would prove impossible. Fortunately my neighborhood was overflowing with featureless white paste—problem solved!—but then it all melted away, so the problem again reared its ugly (featureless, white) head. Problem not solved. Would I starve? Or just turn to munching the carpet instead?

“Muu-uu-ugghh. Muhh, mugghh, muu-uu-ugghh, muu-uu-uuggghhh…”

Dors Feline could boot me in the buttocks any day of the week. But Hoss Canine tried to poison me by feeding me horse dewormer, so I almost stopped being a featureless white worm on Saturday. But I was able to find a horse in time and save myself. A glossy, horsey horse she was indeed. I was a detritivore parasite and she was a horse (of course). She neighed and I made more larva-like noises with my mouthparts.

Tuesday marked two solid years of constant, nonstop babbling by yours truly—following several softer, squishier years where some believe I was housed in a padded cell and others believe I just turned into something soft and squishy myself—a featureless white worm.

Those soft and squishy thoughts also made me think back to September 1992, when I had developed an extreme case of gynecomastia. The doctor had given me some horse pills, which cured my gynecomastia, but left me with a permanent case of gynecoglutia. (This was not as useful as it sounds, trust me.) I wasn’t sure what I would do, having my own bubble butt—but I knew one day it would lead me to become a featureless white worm. That would be made into my goal in life.

Shortly after the snow melted, I went out to my back yard to see if the snow-tulpa had melted away with it. I looked high and low, left and right, up and down, to and fro, even smee and smoe. No gorgothine ice-horrors were in sight. I breathed a sigh of relief (out through my spiracles, since featureless white worms don’t have lungs).

And I did indeed find a caveman buried under the back yard! So I dug him up. But in the process I had confused the Lorentz equation, Lorentz factor, and Lorentz transformation, so I remained a featureless—and therefore limbless—white worm. I wormed away from the frozen caveman slowly, emitting more larva-like noises in a desperate attempt to prevent the very, very hungry caveman from taking a club to my skull. “Muu-u-uu-uugghh… mu-u-uu-ugghh… muuuu-uuugghh…!”

As an aside, I broke my longstanding rule today of eating only one bagel a day. I ate two—just to show the bagel overlords who’s really in control of Pnårp’s life (me, not them). Tomorrow I’d eat three.

I knew I’d pay for those additional bagels—certainly those bagel overlords (or Becasue) would boot me in the buttocks. Only time would tell how and when that would occur and how large and hobnaily those boots would be. I hoped this time it didn’t result in losing any more of my eyebrows or intestines.

But as a featureless white worm, I didn’t have any eyebrows. (Hah!) On the other hand, I did have a lot of intestines—I was, essentially, one long intestine. (Drat!) And lastly, I didn’t have any “other” hands—or a “one” hand for that matter—so none of this mattered. (Hah! I win this argument!)

The caveman grunted and my attention snapped back to the present. Fortunately, featureless white worms don’t have skulls, so the caveman was at a loss as to how to clobber me over the head with his club. (What head? Featureless white worms barely even have what could be nominated as a “head.”) He shrugged, grunted stereotypically again, and slunk back into his hole in the ground. I seem to have that effect on people, and cavemen are no different. Seizing my chance, I quickly reburied him and forgot the whole affair (as did the rest of the world). To this day, no one but I knows about that caveman buried behind 229B Bouillabaisse Boulevard.

Dors Feline has so much more than pretty feet, but since I am a featureless white worm, I don’t have any feet of my own anymore. So I can’t walk. I can’t run. But I can crawl. And crawl I did. Back indoors. Becasue tried not to stomp on me.

Back in ’92, those horse pills had sure deflated my man boobs. But the horse-shaped pills I was later required to take (for that subsequent case of bubble butt) got stuck in my craw and had to be dislodged with a drain snake. That’s a long, winding story which I’ll spare my readers—at least for one more week. “Muhh-uhh-uh-uh-uh-uh-uugggghhhh.”

As the Sun was setting, I took solace in the fact that I wasn’t only a voluminous ass this week. Not at all. “Muhhh.” I was again a detritivore parasite: A featureless white worm.