A grasshopper and a tenderloin
Trilled on October 5, 2025.
I am dead.
“By the time you read this, I will be dead.” I’ve always wanted to say that. But I have been dead for weeks. So I guess I would never be able to. I snorted harrumphilly and went back to moldering away under the ground.
I wondered which level of Hell I was in. The one with all the demons that pluck your eyes out and eat them like olives? Or the one where the demons just point and laugh at you like you’re still twelve years old and just peed your pants in gym class?
Would Satan be gnawing on my corpse eventually? I have always wondered what that would be like.
I wondered why our legs are so long. Why are all our legs so long? Are we grasshoppers? Were we grasshoppers in a previous life? Are we destined to be grasshoppers in the next life? It’s all so perplexing.
I wondered how many daisies I was pushing up by now. Six? Seven? Eleventy nine-hundred and twosies? Were the carrion beetles gnawing away on my bones like Satan would gnaw upon my skull in due time?
I went back to moldering away some more. It was most peaceful.
A pork tenderloin looks like a dead Trill, I realized right then. And was James VI & I just a half dozen of another?
I am dead. The dead do not wonder. The dead do not realize. But we do molder away.
I went back to moldering away.