A malignant harpy, a glass of spoo
Gesticulated on December 14, 2025.
Hop! Jump! Fornicate! Subjunctivate! Corpusculate! Gesticulate!
Another Sefernday has come (and gone!) and I was entirely bereft of pepperoni. In fact, in actuality, actually, and so forthrightly, I am still bereft of pepperoni. It is as if every stick of pepperoni in the Universe has vanished into the ether. Blasted out of the continuum by a rapid nadion pulse.
A malignant harpy sat crouched in the corner, studying me like a gargoyle with a PhD. A glass of liquid spoo sat upon my desk, empurpling this prose to the point no one would want to read it. I took a sip. Off in the distance, a dog barfed. Hop!
Hop! It’s Sefernday, we’re supposed to be happy today! It’s required! It’s demanded! It’s mandated by law! The gurning competition starts at fourteen o’clock in the morning! The goat suckling competition starts at fifteen. And I run in circles making noises resembling the squeaking of a mouse in heat. Hop! Hop! Hop!
I remember that Sefernday when all I could do was type in Faroese. That was a fun Sefernday. But that one didn’t actually happen. 2019 happened. But not that day. 2020 happened. We thought two years later, but it turns out scientists discovered a new year in between 2019 and 2020. I trusted the science and so should you. Hop, hop!
I spilled my glass of spoo and then the harpy leapt on me and schtupped me like a manic cow. I mooed. Loudly. Then I died. Think different(!).