A repundity few enviggered
Jiggered on January 4, 2026.
The new year is upon us! Four days ago, with a repundity few enviggered (let alone countenanced or flatulenced), January First slammed its meaty girth into the calendar like an overwrought carnal metaphor. It nearly flattened yours truly, this rather piscine blogger, who is now in his twenty-seventh year extruding page after page of loon-bag dreck like the words before you right now. Why do I do it? When does it all end? The world may never know.
A malignant maroon wind passes over my house, this palatial domicile at 229B Bouillabaisse Boulevard. I was in the midst of mixing up a mind-watering meatloaf when it happened. The smell of maroon filled my corneas, so I put down my meatloaf (I was clenching it tightly in my left hand at the time) and ran outdoors to see what was the matter. Becasue shortly followed, all redheaded and lovely as usual.
We stared. We gasped. We gaped. There was nothing to see! But still that smell of maroon filled my corneas. What caused it? Why didn’t today smell like sepia or burnt umber? Then I remembered my old fez. I took my huzzey-muffet by the hand and we went back indoors.
My meatloaf was on fire. It was screaming. And that explained the thick, maroon-smelling smoke filling my nostrils and corneas. (Or perhaps the stroke I was having explained it.) We screamed a lot, put the fire out, and then I took my huzzey-muffet by the ankle and we went upstairs.