It hit me, came to me, struck me
Booted out on August 16, 2026.
Then it hit me like a ton of bricks: The little spingly-bongle in my name could only mean one thing: My ancestors had sqaure heads (and this sentence has a surfeit of colons in it).
It hit me like a long ton of bricks (an extremely long ton): The two-thousand, two-hundred pounds of cinder blocks I left piled on my roolf last night. I wasn’t sure why I hauled them all up there, but I did. Gravity had hauled them back down for me—in one fell swoop.
It came to me in the shower this morning: That silithicine creature, the one that lurks in the shadows, it oozed out of the drain and tried to strangle me. I stomped it back down into the nether pipes from which it came. Becasue came running, alerted by my owl-like screeching. She didn’t believe me when I told her what happened. She told me to go stomp a waffle. So I did.
Then I had a revelation while I was sitting on the can: This was a better place to deposit those waffles. I got up and flushed. I put my boots back on and then booted myself down the stairs (all nineteen flights of them) and then right out the front door. A man too uncivilized to use a loo doesn’t deserve to live in a house! But then I slunk back in.
Finally, I was driving to work this morning when it struck me: I don’t actually have a job.