Wednesday, June 03, 2009

A Flight Out, and a Night In

Heavens to Betsy, it’s arid in these parts! Speaking to my claims of silence implying consent, I would claim I was forced here against my will, but to be quite honest, I’ve had an itch—call it an itch to explore your fine nation—no MY fine nation—after all, I was crafted upon this fine soil. All in all, I must admit, things could only have been described thus far as mundane and poorly lit.

But look at me! In the sunlight! In an automobile! With Cacti! And flowers! For a drivetrain!

I am afraid that, even on this trip, I cannot properly allow myself to stoop to the level of the creation of crude ruminative analogies that seem so popular in these modern times. I merely maintain the sarcastic stamina unbecoming of all but a few of my contemporaries—let me here at least give some credit to my handler’s profoundly dry wit. Alas, I shall give it a go.. it was drier than a dragonfly’s… no, I just can’t. That would be as utterly unbearable as this ‘dry heat,‘ which my counterparts claimed was “preferable” to a humid day. I felt the moisture being lapped off my skin by the sun. I can only imagine the torture had the damned thing managed to stumble to life, sans conditioned air.

So from where do these current ‘on line’ transmissions—ha! please, do pardon the pun—find their origins? I can only oblige you to guess, visitors, but the obvious hint of the random, muttered references to ‘Republic’ and ‘secession,‘ whatever they may imply, cannot go unignored.

Nevertheless, fear not for my health. The nearby accommodations were quite agreeable and, in due notice, I was returned to a more appropriately humidified location with an adequate absence of such repugnant sunlight. In due course, I promptly returned to slumber.

Posted by Pooptoad on 06/03 at 05:46 PM
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