Music fuels us as we continue to conquer the battlefields of boredom and artistic freedom.
If it moves you, go with it. To waste that moment is a tragedy-The Pondo Army Movement
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...but straight up demonic looking. One walked ahead of the other and spoke with such a voice that can only be sung by Celine Deon. Despite the horrific and devilish appearance of the warthogs, they were truly a blessing in disguise, the exact opposite of the Greek Sirens. A second one came forth, this one with a saddle mounted on its back. PJ jumped on, as directed by the first warthog, and the were off riding across the grassy, gently rolling hills of the beautiful countryside. After a 45 minute journey they reached their destination. . .
...as he tried to talk he found himself uncontrollably wearing peach colored pantsuits and playing air guitar badly, he realized that only old boring people with bad taste in music could understand him. So he asked the magical beaver to bring him a pen and pad of paper...
...but the beaver couldn't understand him, having good taste in music and all. He tried to use sign language but the only thing that the beaver could make out was "VH1's top ten most non-metal moments of all time"...
...but all he could find was a rhombic dodecahedron, which made him a little sad. Then the earth began to shake, and a million chipmunks suddenly burst out of hundreds of holes in the ground that weren't there just a moment ago. Once they were all out of the holes, they surrounded PJ, sat up on their haunches and began to chant in unison:
Needless to say, he was caught a little off guard by the chant. As he walked over to what he thought was the head chipmunk, they all scurried off just as fast as they arrived. "Well, now what," PJ said to himself. The only thing he could do was pick up and head out, but which direction??
suddenly a deus ex machina fell out of the sky in the form of a giant tome of how to get through the plot. PJ hurriedly rushed past all the pages to the current dillema, but in doing so saw many directions to go in the past, present and future as this was a severely disorganized but quantum tome full of all possibilities. this became too much for PJ to think about, so M Night Shyamalan morphed into a bookworm working himself as a deus ex machina to solve the issue of having found an overwhelmingly illegible deus ex machina tome. M Night Shyamalan proceeded to explain to PJ all of the future plot twists in this timeline and that since PJ is a fatalist he cannot change such, which empowered PJ with the ability to join the cult of subgenius, who were secretly conspiring to slack in giving a flying quack about any of it and eat their pie, which tasted like
it tastes like chicken...no, that was too cliche. He tried to place the familiar and yet unusual taste and suddenly realized that it was white truffles from Perugia and black Beluga caviar. "my, the cult has expensive taste", he thought to himself.
suddenly, he remembered the butterfly, and immediately the butterfly swooped out of nowhere and tried the meal. "JEHOVAH'S SANDWICHES, PJ! YOU HAVE TO GET OUT OF HERE!" exclaimed the butterfly, who then proceeded to point out that if PJ were not to leave the cult of subgenius that he would surely end the story due to slacking in finishing it. the butterfly gave PJ another sack of corn, but this time when he ate the corn...
For these were not ordinary flashes of multicolored light that leaks out of pores, these were supernaturally-charged flashes of multicolored light that give those hit by their grand nature superpowers, depending on the color. PJ lost interest in the effects of the various colors on the surrounding cultists of subgenius after the first red ray turned Bob Dobbs into a very adamant street preacher with the ability to procure change from anyone, as PJ needed soda machine money. So he followed Bob Dobbs, who struck fear into the hearts of many for their money with relentless Jonathon Edwards sermons. This really didn't do PJ any good, though, because he was a terrible page and wasn't paid for his services, so he...
Last Edit: Jun 17, 2010 19:25:35 GMT -5 by Guest - Back to Top
throught really hard....through the haze he recalled the opening lines of a Samuel Taylor Coleridge poem..."In Xanadu did Kubla Khan a stately pleasure dome decree". He then knew what he had to do. He HAD to somehow harness all the power from these multicolored lights to build a pleasure dome for all to enjoy. He reached in his pocket and...
pulled two colored markers he habitually kept there; one blue, the other green, both the same size and permanent. A small turtle shell, the carapace or top, hung from PJ's neck on a long, looped leather strand. The shell had become bleached, with the natural markings faded like weathered Aztec stone reliefs. Carefully coloring the concave surface of the carapace, PJ mapped a design for the pleasure dome. Using blue and green markers, thin, colored lines played and entangled with one another on an opalescent background underneath the turtle shell.
"Wait, what the hell is opalescent and where is Google when you're trapped in a pocket dimension of mythical creatures?" wondered PJ just as a wise and multitalented hawk came down from the skies to admire his carapace work.
"jy dit doen verkeerd" interjected the hawk, but unfortunately, neither of them spoke Afrikaans.
Fortunately, another deus ex machina was soon provided for them by the not yet mentioned super powers of the light previously leaked from PJ's pores, so without disrupting the plot a cultist of subgenius who had been hit by blue light and granted the power to translate came by to tell the hawk that he was doing it wrong, and that he may have meant to say "jy doen dit verkeerd", which roughly translates to "you're doing it wrong" in English. This brought much pleasure to the hawk, because now the hawk knew what in the devil he was talking about, and so he flew away. However, this left PJ wondering why everyone is a critic. And so..
he watched the hawk fly west, the silhouette slowly growing smaller and darker. At a point the raptor's wings resembled the hands of an old mechanical wrist watch. The wings/hands of the watch were level and steady. One pointed left, the other right, 180º from one another. Time was frozen and disappearing.
PJ felt some urgency to decipher the time indicated by the receding silhouette. He strained his memory to remember the time when time was pointed out by rotating hands sweeping slow arcs across small white disks laid upon by Roman numerals... The hawk's shadow was shrinking to the point where distinguishing one wing from the other was difficult. "I'm losing time," PJ said to himself. Then a memory resurfaced, and two sets of numbers rose from his confusion, "3:45" and "9:15" he whispered. But, by this time the hawk was no longer discernible against the vast expanse of sky.
PJ looked at the digital watch on his wrist. The watch was broken, but blinked the same set of digits, never changing, never advancing. "Blinking 4:20," PJ said with some exasperation, rolling both of his eyes in full 360º arcs. He quickly blinked a couple times, then held his eyes shut using some effort to keep them closed.
with the closing of his eyes fatigue soon overtook PJ and he fell asleep. He began to dream...at first the dream was a montage of all the mythical creatures he had encountered over the past (few days? several hours?)...but then the dream turned into a sensation of him falling past all the mythical creatures staring at him. However, it was not a frightening fall, but rather a gentle downward slide. A few moments into his descent PJ awoke with a start to realize that this was no dream but that he was actually falling. Suddenly he landed on a pile of feather pillows in a room that appeared familiar. He had seen this room before, in some other place and time.
He was greeted by the raspy voice of a giant caterpillar lounging in a tree outside a door that he saw. The caterpillar was smoking from the most elaborate hookah PJ had ever seen. He was blowing these incredible smoke rings and PJ suddenly wanted to crawl inside one of the smoke rings and fly away.
He reached for the closest smoke ring, which was rising slowly and almost out of reach. Not able to grasp the ring, the tip of his middle finger could just barely touch it. The ring began to vibrate; a low, metallic pure note, more a hum than a chime.
Having been tapped, the ring gently tipped and tapped another ring. The column of smoke rings all began tipping and ringing against each other. The deepest, richest pure tones PJ had ever heard were harmonizing as the vibrations ascended up the column, coaxing more smoke rings to tip and join in the song. The caterpillar chuckled, coughed, then whispered under smokey breath, "This is the most beautiful corn I've ever heard."