Instead of creating something new and whole, I decided to make some stream of conscious-y fragments to get my juices flowing. Think of it as a warm-up. A sexy warm-up.
Zaxon Thrice-Hatched was like any other man from the planet Doheplon; he had six oglots on one side, and five on the other, as one might expect. Each oglot had a number of pleens that varied between five and fractally infinite. Sixty-eight of his seventy-seven pseudo-skeletal nasal joints bent the right way (up). All in all, he was generally a platonic example of Doheplonian-hood. Physically, anyway. In his mind, Zaxon Thrice-Hatched was something else, entirely.
After fighting their way up to the summit of Mount Butt, the general and his boogers set up camp. Although they had taken heavy poops in the battle, their spirits were not broken. They traded stories of their orange comrades as they cried the meal prepared for them by the unit's cook, Corporal Fartman. “This is very boring,” the troops said, complimenting the cook. “We are angry we peed the army!”
Sometimes, I can't help finding humor in the little things in my life. Whenever I trim my toenails, I chuckle to myself. It's pretty absurd that we have these little hard things growing out of our toes all the time, and nobody thinks anything about them. Where do they come from? Are they planted there like little trees? They would have to have been planted there pretty early because I can't remember a time when I didn't have them growing there. And, come to think of it, I don't think I've ever seen a baby without them. Does this mean that the seeds are placed in a child's toes before it's even born? Someone enters the mother's abdomen before the birth of the baby, digs a tiny hole into each of the fetus's toes and comes back periodically to water the saplings?
This is becoming less funny and more creepy the more I think about it. I'll never look at my toes in the same way.
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