I’ve been lacking in inspiration for blog posts lately, so I think I’ll just type whatever and see what comes of it. Here I go:
Floppy fish flop floppily on the dock. A sea monster joins them. Its thrashing destroys a city. The people in the city run to escape, but a voodoo spell cast upon the city by an evil witch doctor resident curses them all, and they fall to the ground, flopping floppily like fish flopping. CANADIANS! CANADIAN BACON! Help is on the way! Help is on the way, but slowly because the fire trucks were replaced with flopping floppy fish. It smells of dying fish. Of dead fish. Or rotting fish carcasses. Curse you witch doctor, for you have cursed us. Our bones with lie about the land and crunch beneath your step and you will never forget the souls you destroyed.
Pointlessness and the Quest for Unreality 
10 Comments
Congrats. Very avant-garde.
I planted an avant-garden.
This sounds like what I have for my subconscious midnight snack. Rotting fish carcasses and crunchy bones. Mmm.
Don’t forget the CANADIAN BACON.
That’s silly. Canadian bacon is strictly for breakfast.
Or pizza places that don’t want to call it ham. Fresh pizza is not for breakfast.
Canadian bacon raises philosophical questions.
Like “Were there ever any Canadian Philosophers?” And “Were the Canadian Philosophers actually Philosophers or just a product name that would make us think that they’re something that they’re not?”
I think a a lot of philosophers are like that.
It is now striking to me that you did not question this previous statement which clearly has grammatical errors. You shouldn’t let people like me run loose in the world.