My mind still swirling, whirling, and twirling with thoughts of the future experiment that we were about to commit tomorrow, I hopped into the bus shaped vehicle in a buzzed rush. As excited as I was, I was also excited to go to sleep, because the sooner I went to sleep, the sooner tomorrow would come. After making sure my seatbelt was securely fascined, I curled up like a fetus and shut my eyes tight.
"Honk, shoe, honk, shoe," I said to myself, pretending to snore, as if that would cause me to fall asleep faster. Soon, I began to feel a warm, vibrating hum in the tender of my sophisticated black cardigan, and sleep hit me like a hunnid stacks of bricks. Soon after I began sleeping, I began dreaming. Dreaming of a better tomorrow. One without rules, one without societies, and definitely one without Paige Prep Premium.
A gruggy guy was staring at me from behind a few trash cans. I was inside of a deli, or something. As I took a sip of my coffee and read the newspaper, or as some people would call it, the noosepaper, a bunch of rowdy teenagers rode their bikes down the street and crashed into a fire hydrant, causing it to shoot its water so high into the air. They danced in a circle around their newfound fountain and laughed, before filling up plastic bottles with the water, drinking them, littering, and then biking off on their bikes. An angry, scrubby cop began chasing them, slowly, on foot, waving his baseball bat. The teens got onto pogo sticks and used them to hop the traffic on the drawbridge, which there was no synonym for, and eventually even the bridge itself as it began to draw, leaving the police stranded on the other side. Their high-speed hijinks done for the day, the teens high fived, and cooled off with some Chinese take out that they bought with money they had stolen from the deli. All in a days work for these rowdy scoundrels.
Though the winter was cold, my lights kept burning, all seven of them, in an hourglass formation. I was stumbling through a wet street, glistening in the street light as the night turned to dawn.. Not another soul was present, and it was truly a moment that reaffirmed my existence. I assumed the starfish position once again, hoisting a massive weight above my head, before putting it back down again. I began weeping. The inside of the large warehouse began fading into view. A bunch of spectators were sitting on seats. A man with a funny looking nose said something was garbage, and another man with funny looking hair was riding on a dinosaur. A fat man was swinging his axe like a bandit, cutting down both trees and tree stumps. A skinny man drummed his fingers on his knees, before using his secret weapon, and getting some food to go. A sensitive, nerdy boy had some trouble putting some glasses on, and started swinging back and forth. A boy who was actually a horse endured several atomic blows before the six beings collided, creating a massive tastesplosion that needed several aftershocks to be successfully resolved.
I pedaled on my little seated bicycle through the oceanic tunnel, my mind elsewhere, and my eyes eyeing the vast and diverse amounts of ocean life swimming above me. I put my hands to the sides of my face and shook them back and forth. My brain tried to think the situation through. What was I doing in this oceanic tunnel? Was I going to be all right? I had an epiphany. If my brain was going on brain lock, what did that mean for my walrus named Howard? Hiss me through the phone. I was skedaddling down the street, covered in the pale moonlight. Arf arf arf. I was a little thing, that didn't really look at all like what I was supposed to be, and I had this shell for some reason? I didn't know. I didn't know my mother, or my father, or anything about them! All I knew, all I had ever known, was my uncle and his bus-shaped vehicle! For all I knew, with what was going on inside my brain, which was currently in my body with a booty, which was currently in the bus-shaped vehicle. I was naught but a libertarian, and this was the magic school bus-shaped vehicle, and you're watching Disney channel. A total fish swam across the sea, singing the McDonald's, or should I say WcDonald's, theme song. An impossibly fast turtle paced through the air above my head. I was looking up and seeing rainbows and butterflies. I was an elegant little baller, a ballerina. I cam to a cavernous cavern, in a middle of the field. I knew that there was an Alaskan Bull Worm inside, but I just had to explore that cavern, no matter what. I shook, rattled, and rolled, flopping along on the ice like an Alaskan basketball, as I propelled myself to the end of the snowman's track. It was in there that I was to fall into the hazardous waters, from which after a certain number of time there can be no return. Thankfully, I was able to escape the hazardous waters before they became to hazardous to my health. I had to get to the top of the track somehow, but I had no idea how. It was time to use my secret superpower: thinking. I put my hand over my nose and mouth and immeejitly had a Jimmy Neutron brain blast moment. The knowledge flooded my brain at a greater rate of Megabits per second (aka mbps) than my brain could handle, causing it to go down. In short, I had been doxxed. And now, like wet-wet, I was about to get squatted. I opened up the doors of the jungle gym, as secret agents busted through the glass ceilings, like women, sliding downwards down their thick, frayed, knotty, weak-long ropes, their eyeglasses whirring and their blades spinning. I catapulted through the doors of the building, running away as fast as I could, but the secret agents began chasing me. I heard a soft ptui in the back of my mind, and then felt a soft prick in the back of my neck.
I could make the sun rise. I could make the sun rise. I could make the sun fall. I could make the sun fall. Who could make the sun rise? Who could make the sun rise? The candy man can. The candy man can. I was a flying leopard, a blooming boomer. Everything I said, did, and everything I did, went. The angle of the white rhinocerous was too obtuse to be used in an isosceles triangle. I wanted to test my thermometer. The rain was raging outside. A tiny man in pink scuba shorts appeared in front of the window. He walked towards the door and opened the door, making his way towards me. I ran. The tiny man began running faster. We were both running. I was running, and he was running. In that sense… it was almost as if we were running together. I growled, like a growler.
"Rar! I'm going to eat you!" snarled the tiny man, holding his hands above his head and baring his teeth like a rabid chihuahua. I wanted to get away from him so badly. I ran, and ran, and ran, but my muscles turned to mush. My legs were on fire and my lungs burned like lead. In my little beantainer, which was the name I had devised for the container in which I stored my beans, was an elongated muskrat. In short, I was radioactive, radioactive. The canine knife shedded his spotty tears as I worked like a stranded dalmatian. I was a wrench in the sauce. It was an accident! I promise! I promise! I promise! I promise! I promise! I was a little sooty spit of asphalt, drifting through the city streets, my grimy grey cap pushing my dirty hair forward. I hunched my back, shrugged my shoulders, shoved my hands in my pockets, and kicked my legs rhythmically like a character from Peanuts, complete with the occasional Juan hundred and eighty degree rotation. A girl, dressed as a boy, dressed as a cat, began doing a strange dance. They held up their hands like they were cat paws, or raptor claws, hunched their back, got up on their tip-toes, bent their knees, and began stepping up and down rhythmically, while also making Juan hundred and eighty degree rotations to the beat of the music as well. This being's four brothers, three of whomst were mentioned in this particular song, began doing that dance as well. Soon, all of the children in the community in which this family lived began doing that dance. Soon, even the adults, even the most sullen, mysterious, and emotionless of them, began doing that dance. Soon, everyone in North America began doing that dance. Soon, everyone in the world began doing that dance, including people in Europe, Africa, South America, Australia, and Asia. This then expanded into space, where a legendary judge was shown doing the dance. luded the Japanese "creators" I was eating a hot pocket in the shower. I was taking a shower, in the shower. I was a little monkey, climbing up the tower. See my little monkey, little monkey power. It was the eleventh hour. I needed more power. I was a coward, but I didn't cower. My favorite album by Olivia Rodrigo was Sour. It was the eighteenth hour. I wanted to get twenty, my little hennies. I was getting busy, the eighteen fifties. When I bork, I bork, it's true. But when I bork, my hort, it borks, it only borks for you. You could repair my hort, and then split it bork in two. But when it borks, it only borks for you.
I stopped trying to rap and snapped forward in my rolly chair, as if I had just been awakened from falling asleep in class. However, when I looked around, I found myself in more of an office-like setting, surrounded in a room of fluorescent lights and people in similar rolly chairs around an elliptical table. I can show you the world. Shining, shimmering, splendid.
"Sho glad of yew to gioin ush, Gior-bah," spoke a meticulous voice. This voice was coming from a tall, slender, poorly patched together man, his feeble hands locked around his ratty, misogynistic beard. His face, like that of the other people I had simply dreamed up, was a public static abstract blank.
"Y-yes," I stuttered, adjusting my posture sheepishly, like a sheep. "Uh, what are we learning about again?"
"Yew dishappoint me, Gior-bah. We are re-enacting fictional historical events, right after we learn about them."
"Okay," I said, though I wasn't sure what he meant. An elephant's faithful, one hundred percent. I didn't have enough Casey with Carrot to pay rent. My mom still lived in a tent. Wait a minute, did I even have a mom? As this thought crossed my feeble, broken mind, I began to try and remember. Unfortunately, I had already forgotten what I was trying to remember. Oh well, I just let my mind drift through the consciousness. If anyone cared enough they would -
"Gior-bah. Are yew going tew collect yer tacksh?" The poorly-patched-together man raised one of his hands in an imitation of the pose Julia makes when she looks like she is putting on heavy-duty rubber glove. "Or am I going tew have tew eckshecute yew?"
I gulped and swallowed. Right. Snap back to reality. "What tax?" I asked, sheepishly again, though to be honest, at this point I was more than just a sheep, I was the whole flock.
"The chocolate covered pretschel tacksh."
"Chocolate-o covered-o pretzel-o tax-o?" I asked back. Since this was a dream, I didn't have to worry about adding 'O's to the end of my words.
"Yesh. Yew shee, proteshtsh from chocolate covered pretschel makersh have caushed a shortage of chocolate covered pretschels eascht of the Appalachian Mountains."
I had no carping idea what this dude was talking about. "What?"
"In order to shimulate the shortage of chocolate covered pretschels, we are having yew collect them from everyone in the room ash a tacksh."
"What? Why?" I tried so hard to make sense of what was going on.
"Confishcate the pretschels, Gior-bah," The poorly-patched-together man's normally monotonous voice became slightly harsher and emitted through gritted teeth. It was very clear that this being was at the end of his patience… if I said 'what' one more time, I might end up like someone who said that to Samuel L. Jackson… the poorly-patched-together man would probably skin me and use my skin to repair himself if he ever became damaged. Like a meek little rabbit being threatened with an airhorn, I scurried about the office-like classroom, collecting chocolate covered pretzels from everyone else as I went. I felt like a high-polymer eraser, and that my nose was bleeding, because I could smell the blood in my nose, but none was coming was out.
"Scooby-dooby-doo," I murmured, stumbling through the fresh screen of flesh like it was tortellini canvas and I was Squidward. I waved my arms round and round and nodded my head up and down, as if I were agreeing with somebody. I put my hands beneath my face cleverly, like a clever girl. I slapped my hands on the counter several times in a row, like I was playing the DK Bongos, and the being was pulling out his extensive knife collection against me. The ketchup and the syrup were flowing through my veins. I had canamarragh brainz. Everything was about 2 chainz. All of a sudden, Owen's disembodied head appeared in front of me, large and in charge, in the middle of the acid realm, like Rick and Morty. It made a level 2 face, so nothing I hadn't seen before, but still enough to make me make the noise that sounded like a combination of Hank Hill and Kermit the Frog.
"I'm a smelly moose," sang Owen's head. "Drinkin' baby juice."
I could only hold my hands over my mouth as I struggled to hold my breath as I floated through the zero gravity air and my legs flailed helplessly around me.
"I'm inside the goose," the head continued. "In the smelly moose. Drinkin' stinky juice."
As if he had just uttered the curse of the universe, the atmosphere exploded around us, sending me to the fourth dimension and putting my brain in a solar perplexus. I was a bone-white Lexus. The driver was so slow, the BK was from Texas.
The VHS tape began playing, trapped in a futuristic VHS tape player that would rewind it every time it got to the end, so it would replay over and over, like and animated GIF, or as a weeb would say, an anime-tid JIF. I stepped out of the room, closed my eyes halfway like Homer Simpson, or as some would call him, D'oh-mer Simpson, and put my hands up like Homer Simpson, and then swung them back and forth to the beat, dancing like Homer Simpson. In short, I was Homer Simpson. I chuckled a bit to myself at that thought before promptly passing out phace phirst on my property.
I woke up face down, in a puddle of drool, on the floor of some kind of factory in a cave. A large screen was in the front of the factory, with a large dancing man on the screen, playing a deep noise that echoed off the mighty stalagmites of the cave. Dear God, I was such an incel. The flashing lights and blaring music of the large man caused fireworks to go off, and I almost felt like I was at a concert. Jalapenos. The saber barracuda traveled downstream. It was a freshwater stream. Start playin' with the homies too, y'know. I was a real fan of the way he did that, though I wasn't quite sure who he was or what that was. I felt like God. I was God. I felt like a Tyrannosaurus Rex. I roared in fury and jumped into the air, trying to rip the moon out of the sky with my tiny arms. But in truth, I was only Jor-bah, the amnesiac, stamp-collecting wannabe dentist. I was "doublin'". I fell to my knees on the floor of the laboratory, where a nutty professor approached me. Putting his hand solemnly on a stack of books, as if to take an oath or a vow, the professor opened his mouth and spoke, like my son.
"Howdy there, little boy! Is your name Staniel, Daniel, or Nathaniel?"
YEEEEEEHAAAAAW! All of a sudden I flip turn kicked back into a skateboard. I clipped my thumbs and my forefingers together like a crab, pretending to be Mr. Krabs and scuttling back and forth like Mr. Krabs. I was in my little beantainer, which was the container in which I did things, such as in the manner of storing my beans. Man, I sure loved those beans, even though I wasn't even Australian. I was a beaniac, all right.
"I have brain damage! BRAIN DAMAGE!" I screamed, banging my head on the ground like a hammerhead shark. Swords were spinning around me as I floated back and forth like the Windows screensaver icon. I was an excavator, using my crane to dig out a bunch of rubble. I was walking about in my Crocs, my feet squelching through puddles in the rain. I was trudging through the sludge, in the swamp near the dam near my house. There were lots of dinosaurs everywhere, mostly stegosauruses and triceratopses, and also some pterodactyls, pteranodons, and quetzalcoatls in the sky. Although I would have liked to include something cool, like a Tyrannosaurus Rex, or maybe instead a Carcharodontosaurs, because I was supposed to be a dentist, but I wasn't allowed to add any meat-eating dinosaurs to the swamp, because it wouldn't be "good" to have some dinosaurs eat others. However, leaving these dinosaurs out of the swamp was also not "good" because then there would be an overpopulation of herbivores, and they would eat all of the food and starve. If I wanted to imagine a world, or anything in general, it would have to be not only completely realistic, but "perfect" in the sense that there was no suffering, otherwise I was not a very "good" person for imagining a world where others would have to suffer, even though they weren't even real dinosaurs, they were all just figments of my imagination, right? If they didn't really exist, then their feelings didn't exist either, so it wouldn't matter if they suffered. Would I be a cruel God for allowing my creations to suffer?