hello. i am 4 years old so be nice. daddy says people that votedown this are in trouble. i am also a child prodigy.

e2 is a nice place so far.

anyway, i hear you like storeys. i will tell you one now. and i try won't to use nonsense words like flippy, bideedeedoo, and poopypants.

I ATE THE FOOD WITH MY MOUTH

part 1: mommy and me talking

the other day me and mommy were hanging out. i was coloring with my crayons and mommy was busy making lunch.

--mommy, i asked her. where is daddy?

--he's at work, she said. he's busy all the time. that's why he hasn't been around for 4 years. i probably wouldn't recon-nize him after the last time i saw him.

--do i have brothers and sisters? i asked her.

--well, there's kyle, she said.

--but that's only my half-brother.

--that's true. kyle has a different daddy. his daddy is from muncie.

--is that why i can beat him at arm-wrestling and he's 17 and i'm only 4 years old?

--yes.

i looked at mommy. --so, do i have any other half-brothers and sisters?

--yes, she said. but they're really old. your daddy hadn't visited our neighborhood for a long time before he came to visit me.

wow. at this point mommy was sad.

part 2: lunch

--lunch is ready, said mommy.

--oh boy.

she came out with a plate and turned off the cartoons.

--when i grow up, i'm going to rule the world, i said.

--that's true, she said. that's what the creepy old woman down the street with the 57 cats says.

i decided to play a game with mommy.

--where do i eat the food, with my ears?

--no, said mommy.

--do i eat it with my nose?

--no, said mommy. don't be silly.

--my armpit?

--don't be disgusting, said mommy. have some manners.

i know. with my mouth!

--very good, said mommy.

part 3: the end

and that's what i did with my day. mommy gave me candy when i threatened to make a big tantrum. anyway, maybe this belongs in daylogs, but this is like a storey. i like storeys. ok bye.

Maybe someone can explain this to me; why do women carry a handbag if they have a backpack on?

It baffles my mind. They have a large container on their back with multiple pockets and plenty more storage space than the little purse they are carrying. What do they have stashed in those purses that can’t be fit into a backpack…

I like to imagine that they’re sporting derringers or something. Some sort of secret cabal of female assassins ready to drop someone on a moments notice. Which means of course that their cell phone conversations are actually meaningful. Those high pitched voices with seemingly random volume swells are actually a secret code that relays information based on the frequency and sequence of the volume swells. They wear flip flops because they are martial arts masters and want to be able to go barefoot as fast as possible.

I have to believe these things…if I don’t I will be consumed by my own agitation. These people can’t be this banal. I know they have hobbies outside of flip-flops and cell phones. There has to be some reason that these people are so hell bent on being as boring and midline as humanly possible.

Amongst the masses there has to be someone else interesting, statistically speaking there should be plenty of them. It would seem however that I am unable to find them. I’m forced to be surrounded by enemy agents, desperately seeking my contact within the system. All of them looking at me funny. Talking on their cell phones and staring. Speaking incomprehensible things with their modulating high pitched squeaky voices. Knowing with each person they pass who is dressed like them that they are one more ally. I cannot find my contact, my man within the system. These people know I’m an outsider. One misstep and they’ll pull out whatever little terror they keep in their purses and take me down. Must blend must not draw attention. The forces of conformity are strong, but I know I’m not alone. But I have yet to locate an active cell within this new system. Isolation breed’s contempt, and I despise everyone around me. I fear that at this point in my anger I may pass over the cell I’m looking for. I must be careful, I must be aware.

Maybe I should just try to get more sleep.

Log in or registerto write something here or to contact authors.