I’m slowly recovering from whatever it was I had — some sort of virus, I suppose, that triggered a general shutdown of major bodily and cognitive subsystems. Between that and a slip in the snow Thursday morning that caused fresh and debilitating damage to a recent orthopaedic injury, I have spent most of the past few days in a vegetative state. But now the generators are cautiously being brought back on line, the grid is beginning to hum, and the lights are slowly brightening again. Thank you all for your comments and emails.
I’m still a bit woozy, though, so for tonight, some “shameless filler”: a most extraordinary piece of email that appeared in my inbox earlier today. Here’s the text, in full:
blat
[link removed]
Good evening, Alphonse!
Thus the assurance in My note. Then feel the wrath of Satan! Suddenly Zane was choking. That is all. It had him now. Recall their mighty deeds! He could toss in a bomb.
Here is the place behind the ear. But with an accent. The stallion leaped into the sky. Jacob looked them all over to see. He was worried. There are your pension papers. After a while.
The air molecules were agitated into glowing. The Drusus was ready to spring. Tompetch had no idea what it was. Then it was all over. Atlan began again. Bink was last to go. Might as well start there. What can I do for you? Then Tompetch screamed in terror.
It is against anybody learning the truth. How are you going to do it? Bink gave it no chance to think. Fij-Gul felt relief. They were on Wanderer. He was terribly confused by it all. That’s the way I like it. Worse and worse! The landscape on the vidscreen sank past.
Below this haunting fragment was an image of an attractive couple straining to increase their tribe. The picture bore a hortatory caption:
Show your girlfriend what a real sex is!
ORDER CIALIS
I feel there must be some hermetic meaning, some occult semiotic payload, in this mysterious communiqué — but like poor Tompetch, I have no idea what it is.
But hey, that’s the way I like it. Worse and worse!
4 Comments
Found poetry.
Rest assured. Even if the Whois seemed inconclusive – I didn’t send it.
Still, if in the morning the full amp load ain’t peaking – I’d suggest going in for a white count.
Folks do say strange things in the grip of passion.
Jeffery Hodges
* * *
Yes, and this certainly is a strange one.
While Amor plucks his harp-strings, odd doings are afoot.