I just took a typing test online, and apparently I can type really fast. The first time I took the test I scored 77 wpm, (that’s words per minute, y’all), and the second time, I scored 85 words per minute.
But what good is that mad typing speed if I can’t come up with enough words to write down? Is my head moving at 80 words per minute as well? Let’s find out!
I’m not going to stop writing this blog post until I’m done, or rather, until I run out of things to talk about, which might happen soon, seeing as how I’m stretching this sentence out as long as I can so that I have more time to think about something else I can post, oh, look, a squirrel!
Squirrels are crazy. The way their tails shake when they bark. Like they’re sneezing, and the sneeze vibrations make it all the way back to their tail. I’m glad I don’t sneeze like that, or I would probably end up farting a lot.
Are you bored with squirrels yet? Because I am. Moving on!
Next topic, let’s see…Frosted Shredded Wheat! Why, you ask? Because it’s right in front of me.
It’s Kellogg’s Frosted Mini Wheats, and the box is covered with little frosted mini wheats with arms and legs and faces. Come on, Kellogg, how do you expect me to eat anything that I can empathize with? Damn you…
One of the frosted mini wheats is apparently a farmer. He’s wearing overalls and a hat, holding a shovel and…hold on. Am I seeing this? He’s chewing a strand of wheat. WHAT? Are frosted mini wheats cannibalistic? Is that why he has a shovel…because he just buried the victim of his cannibalistic rage? And now he’s just sitting there nonchalantly gnawing on a strip of frosted mini wheat flesh right in front of us? Hannibal Lecter meets breakfast cereal.
Of course, it’s possible that he’s eating part of himself. That would make him a narcibal. A narcibal, in case you aren’t me or that other person who was there that one time we made up that word, is a narcissistic cannibal, one who eats himself. As I recall, the context was a pumpkin carving contest. While other people were blithely carving cheerful polygonal faces into their gourdy friends, me and my fellow carver were scooping out the innards and hanging them outside of the narcibal pumpkin’s mouth. You had to be there. Even if you had been there, you still would have thought it was weird. I thought it was weird, and it was my idea. Props to fellow blogger Hannah for being just odd enough to go along with it.
I remember she used to keep records of all the strange and out-of-context quotes she overheard from people. I wish I’d done the same, for I have been part of some strange conversations. Conversations that include sentences like,
“The Passion of the Christ…it’s like Rocky…but with Jesus.”
“Can you have just one herpe?” “No, you can’t have just one. They’re like Pringles.”
“No, I’m not listening to you. The last time I took your advice, I turned into a woman.”
And don’t even get me started on placenta restaurants.
Eh, 500 words. That’s good enough. Enjoy this stream-of-consciousness nightmare.