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Day 21: Things furled and unfurled are unfurled and furled respectively

futureccapeMeanwihle, inside the Pale Frown of the Universe…

“I think Obama’s honey-moon is over.”

The firmament arched like a vast emptiness like the emptiness between Matrimonions, the married onions that act as surrogate married couples for people in love who dont’ want to ruin that good feeling. My plan wasn’t working. banality might be insufficient, like a clown with an egg. Yet I couldn’t think of anything else to do.

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Day 20: Conundrifried Rice

futureccapeMeanwhile, back at the hospital.

Deprived of my descendant and his torpidscraller, I am resorting to the old means of storing information. I held in my hand several 8 inch floppy disks which I magnetized variously to retain what words I could think of to describe my situation, or sitch, as I called it. You could basically do that to any word. Or, you cou bas d th t an wo. This is the method used by the Chadfolk in their Fratlands.

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Day 19: Ernest Trabone

futureccapeAs i lay contemplating my ingestion at the hands of Ye Lad of Fort Frown, Pallid Lamb of Frown Pasture, I realized that I was alone. The lad handers of my recent sand handing salmon hand, sand in hand astride we strode, by the sea, he and I, that lake of common blindungsroman we swam, swam handing our salmondary hand lands. He was gone. Tyra Banks was gone. These bland hands now were blaming my glands for handling themselves so poorly. By passing out, or phase-grazing on the green grass of frowning space faces, my heart was sliced by those garden variety blades.

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Day 18: Nonsense, danger, and a cliffhanger

futureccapePresumed innocent, I awoke in a living man’s body within the pale white chamber of medical absorption. How long had i been in my dormant state? Reason slowly tickled back into my grinning brain, giddily obliterating all mirthful musing on the nature and function of my predicament. Was it the type of predicament that would lead to fruitful self examination, providing me with the sorts of rhymes that could make me an interstellar cat-lander? Or was it the type of predicament that would ultimately serve only to give me grain, bushel upon bushel of fat yellow grain, glutinous and lovely!

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Day 17: Shame based face haste

futureccapeMy companion asked his suit to cloak itself, so that only the inner man would be visible. Grumbling it complied, with a sense of dismal mood at the realization that this meant that its new ruby bracelet would not be observed and appreciated by anyone in this era. It had calculated, it claimed, that it was inevitable that it eventually receive a beautiful ruby bracelet, and ultimately, a matching necklace and two lovely earrings, and perhaps a tiara. Naturally, it brought them into being immediately, along with a mink stall. All of those things were invisible now, and my companion stood proudly, for the first time, visible to me. His skin was green, with a three white striped pattern running down the outer surface of his arms and legs, and with a crest emblazoned on his pectoral muscle of three pointed shapes, underscored with the word “ADIDAS”. Several metal circles on the legs also caught my attention. “What are those?”

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Day 16: Hopeless in Serulean

(meanwhile, across town)

futureccapeThe ZZZZOERP took us totally by surprise, and while its significance was not known to us yet, it’s significance wake washed over us with such force that we were momentarily caught in a meaningfulness eddy. Currents of import authoritatively washed great consequence riiples over us. My ally in our temporal-sojourn remarked that his suit was registering a non-triviality factor of over 50 Brubecks, a unit named for Dave Brubeck, the gold standard in significance, even 90 million years after his being eaten by Jacky Chang, noted action comedy star from Changland.

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Day 15: back on track, back to the past

futureccapeIn my hands i held a torpidscraller, and read back to myself the first 14 entries made into its sheer obsidian exterior. miniscule variations in the refractive index of the glass encoded vast sums of synaptic data, and the means of playing it back was to place the device under your chin, hold it by tilting your head down, and then holding your hands as far out to the side as they could go. Admittedly, the inventor fo the torpidscraller, Faxigorias Maxigorium, was an annoying douche. He gook the secret of the torpidscraller’s synaptic recorder to his grave, and attempts at reverse engineering resulted in more than one scientist sitting on pears: a most heinous fate. Of course, in our time, pears are 9 feet high and their fangs are twice as long as in your day. Or wait, did you have the fangs in your pears yet?

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Day 14: Exerpt from Day 75

Sent back in time to provide a preview of the adventures yet to come, I began assuming that this would be part of what was going to happen.
There, before us, stood Michael Hitler, also known as Double-Hitler, and in some drought-ridden worlds where vowels are fruit, dbl=htlr. (on those worlds, typically, hyphens undergo mitosis while being typed, causing them to appear like equals signs). He threw his head back and laughed, in a haw haw haw style, not unlike that of his namesake, Mister Hitler, of the 1930s and 40s. Hesitating no longer, we both creaked our bland whips at him, but could make no mark on his pallid Austrian face. It seemed he was a mere projection, with no substance, like an Ayn Rand novel, or a surfer.

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Day 13: The mystery sound


What was that sound?
to be continued…

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Day 12: A new direction

futureccapeIt was at this time, not knowing it myself but nonetheless extant, that beknownst only to itself, a shimmering helix of glittering light arced across the night sky over, what i was later to learn, was called Toronto. It had come, not unlike we, by an accident. And also, not unlike we, had escaped the clutches of a future ruler of the planet, a vast hawk man of the age of the hawkmen. It is always in such strange and small coincidences that events tend to deploy magnification distortions, tending to create the illusion that the mere facts shared by two things, across the vast and infinite channels of space and time, are somehow not only UNLIKELY, but SIGNIFICANT. Suffice it to say, it is both inevitable and insignificant that, at 5:35 PM EST, Sept 20, 2009, in Toronto Ontario, two time travellers, having recently escaped the clutches of a hawk man, glistened into existence over the dominion towers, and careened a trajectory towards old city hall, colliding with the clock tower and bringing the great face of the old timepiece to the earth, while its hands marked the time of its death. 5:35 PM, EST.

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