…
“It’s the boar to end all boars!” he shrieked, sweat beading on his furrowed brow, large pores like little gnome holes.
“I’m almost certain that you mean the war to end all wars.” Smooth.
“Oh, i see. No. I mean the baor to end all boars. It works with any word that rhymes with War.”
“yeah, but. Then you’re just doing a pun.
“Not in this case. The “or to end all ors” phenomenon is a well documented ocurance in the natural history of the universe. The Toast Men of Yummiwheat Prime, for instance, have a saying: the floor to end all floors. Their race is unusually ill adapted to finished surfaces. The Hurled Egg, last remnant of the Unhurled Egg empire, often calls people up at 3 am to tell them that he forgot divert clouds of ionized gas into the pellicular onyx recumbancy in the Dryas sector. Sigh, he sighs, the chore to end all chores. And then there are the Wigglers who live on the Tickle Planet of nice touches. They say, after the giggling hour, “that was the Zhorga to end all Zhrogas”. Of course, with their accent, Zhorga sounds like “door”. They don’t mean door though. Heaven help you if you ever learn what they mean. Heaven help you. THere are…” he drifted inward to some hidden place of memory, so deeply buried it comingled with instinct, and fears ageless and unnumbered. “There are,” he continued, “certain tickles that a man may never recover from. Certain, ” he licked his lips and swallowed tensly, his voice begining to crack, his mouth dry, “certain moist tickles.” He pressed his hands to the sides of his head, as though is head were a basketball and he had no idea how to play basketball. I guess he appeared to be in great pain, but the truth was, that I appeared to be really casual and cool at that moment, so to get flustered and react in a panic, man, that’s not the epitome of coolness. That’s the epitime of foolness. And I do mean “of”.
As i traipsed away from the screams of a man who, for all intents and purposes, was crushing his head between his hands in order to prevent certain moist memories from surfacing to consciousness. Funny thing, that, how we all have heads. I mean, in our own way. I walked out onto the Bloor to end all Bloors, heading my stylish way to Honest Ed’s, a garish mutlifloored labyrinth of discount items and free vital services for recent immigrants, wherein I meant to locate some mouthwash, and get a large upright fan. Frown life wasnt’ all bad; they had upright fans. Truly, this was the store to end all stores.
They just invented a computer that never runs out of batteries.
But you hate computers?
Yes, but this one keeps recharging, as long as you use it.
several weeks later he had it, and was using it all the time. I asked if he liked using computers now
he said “no, not really” and i asked “why are you still using it then?” and he said “to keep the battery charged. If i stop using it, the battery goes dead.”
“so what? you dont’ even enjoy using it.”
“I CAN’T use it if there’s no battery power.”
‘”But you DON’T LIKE USING IT”
“You just dont’ understand”
it’s a deadlymachine.. it kills you to use it, but, if you dont’ use it, the batteries wear out. Every so often the machine willl tell you that someone is thinking about you. that’s its sole benefit. Maybe it has no benefits, and people are just evolved to serve th eneeds of the machine, even when its self defeating.
no, they invent a gun that kills people UNLESS you shoot them.
My wishes go out to everyone.