I went for a fleeting glance today and what did I find? A little red box and on it, said hay. This red box was remarkable by every means and yet somehow unremarkable by my own and it had no seam upon it which I took to be odd at first but then gradually accepted, as though it were some collegiate fact to be memorised and taken down and ripped apart and flourished at the streets. Yet somehow...somehow...
Somehow the box was opened, merely by its thoughts, and when I saw it, I said hay.
When it heard my nondialogue, it replied back in the words of its ancestor and the pineapple that lay inside it said unto me, "Welp, this is over now. Where to next?"
Suddenly, though, the pineapple was a coconut and inside this coconut was a small young man named Phil but this was not a man, but a woman who looked like a man. Phil the Wo-man said to me, "Hello. My name is Henry."
Then strawberries fell from the sky! As we all know, the pastpresentfuture is strangely devoid of strawberries. Theories abound! Castles o'er there? The bird went Falcon! And then went away.
The pineapple return! It hovered o'er Ear and said to it, "Pick your corn, for it is ripedone!"
A slight man called Martha Stewart then went out to the field to pick a peck of pickled posies with a woman called Peter Pan.
"Panic!" said the man. "At the disco! Panic!"