Friday September 18th 2015
Your writer of
pulp has achieved what might be called an F-This Moment.
It's a fairly regular, often repeating moment that
twirls around and can often result in an ennui that
leads a man to find solace in the company of his Compost
Piles. And the sad fact is that sometimes Compost Piles
just need to be left alone. You can only stick your
finger in them so often to check their temperature
otherwise it becomes an obsessive behavior that doesn't
look good on your permanent record.
The more useful
direction when confronted by an F-This Moment is to consider
the possibilities of using the moment as an
opportunity to so thoroughly explore pointlessness that you
come away with a construct so novel in it's solution that
even the angels toss a couple of A pluses in your direction.
And while on the subject of Compost Piles during the
seasonal adjustment and the general preparation for Giving
there is such an unholy thing as a Compost Pile
Thermometer. It's amazing what evil people will devise to
spoil the fun of others.