Endymion
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- Dec 20, 2005
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'Twas a silent eve. Nary but a mouse stirred in the empty hollows of Endymion's place. Battle was immenient. Fatigue, the dreary leech of literary combat between the text and the reader, stood nigh, ready to swoop in like a vulture who only knew easy prey. Knowing this well and defiant of immenient doom, our beloved protagonist wiped the single glow of his reading lamp from his shoulder and shouted:
"MY COMRADE IN ARMS! HASTE THEE BUTT OVER HERE, STAT!"
To which there was no reply.
"I PAID A DOLLAR TWENTY FOR YOUR GOOD FER NOTHING AWOL ARSE! GET OVER HERE!"
To which there was no reply.
A flash of brilliance lit our protagonist's face. "Eureka," realized he, "my comrade is not deaf and I've been yelling in ASL!"
This time, enunciating clearly between word and word, consonant and vowel, pitch and tone, he repeated:
"MY COMRADE IN ARMS! HASTE THEE BUTT OVER HERE, STAT!"
To which there was a reply.
The comrade, dressed in flamboyant yellow suited only for a jester, came a marching in like the dependable infantryman he was. He bowed his head slightly and said, "Dear comrade, I am aware of treacherous journey ahead of us. Let us proceed and delay no further!" Like two loyal friends who face the end together side-by-side, our protagonist and his yellow comrade marched on to the battlefield.
WOOOSH! The battle was on! Never heretofore had there been so vicious combat! WOOSH! CRINKLE! FLIP! CRINKLE! WOOSH! Words of Mass Destruction exploded! Flagrant malapropism ran rampant as a run-on sentence! The battleground ran with bloodied yellow nouns and verbs. Adjectives and adverbs. Present participles and Ms. Sixth Grade English Teacher's Posterior Cruciate Lingament.
War is not just a casualty, it produces casualties. An injured man without his spleen is no different from an injured noun without its article. This unfortunately proved to be true for our dear comrade. Not a minute had passed when he found himself mortally wounded by the oscillating motion of a stray contraction armed by one of Ms. Sixth Grade English Teacher's not-so-talented pupils.
Weakened to the brink of death, our comrade whispered, "It's been an honor serving you, friend. I shall always remember you as the finest man in arms I have ever served with. I regret that these nouns were far too much for me." Whereupon he passed into the great afterlife and straight to his nintey-seven virgin sheets of paper.
Our protagonist hero Endymion was distraught. Mired in the trauma of loss, he wept and wept. Then in fury, he shouted:
"NOT ANOTHER HIGHLIGHTER! I BUY A NEW ONE OF YOU EVERY WEEK!!!!"
------
So you guys have any advice? I keep running through highlighters that dry out and it's driving me nuts. Just another one of mine dried fifteen minutes ago when I was doing some research.
Help?
"MY COMRADE IN ARMS! HASTE THEE BUTT OVER HERE, STAT!"
To which there was no reply.
"I PAID A DOLLAR TWENTY FOR YOUR GOOD FER NOTHING AWOL ARSE! GET OVER HERE!"
To which there was no reply.
A flash of brilliance lit our protagonist's face. "Eureka," realized he, "my comrade is not deaf and I've been yelling in ASL!"
This time, enunciating clearly between word and word, consonant and vowel, pitch and tone, he repeated:
"MY COMRADE IN ARMS! HASTE THEE BUTT OVER HERE, STAT!"
To which there was a reply.
The comrade, dressed in flamboyant yellow suited only for a jester, came a marching in like the dependable infantryman he was. He bowed his head slightly and said, "Dear comrade, I am aware of treacherous journey ahead of us. Let us proceed and delay no further!" Like two loyal friends who face the end together side-by-side, our protagonist and his yellow comrade marched on to the battlefield.
WOOOSH! The battle was on! Never heretofore had there been so vicious combat! WOOSH! CRINKLE! FLIP! CRINKLE! WOOSH! Words of Mass Destruction exploded! Flagrant malapropism ran rampant as a run-on sentence! The battleground ran with bloodied yellow nouns and verbs. Adjectives and adverbs. Present participles and Ms. Sixth Grade English Teacher's Posterior Cruciate Lingament.
War is not just a casualty, it produces casualties. An injured man without his spleen is no different from an injured noun without its article. This unfortunately proved to be true for our dear comrade. Not a minute had passed when he found himself mortally wounded by the oscillating motion of a stray contraction armed by one of Ms. Sixth Grade English Teacher's not-so-talented pupils.
Weakened to the brink of death, our comrade whispered, "It's been an honor serving you, friend. I shall always remember you as the finest man in arms I have ever served with. I regret that these nouns were far too much for me." Whereupon he passed into the great afterlife and straight to his nintey-seven virgin sheets of paper.
Our protagonist hero Endymion was distraught. Mired in the trauma of loss, he wept and wept. Then in fury, he shouted:
"NOT ANOTHER HIGHLIGHTER! I BUY A NEW ONE OF YOU EVERY WEEK!!!!"
------
So you guys have any advice? I keep running through highlighters that dry out and it's driving me nuts. Just another one of mine dried fifteen minutes ago when I was doing some research.
Help?
