I wish I was a Turnip, not a Mackerel.

Welcome to the twilight zone. These are the depths of my mind. As you enter you may find things so complex you can not understand, let alone comprehend them. This is my world. This is my language. Welcome…

Hi There! Please pardon the bats and olive trees; I was in the middle of deep thought. Which one you ask? I was considering whether an individual lemming could power a AA battery. Why is this useful? It isn’t, what do you expect?
The siesta has ended, the mariachi band has departed, the clowns have piled back into their cars, and the mime sits crying on the street corner. I look up and see the bowl of Doritos hovering above in the night sky. Everything is calm. The dirt clings to the smashed ice sculpture like toothpicks on a daisy. Why is reality pickled? The clouds enjoy walking about at this time of day. My shoes seem to have melted to the pavement, no never mind. The pavement melted on to my shoes, or is that ice cream. If only I didn’t leave the canoe on the toilet.
Well you can’t really expect much it was a yard sale, and one on the 16th story of my apartment building at that. I’ve been living here for years though; people should know me by now. I’ve even been trying to eat printer cartridges for a living. I really should be getting off the phone now, but I love the buzz you get after the dial-tone gives out. Have you ever really grown on a canyon wall before? I thought so. Anyways, yesterday a sushi bar came flying through my bed room window. I almost got stabbed with one of the chef’s rice paddles, but I blocked it with my soup ladle at the last second causing a shrimp to start running around in little circles screaming, “Where did I leave my sunglasses”, in an annoyingly high-pitched voice. I just bowed and ate piece of sashimi. That was the end of my story.
But it isn’t any more. We all live in a yellow submarine. It’s very crowded in there, and there is only one bathroom between the seventy of us. We have been stuck at the bottom of the sea-floor for 10 seconds over the past three years, but that’s the exact same story. I don’t remember the flavor of clam juice. I’ve eaten barnacles in Portugal, and gone surfing on Alpha Centauri. I’m a poodle-tamer, and a ninja. These are the kinds of things you have to go through to be an accountant in New Delhi. Can you taste the visions of the little pine-tree-shaped air fresheners? They can’t fly. Neither can asparagus.
I have lived long and short as the prophet of the temple of Avocado, New Mexico, and I intend to quit tomorrow at the setting of the sun. The Navajo eat cheeseburgers, what has America done? 90 years ago from this day tomorrow it will rain time. Hours will strike buildings like bathtubs in an avalanche. Minutes will come flooding into basements like dachshunds in a German U-boat. If we are to be given any mercy by the divine we must sacrifice ten heads of lettuce to the chewing gum wrappers on the strike of the 27th hour. Why do the drums beat so fast? I’ve heard stories about rutabagas. Now for some light jazz.

Written By: MithrilBalrog
Edited By: Monk Basher
Coded By: Gamestar