BLARPY PUNGLES: Vitriol XXII

The Blarpy Inversion

All of us in the grill area had started to look for the day when Blarpy Pungles would start to twist in upon itself, the day when the tiny music would stop and the evil rajah-sort-of-guy with the upside-down ears (how did those stay on?) got up off his breakfast and plunged his thumbs into the eye sockets of his nutating lackey. When I write "nutating," of course, I am referring to the lackey's habit of shaking his head back and forth, so that it nutated, like the Earth's moon - one of his ears (which were right-side up, unlike his master's) would be visible, and soon after, the other one.

That much was obvious, but I was drunk that day and, leaning, put the flat part of my left hand onto the griddle. This didn't work out so well, because everyone else got to watch Blarpy Pungles suck in on itself like a literary Klein bottle, and I missed most of it. That afternoon, I was still prizing bits of fried potato out of my palm with a rusty tweezer, every so often pausing to check my ears in the mirror. I can confidently tell you that there was not a very small flute playing somewhere, but the rest is foggy.

The time has come for us all to behave as moons. Pay no attention to those little guys with the funny hats hiding their funny ears landing on you.

... TO BE CONTINUED.