The purpose of this blog post is to cleanse my palate. Not the literal palate, but the one that pertains to the essence of my soul.

You see, I just spent a lot of time putting together my LinkedIn profile, and the effectual taste that that exercise has left in my mouth is not at all pleasant. It feels like stale corporatism with a dash of executive-wannabes pandering for a promotion.

So I figured the best possible way to rid myself of this wholly unpleasant sensation is to indulge a bit of absolute, unrestrained chaos.

Read on at your own peril. I’m not responsible for any brain damage that may result from exposure to this.

Jill the Lilymonger

Once upon a time, Jill the Lilymonger went for a stroll up the side of a cliff with nothing attached to her head but her yellow-purple hair and nothing attached to the rest of her but her seventies-themed outfit and 15th-century shoes.

She saw a llama spitting into the wind, which was going horizontally from the horizon and vertically from the verizon and leftwise from the frontwise back of reality, and really, it was just sent the llama spittle everywhere, to be honest.

And Jill found it tasted like juice from the back end of a rainbow. A deranged, hairy rainbow. With a bowel movement problem.

And that was the day she decided that walking up cliffsides was the worst possible thing one could do with one’s tongue, and that if one did decide to do such a thing, they should leave their tongue behind.

Jim the Wheelbarrowmonger

Jim the Wheelbarrowmonger didn’t like to eat his vegetables, which was fine by the vegetables, who didn’t really like him much either.

But his mother always told him to eat them, and so eat them he did, except during those times when he didn’t and caused the cancerous regions of the furthest reaches of the sofa to curl in on themselves, turning into something that really shouldn’t have ever been, but really, could only ever be from hereon out.

For there was no undoing the results of Jim not eating his vegetables, and that was the end of the universe as he knew it.

And the beginning of the universe as the invaders from the other side of unreality knew it from the day they were born.

EAT YOUR MEATBALLS

You didn’t eat the meatballs, did you? Well, that’s fine, because the meatballs never decided that they weren’t going to not avoid eating you if it came to it.

If it does come to it, look out. Or don’t. Or both. Doesn’t really matter to the meatballs. They’ve already never made up their mind.

Just don’t paint them yellow. Or orange. Or purple. Or green. For goodness’s sake, definitely not green.

But blue is okay. Then they’d blend in with the sky where they can hunt their prey unseen.

For their prey is the gales, and their predator is none but the stars above who ate their vegetables last week, but not a minute more. A minute less, and they’d be barracudas. With floral hats upon their heads and canes in their mouths and a general penchant for eating the lily livers out of the lilies in the lilies upon the lilies who never had lilies that weren’t lilies because lilies are lilies and lilies don’t lily around livers or lilies.

Or lily livers, for that matter.

Mental Health Check

Are you still coherent? Yes? Good. You’re made of tougher stuff than most.

Or maybe this stuff I’ve spewed isn’t made of as tough stuff as I might have thought. Hmm.

Either way, I feel much better.

Thoughts? Feelings? Abrasions? Let me know in the comments! Also, share this nonsense with all your friends. All proceeds go toward developing a caustic solvent to remove the taste of llama spit from poor Jill’s mouth. Really.