Recently a desperate hunger took up residence inside my person, and beckoned me to give it company in the form of food. Naturally, I obliged. However, as laziness would have it, my food options were limited. I am not one to keep a stock of provisions, nor one to concatenate more complex foods out of basic ingredients. This, coupled with my general hopeless futility and love of not moving far from comfortable seating, led me to take sad and depressing measures to fill the ample void within.
I gathered two slices of bread and placed them on a plate. Bread, while delicious, often suffers from a habitual dependency on a garnish, such as butter, cheese, or giant slices of meat. In this instance I had neither the cheese nor meat to make a sandwich, and was fully resigned to eating buttered bread, the staple meal of the incarcerated archetype.
I have long since lost the ambition to butter bread, as fate often curses me with butter that is not at room temperature. Recalling so many instances of violently sawing through frozen sticks of butter only to then hopelessly attempt to spread it upon soft bread, I have wisely embraced the phenomenon of spray-on artificial butter. The flagship of this new genre of butter is that of "I Can't Believe It's Not Butter," a brand not ashamed to exaggerate its impact on the human race.
I began spraying this magical liquid in the direction of my bread, attempting to give it a healthy coat and sheen. With each press of the nozzle, the bottle and its shooting apparatus became oilier. I ignored this, continuing to press hard, as I did not want my bread to taste like anything other than artificial butter. In applying such extreme force, the nozzle inadvertently rotated in the direction of my face. Before I could contemplate the downsides to this development, I shot my own eyes, the very eyes I've used to see various things such as mountains and miniature ponies, with fake butter.
The sensation was alarming and oddly familiar. It felt as though I had butter on my eyes. It did not hurt, but rather it shocked me. The harsh realization that I had shot my own eyes with fake butter seemed to grind time to a halt. There was a brief instance where I seemed to slip outside it all, and where every cell in my body suddenly became sentient and aware. In this strange time and place I became a billion little specks watching in awe at the big idiot with fake butter in his eyes.
When reality snapped back into place, I sat there in dumb confusion, unsure how to proceed. The butter did not sting or cause pain, but rather felt exactly as you would expect butter to feel under your eyelids. Had I not known what sprayed me, I would have easily guessed it to be butter. It felt like butter. I wouldn't believe it to be anything but butter (real or artificial).
There is no moral to this story. I share it only in the hopes that, at best, you will wear safety goggles when spraying your fake butter. Failing that, I trust you will now be more inclined to exercise extreme caution. The sensation of butter under your eyelids is one that haunts you. It is one of those eerie tactile poltergeists that is far too real, far too familiar, and yet, strangely alien. I hope you will not make the mistake I did.
Livestock: moof i guess you and i better start writing a daily dirt chat
Livestock: what will the topic be this week
Moof: horror and despair
Livestock: which one do you like better
Moof: livestock what about the archives is there any material in the archives
Livestock: no moof i think we've run dry
Livestock: do you have any cute one liners
Livestock: people will get mad if i don't talk to you
Livestock: and you don't say something funny
Livestock: maybe i will replace you?
Moof: livestock let's talk about haunted houses :)
Livestock: i've never been in one
Moof: livestock why does no one ever see bug ghosts
Moof: there are a lot of bugs
Moof: and they die a lot
Livestock: bugs, like humans and dogs, do not have mortal souls
Moof: what about sparrows
Livestock: most ghosts are actually holograms
Livestock: that is why they appear to be cowboys and indians
Moof: what about ones that walk through walls you cannot shine a hologram through a wall
Livestock: they don't walk through walls moof they stand beside geometric shapes
Livestock: do you believe everything you see in movies
Livestock: because if so you are a common idiot
Moof: livestock do you know what the word for a common idiot is in native american
Moof: it is shutuplivestock
Moof: hmm maybe it is time you shut up???
Livestock: NO MOOF YOU SHUT UP
Moof: livestock what have we become
Livestock: bitter enemies
Moof: this is a bad chat
Livestock: it is terrible
Livestock: it will never see the light of day
Livestock: on that you have my word
Moof: good it will ruin us
The Upper Kitchen Cabinet Where Your Roommate Keeps His Food: You’ll 'need the footstool' to reach your roommate’s 'fine selection' of 'stale cereal,' but he'll never notice if 'only a little is missing from each box.' Feel less guilty by reminding yourself that Jeff 'acts weird around your girlfriend,' and always 'asks about her.' What a 'creep.'
This is the crown jewel of my erotic lamp collection, and a must-have for any serious pleasure lamp collector.
This ain't your daddy's globe...! .... or is it?!
Moof and Livestock discuss life, love, human nature, and all the most important issues affecting humanity.