The other day I was cleaning my household, when I noticed a tiny little something on a nano-sized piece of what I could only assume was a paper speck. Since I didn't actually want to clean (lord knows nobody does) I took said piece of “paper” to Big Bob's House O' Sno Cones and Electron Microscopes and blasted the crap out of it with particles.
What I found absolutely shocked me. I'm transcribing it here verbatim as a word of caution before you go about cavalierly cleaning up things.
January 27, 2011
All we are is dust in the...
January 26, 2011
We have decided today is the day. We will take down that awful awful machine. When the dust settles, we might just wake up in a new world. If we are successful, I know my children will at long last feel safe. No longer will they shudder when they see those dreaded letters—H-O-O-V-E-R. We will unite together as dust particles, skin particles, excrement particles, participial phrases and thumb tacks to take down that sucking menace!
You, dear reader, you might be the only one to lay eyes upon the last will and testament of Senor Dusty T. Filament. I'm grateful that your eyes are tiny enough to read my etchings. I pray I've written it in a language that living things can understand. If I don't make it back, make certain to know I lived my life as dust, but my after life, my legacy, my vacuum-destroying prowess will live on in infamy for generations to come. The dust voice will be heard!
|We shall rally around this battle cry--because Vacuums truly do suck.|
January 22, 2011
There are some days when I think I'm not actually a piece of dust, but a glorious ballerina, wowing spectators at the Bolshoi. The audience gasps as I chasse across the stage. They'll never expect my en dehors, but I realize that is just because I'm a piece of dust.
Maybe next lifetime, maybe.
Although we're in constant battles and upheavals with those nightmarish machines, I still try to keep a clean house. After all, cleanliness is next to godliness. Out out! Out you subatomic participles! Out you quarks—I definitely have my eye you, charm and lepton! Ick! Why can't someone invent some magical machine that sucks up and gets rid of these pests, they are messing up the feng shui of my homestead.
But I digress. The gang and I got together last night to try and figure out how to take down the Hoovered menace. We had heard rumblings of successful decommissioning of other vacuums. Raiden claimed a carefully placed paperclip had destroyed the soul of one, but I explained to him that couldn't have happened. That was simply smoke wafting out, since as tools of hell, vacuums have no souls.
But Speck's story of vacuum upheaval took up most of our discussion time. Apparently at his former residence, the household dog had an almost Pavlovian response to the sound of vacuums. Much like my dusty brethren, the dog absolutely feared the vacuum. And after hearing its whirrrr whirrrrr whirring so many times, he didn't just salivate, he tackled that thing and took it out in one of the most awesome displays of murder/suicide ever. Unfortunately, the owners just got a new one the next day (vacuum, not dog, RIP Max).
We knew if we were to ever overtake this thing, we'd need to make a statement. We'd need to get the people who lived in our house to question the logic of using electrical cleaning devices.
It was decided we'd attack it with quantity, because lord knows that's all we have. What we lack in intelligence, organizational ability, intelligence, movement and ability to be non-dust-like, we more than make up for in number! And since we've never technically lived, we sure aren't afraid to die!
Thankfully, an itinerant group of Kool-Aid powder has joined our cause and will provide us with the OHHH YEAHHHH strength we need to overcome our enemy.
January 18, 2011
It's funny. I always looked up to my uncle, Skinny. He spent most of his life on the jacket of “Infinite Jest,” (for some reason, nobody ever touched that book) but it gave him the perfect chance to learn and love English. It was he who gave me my love of writing, he who told me I could be more than a microscopic piece of whatever I am—fish food? Nacho? . And it was he who died earlier this week, another victim of the Hoover of doom. From ashes to ashes, dust to dust, it seemed like just about everyone came out to the memorial service.
Goodbye, Skinny. You will be missed. But don't worry, we shall see our revenge through.
January 15, 2011
My bunny, Flipper, is getting me through these hard times. Sure, he doesn't hop and doesn't eat carrots, nor mime Hitler, but I sure do love him anyway. Way better than that Bugs character. He's the reason why we fight. We fight to protect our friends, our family, our puns on animals. When the great sweeper of doom comes down upon us, we will stand strong, much like those brave dust bits who got in the German's eyes during the Battle for Britain.
Without them, history would have been vastly different.
January 13, 2011
I needed to get away from that old place. Too much drama, too much risk. I know when bad is bad. It's not like I was born yesterday. Really, who needs three vacuums when they already have a central one? I hitched a ride on an itinerant cat and ended up with my new family in a new household. I can't believe how far I've come.
January 12, 2011
|Me and a couple million of my closest friends.|
Crappppppp, these things called vacuums exist. Really they should be called “Mass Genociders,” because that's what they do to my people. Also, that name sounds like it's some hella boring sciencey thing. It might cause people to avoid cleaning and allow my people to thrive.
This is the real irony of this situation. They're the ones who spawned me, yet they're the ones who want to suck me up. This is the story of Frankenstein and his monster all over again.
January 9, 2011
The birth of dust is an amazing sight to behold. It's amazing how living skin turns to dead and falling skin turns to living dust. Truly amazing.