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May. 1st, 2009 05:58 pmDear everyone, we have swine flu. I coughed into an urn and got swine flu. Your airplane slept in your bed and gave you swine flu. Our sirens are useless against it. It was packaged into all the peanut butter. Heads rolled over that. Swine flu filled a city built on top of a lake which was itself already on top of a mountain, so in dedication to our old charade, all the soccer teams continued to play each other in empty stadiums. What?--excuse me, the FBI is at the door. I don't go out any more because of swine flu. Instead I watch TV with my mom, and we bought an air purifier.
If we're still around in a while when it is finally the future and telepathic aliens come to earth, we will greet them only to eventually see them leave, frustrated by their own inability to understand the concept of names, and the human compulsion to name everything. Neither will they understand gossip, the youngest of the contagions. Swine flu might greet them too--they will perhaps understand its purpose better. I wonder if they will like music, and how they will dance. I dance like a stork's mating ritual every time I hear the song Bird Flu. It is only a happy accident that bird is in the title, and that my dance moves are avian. Happcident. Accipy. I just started a company: Accipee. I can see it all now. It's the new Depends. "So you shant your pants any longer." The tagline sounds kind of British, but I guess there are as many old limey poopers as of any other creed. I just hope I'll live long enough to relish my success because this is that fabled day, mortgaged against so much consequence--everything has reversed itself. The bank is excusing your debt, sharecropper. Water fountains pour gin. This is that day; the fire froze, the sphinx blinked, the swine flu.
If we're still around in a while when it is finally the future and telepathic aliens come to earth, we will greet them only to eventually see them leave, frustrated by their own inability to understand the concept of names, and the human compulsion to name everything. Neither will they understand gossip, the youngest of the contagions. Swine flu might greet them too--they will perhaps understand its purpose better. I wonder if they will like music, and how they will dance. I dance like a stork's mating ritual every time I hear the song Bird Flu. It is only a happy accident that bird is in the title, and that my dance moves are avian. Happcident. Accipy. I just started a company: Accipee. I can see it all now. It's the new Depends. "So you shant your pants any longer." The tagline sounds kind of British, but I guess there are as many old limey poopers as of any other creed. I just hope I'll live long enough to relish my success because this is that fabled day, mortgaged against so much consequence--everything has reversed itself. The bank is excusing your debt, sharecropper. Water fountains pour gin. This is that day; the fire froze, the sphinx blinked, the swine flu.
