July 21st
Excuses
“An excellent specimen, don’t you think?”
“Yes.”
My attempts to ignore the erratic scientist went awry as he held up a grotesque snail in a flask. The creature caught my attention, as did its glass container, which looked as if it would take only a minimal amount of carelessness for it to be dropped and broken on the shabby linoleum.
The florescent lights hurt my sleepy eyes, and I squinted at the man and his pet. He put the flask back on the table and giggled at his good fortune. He had the perfect ingredients. The experiment would continue, and his fame would spread throughout the scientific world. “Aesop, my old friend”, he chortled to himself, “You will be the first to successfully produce a genetic union between human and garden snail! How the world will gaze in awe at your knowledge! How the nations will submit to your absolute power that is soon to come!” His current activities, which up until now involved operating a very complex and sophisticated amount of machinery and electronics, soon melted into a fit of hysterics.
The man needed serious therapy. I, on the other hand, needed a plan and an escape route. I was under custody of some organization masquerading to be under the administration of the Federal government. I was also soon to lose my brain to some quack scientists’ idea of the “ultimate weapon”; a genetic hybrid of man and garden snail. Of course, my brain was considered “the most suitable” for such a task and I had been apprehended. In my sleep. With the aid of chloroform.
Aesop Trimpleton, the man in the white coat who had been formerly obsessing over his snail, was the brains of the whole operation. The idea? Create and clone an army of vegetable-eating snail-humans, and terrorize Earth’s farms and small herb gardens, bringing the whole civilized populace to its knees. Without eggplants or carrots, the vegan population is sure to revolt, inevitably causing mass panic and economic upheaval. It was the start of the apocalypse: a veritable garden snail nightmare, and my brain was the key component. Why does stuff like this always happen to me?
In any event, my brain’s habitation in my body was coming to an end. It was only seconds before that lump of grey matter that my psyche calls home would be liberated from its house of bone.
And then the ninjas arrived.
It was havoc. After the fire (in which most of the snails burned), and the FBI cover-up, I was, as it is to be expected, simply too tired to write a blog. I’ve spent the last couple of days recuperating from my close brush with death and the end of Western civilization as we know it. You’d think I had dreamed the whole thing up, but I still have bruises and I can’t get that iridescent green dye out of my hair.