Sunday, February 26, 2012

Murphy and the Little Brudder Write a Story

Meet my brother. He's pretty frickin' awesome. 

My brother and I are often called The Giggle Twins. No, we aren't twins, but we tend to laugh like little kids incessantly when we're around each other, usually from jokes that nobody else understands. It can be annoying to some, but we don't care. 

One day, I was at work and received a message from my brother (to whom I call "Brudder"), and he didn't seem as jovial as usual. He was having a bad day like we all do, so I decided that it could help get his mind off things by making a story. We were to contribute one sentence at a time, as the usual story-making games go, and it was via text message. I talked to him, typing every sentence as each text message came through, and here is what we wrote:

When I’m walking toward a light pole, I always imagine that the moon is a fixture, like a lamp. The glow reaches out into night, pushing away the dark more and more as you get closer. As blinding as the light is, you still know that it’s cold up there; it’s as cold as you can possibly imagine. Even then, you cannot push away the feeling of wanting to reach out and take hold of that impossibly cold, far too bright light. And suddenly, a question strikes me: if the moon is made of cheese, then what kind of cheese is so illuminated? And as the Moon shifts by night after night, who eats all of it away? I mean, that’s a lot of cheese, and judging by its paleness, it isn’t very sharp cheese at all. And how does it come back? Actually, nevermind. I feel sorry for whoever eats it the second time. Maybe the constellations take turns, eating and regurgitating that giant wheel of cheese.

Thinking about this, I don’t think I’d like to reach out at that mushy mess. Maybe the moon should just stay a fixture in the sky.

And perhaps I should reach farther, to something less consumed and less dairy, like the sun. Ooh, ow. Hot, hot, hot. Nevermind. Maybe Jupiter. But I do like spicy food. Though I’ve heard that cheese gets better with age. The spicy Sun probably doesn’t taste that great anymore, having sat around for five billion years.

I wonder what it would be like to be five billion years old. All the things I would have seen. I think I’d be pretty lonely after a while. Lifetimes of just watching animals and people eat, poop, and sleep would get old. I’d rather use all my years to…


Obviously, our story wasn't finished, and we'll forget this one and write a new one eventually.