I undulate. Beneath the glow of the moon, I undulate. Beneath the stars and the wind and the rain, I undulate. Beside the bedpost, below the shoreline, amongst the berries and the trees, I undulate wildly and beat the earth with my meaty fists.
I am unleashed.
Let's get in the game, Samantha. We're in for the long haul.
And with that, I will introduce you to a 23-year-old father named Undulating Carcass Droppings.
"Hi," he said, introducing himself to a lonely domicile, "I'm Undulating Carcass Droppings. It's a pleasure to meet you." He nodded graciously and peeled back his face to reveal shiny domiciles and fat chops.
"I smoke to revel in the pain of my existence. You see, once I careened through the basement logarithm, I ruptured my little kidney, and ever since I've been paralyzed from the toes down. It's a shame, really."
I have developed rickets. My bones are softening as we speak. Softenin' Bones Willis. That's what they used to call me. But then I shifted around in my stirrups. Yep. Never seen no man shift in his stirrups like that before. Panic ensued. Buildings spontaneously combusted in the moonlight, giving rise to flame and burning dust and little cookies of various shapes and sizes. Call me a name. Undulate.
*RAUCOUS COUGH* Sorry, let us continue with our narrative:
Beneath the moonlight, Undulating Carcass Droppings shifted his feet. He listened to the sound they made when he scraped them against the thick pavement. He stood under a tall street lamp and squinted up into the glow. His massive, thick overcoat allowed him to feel comfortable. Like a fluffy blanket it cloaked his frail body, counting his little bones one by one, "Undulating Carcass Droppings," melancholic smokey dreams float past. His eyelids sigh. He lets out a long stream of smoke. It escapes his old, leathery lips and his throat forces out a tiny squeak from the depths of his little, weak body. His ribs stick out like fat balls of excess rib fat. But they're only ribs. Undulating Carcass Droppings laughs to himself. A dry, heaving laugh that echoes against the tall buildings. He is alone. Nobody is there to hear his cough and his laugh and his feet against the hard, brutal pavement, kicking away his fears but focusing his lacerating gaze. He feels a smack against the back of his skull. Heightened awareness. Undulating Carcass Droppings. He feels his way around in the darkness, the street lamp useless, pain pulsing through his veins, thoughts driven out by monstrous heckling from outer lanes.
Silence.
Collapsed in a dark corner, Undulating Carcass Droppings has found utter peace. His frail limbs rest against dusty and unforgiving surfaces. He dreams about his farm, with all the geese. It's nice to dream.
Undulating Carcass Droppings.
