His fear of death can be broken down using Heidegger's analysis of the being-toward-death, and my fat tusks can be shaved down using a chisel and a pair of needle-nosed pliers. My name is Rugged Rugged Ruggedson, and I am employed in dealings under the well, which is under the earth. These are deep, deep places, and you can't escape them except by killing yourself and everyone else and every inanimate object, including the bodies which you have already killed. Death? What is death if you can kill everything, including dead bodies? Infinite killing. Infinite death. Deaths within deaths, starving starvation rotund bulk chops bulky chops. I reaped a million horses, and I am stronger than the strongest being in the universe, attached by two steel poles to the foundation of everything. Roped and tugged around like a raging bull, I scatter my ashes throughout all dimensions, letting them succumb to forces that are created by the act of succumbing; succumbing-based forces, if you will. Nobody can go back on what he or she has done. It's all final. No matter how much you want to go back in time and relive the old days, you're stuck right here. You can't speed things up either, except by taking speed HAHA. Okay, my lungs are lungs. My toast has been toasted; even before I wrote this, it had been toasted. It's getting cold, better toast it again. The more toasted it is, the more toasty it will be when I toast it again and again. That's what they say; that's what they say. Semicolons. Milk me. Money chops money slops, slobs, people who are slobs, some people are slobs and others are not. Let's group everyone into two categories. Beef is so good that I can scarcely begin to dissect it. I'd love to just look at a glistening steak for a day or two. A solid day. Or two. These days everything's a solid. Just look at your mutton chops. muttonchops. Mutton. What is mutton? Well, I can tell you one thing, it isn't flour, and this is basically a way for me to talk about flour. I once baked six cakes using the same brand of name-brand home-brand homemade flour extract. I made two thousand little flakes and then congealed them into a giant ball of metallic glop. You may say that my cooking methods are avant-garde, but they are only avant-garde insofar as they fit under the avant-garde category, bam, filed away, forgotten, done, move on. Gawk at me; observe my features. They may be oblong, but let's not get into specifics here, specific people, speficielsjf specific places, my undergarments, my larynx, all my parts, parts, parts of parts, pieces of pieces, legs for creatures without legs, for sale, five dollars per leg. Nice to meet you, now shake my hand, that's a good boy, do you know how to shake hands? Here, let me teach you, it's a social custom where you shake hands, done. Ch-ching, begin again. Step one, unload the ice cream container and feel the pressure released into you and you can feel it blowing you out from in, backwards and forwards, rattling your cage and stretching your bones, bim bom boom. Whims or whimsy? Whillickers or Whittling? Whittling is fun, let's explore the world of whittling, wooden whittled items are fun things to whittle or unwhittle; you know, unwhittling is just as valuable as whittling, because everything means more or less the same thing; just look at the backs of your hands and think about all the particles of flesh and how they're all stacked against each other and if they fall off they'll just be replaced by invisible mysterious forces. This is all just for kicks, you know. Kicks. I'm not doing anything like a thing or anything, you know? It's all just a bag inside a bag, Mr. Baggs. Rotund whittled playscape made entirely out of pebbles and stones and other words that mean things.
Breathe in, breathe out, I am not going to do anything ever again. This is it. When I'm done typing this shit, I will go outside and run forward until I die, so I guess that will be something, but I'm not going to count it as a thing, so it won't be. Rip me through and through and through, mean little mean bogs of bogs of toggled switches and boggled britches, corrupt, collapsed, classic classes, classed clappers, the clapper, the clipper, the rotund route and the route out of here; how do I get out of this building? I am self-conscious of my being in it, and it's getting tiring.
