Monday, October 22, 2007

R2 staff writes.... one sentence at a time.

It was a frozen and miserable afternoon in Houston. I woke up and discovered I was a bunny, and thought, "Wow, that is so Kafka."
I didn't have many options I lit up a cigarette with difficulty and sighed.
Clearly, my name is Alex Altman, because smoking cigarettes angstily is what I do.
But, anyway, why would you care too much about that?
The only things that matter are good cheese and a fleece penguin blankie.
With these things he settled down and prepared for a long night of
talking about whether she should go off the Pill or not.
She thought it best to consult her father, who was something of an expert.
He knew all about the lethal effects of the peppered moth, and would be able to distinguish the pattern unique to the species-- hopefully in time for her to return her book to the library.
Unfortunately, he was ensconced in the throes of amnesia from the tragic rock quarry incident and all of his previous acquired moth-knowledge was forgotten.
Walking through the midst of the moths, he had a shimmer of remembrance from one of the Indiana Jones movies. Concentrate! Concentrate! he told himself as he resolutely grabbed through the fluttering bodies and pulled the lever.
However, it was all futile because in the grand scheme of things anything we do is meaningless but then the grand scheme is meaningless in our lives.

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