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LPF week 15 - Periphery
Feb. 9th, 2019 07:26 pmPeople like to think of the world as having definite boundaries. They want a line that they can see and point to and say "everything on our side of this line is the world." The truth is that the edges aren't fixed in place. It's more like the divide between a beach and the ocean, ebbing and flowing all the time. And yeah, we built a fence pretty far up the beach to mark where you're theoretically safe from high tide, but sometimes there's a storm and that fence gets washed away, and then the beach is covered with seashells and pieces of old shipwrecks and colossal prehistoric squid. Well, metaphorical seashells, shipwrecks, and squid on our metaphorical beach. In reality, we mostly get unicorns.
Oh sure, now and then there's a chimera or a dragon or a giant flying space jellyfish or something, but those don't particularly care for reality, and they tend to go back home on their own. Unicorns, on the other hand, like nothing better than prancing around leaving a trail of flowers and rainbows everywhere they tread. And don't even get me started on the sparkles all over everything.
Unicorns are an incredible nuisance, and it's a huge pain to get rid of them. It would be lot simpler if we could just (brace yourself if you have a pure heart filled with childlike wonder) shoot the wretched things. Alas, that would be a public relations nightmare of legendary proportions. It doesn't matter how destructive a pest they are. It's like, even if pandas weren't endangered, you would catch enormous backlash from the rest of the world for shooting one just because it ravaged your bamboo farm. Same thing.
Also, I gather that hearing their dying scream plunges you into a profound and irreversible despair. But seriously, some days I just want to grab a pair of earplugs and a shotgun and chance it.
All I want is to have a nice lawn. Is that so much to ask? Apparently so, because every time reality recedes a bit and magical fantasy land rushes in to fill the gap I end up with wildflowers in full bloom all over my yard and sparkles all over every damned thing. And I have to rip up all of those weeds by hand, because last time I tried to just cut them all down with the lawnmower it got clogged full of sparkles and died.
I know, I know - it could be worse.
Heck, I heard about one guy who woke up one morning to find his whole front yard was a beanstalk several miles high. And you know that story doesn't end well.
Oh sure, now and then there's a chimera or a dragon or a giant flying space jellyfish or something, but those don't particularly care for reality, and they tend to go back home on their own. Unicorns, on the other hand, like nothing better than prancing around leaving a trail of flowers and rainbows everywhere they tread. And don't even get me started on the sparkles all over everything.
Unicorns are an incredible nuisance, and it's a huge pain to get rid of them. It would be lot simpler if we could just (brace yourself if you have a pure heart filled with childlike wonder) shoot the wretched things. Alas, that would be a public relations nightmare of legendary proportions. It doesn't matter how destructive a pest they are. It's like, even if pandas weren't endangered, you would catch enormous backlash from the rest of the world for shooting one just because it ravaged your bamboo farm. Same thing.
Also, I gather that hearing their dying scream plunges you into a profound and irreversible despair. But seriously, some days I just want to grab a pair of earplugs and a shotgun and chance it.
All I want is to have a nice lawn. Is that so much to ask? Apparently so, because every time reality recedes a bit and magical fantasy land rushes in to fill the gap I end up with wildflowers in full bloom all over my yard and sparkles all over every damned thing. And I have to rip up all of those weeds by hand, because last time I tried to just cut them all down with the lawnmower it got clogged full of sparkles and died.
I know, I know - it could be worse.
Heck, I heard about one guy who woke up one morning to find his whole front yard was a beanstalk several miles high. And you know that story doesn't end well.
