Awakening

My eyes open, and I gaze as the glowing zebra implodes before the golden partridge perched in a giraffe tree. The essence of randomnity comes upon the universe in power, and all is filled with randomnity measuring in excess of seventeen septillion Jan's. The mice expand slowly and rotate as they are digested by one half of a great white koala, and call out to me urgently, "Cabbages! Triangles! Oscilate in haste, lest ye be subject to the ninth law of thermodynamics, and watch Boyle's law wreak havoc upon the llama ducts." I walk through a sea of eyebrow trees, and feel great fear as I am frowned upon a thousand-fold. I pass under the final branches, and am swept up into the great octagon of insoles, rapidly increasing in density as they are courted by clouds of opossums brought here by the Eastern wind, directed by the covalent chestnut on the Southernmost continent.

Numerous electromagnetic magpies swim in the lake of radiators and corn, as stated by Edward Pie in the year 1511, while parched windows carve their initials into the ever-present quaver orbiting the twelfth algarve that exists on the very edge of the extinct sloth sleeve. I dive into the lake, and am suddenly transformed into a miniature version of Tony Blair's goldfish, and find myself suddenly empowered with the ability of understanding carpets. I crawl into the presence of one carpet in particular, who was my friend last August under the supervision of multiple suicidal pineapples. We converse about the weather, about how the sun has developed a peculiar habit of doing the macarina whenever somebody impersonates a teapot, resulting in the singing kettle being responsible for incinerating Mercury and Venus, along with several moons nobody cares about.

The chilled night air wraps around my eighteenth leg and drags me before the upturned ant, who is currently having psychological problems based around the entire fourth series of 'Happy Days', a disease which may become fatal. I gaze upwards, and am engulfed in tarmac, as the potatoes fall over backwards while consulting the supreme toenail about the origins of their forgotten symphony, as told by horseraddishes in the month of May, but only in magnetic fields of below 6.2 Jan's. I turn, and knock on the door before me, and am startled when it knocks back, the force of which rivals that of multiple implosions exploding simulaneously, thus creating several piles of soup-tins that command the loyalty of all but the most saturated turnip in Ireland.

My ears ring, and I pick them up, and answer. On the other end is the one who claims to refract only magenta light, which tends to confuse various hedgehogs, and so is the enemy of all echidnas everywhere. I attempt to extract information on how to inflame the intrigued nostril, but fail, though I am notified on the many effects of static electricity upon lamposts, which will be very useful during my later travels in the large intestine of Hitler's eraser. Herds of cucumbers migrate north, and almost trip me up as they levitate fifty thousand feet above my head. Then, all fifty thousand feet fall from the sky simultaneously, causing the royal order of bathrobes to obliterate a small island North-East if Bangladesh. I embrace true peace, and so the feet dematerialise, leaving nothing but the once-trodden pride of lions that lived between my toes, forgotten by all but a few moist tables, not to forget the rest of the inanimate furniture that I have regular fulfilling discussions with whenever the music fades and my forehead accelerates to a speed of fourteen million furrows per Volt of electricity generated by the sheep that has dwelled within my bowler hat for the past seven millenia. By this point my psychiatrist is thorroughly confused, and so I leave the room. Several days later I hear that the psychiatrist has been admitted to some kind of 'institute', muttering something about flying cucumbers and great toenails. Then I realise, he was not ready for that measure of randomnity, and I feel a great dread as I unleash it upon the world. Then, I realise several decades have passed, and all is not as it once was. Dogs now control the sinks of the world, and enlarged pigeons have taken charge of America, forcing all traces of humanity to retreat into the oceans, where they subsequently evolved into hamsters. Now, as I write this, I know that none but hamsters and goldfish will have the ability to read it without confusion - but then again, what would be the fun in not being confused?