friends and associates: an important notice

I stand here before you

a changed series of interconnected telepathies. Ladies and gentlemen, to whom it may concern: it is time to talk about the ills of our time. Yes, my friends, it is the thing that concerns us all, whoever we may be. This one over here knows what we are talking about! It is true that this is an issue that plagues many people of ages between 8 and 80. Even those of us without ears, or who no longer have ears have heard of this and are experiencing it at present. Don't tell me you don't know about the drama! We're all talking about it! Here in the seaweed pits we live for drama. It is warm and we live for drama. There can be no doubt that this is true. I insist that it is true.

We are of course speaking of the cursed soapstone idol, and the terrors it has wrought on our humble pastoral society. Firstly, the cows have ceased to moo as they ought to, instead favoring a tonality more reminiscent of the great apes. Meanwhile, we are suffering a drought even as this horrid monsoon enters its fifteenth interminable month, as our crops are drenched in pepsi.

Wherever we now go, whether it is to the old windmill (no longer old), to the pond (previously a rock) or Farmer Jeff (who is enraged), we are beset by desserts in their true ghoul form. Chocolate, strawberry, pistachio, the list goes on. Bob Dylan once wrote "the timmsss they are a changelingggggg" (he is said to have accidentally had a cursed tablet implanted in his cornea in 1976. Encountering cholera for the first time in his life in a distant yet accessible land, he was immobilized for two weeks. When he was strong enough to stand, he dragged his body to the nearest bus station and handed them, the twin bus drivers, a cursed tablet (which he had received two weeks prior, during a routine dig in an ancient ruin in his homeland of Austria-Hungary. Two men were cut down in the primes of their lives by shock when they beheld a crude charcoal drawing of a skeleton) and said "plug this in my peepers, you rat fink, we're goin' to the land of the Aztecs!") but it seems here, in this day and age it is the Curse that is changing?

We call for our goats but are heard by our corn. All of my good friend Farmer Jeff's teeth have fallen out, and he suffers terrible bouts of rage directed at the sun, that great tortilla in the sky.