Finals week has a way of gripping my head by the sides and devouring fluctuations of remaining academic intelligence. With that goes my will and motivation to do anything (and I have to face it: my motivation is more disabled than a decrepit old man stuck in ICU from pneumonia). After two weeks of spiked coffee consumption, my sleep pattern has spiraled out of control more than any crackpot entering a drug dealer’s lair. My body seeks the bed faster than a moth flaps its wings toward a lamppost and my brain is two pounds of a dying organ. If I don’t activate critical thinking skills soon, my brain may as well atrophy out of existence.
I speak truth, or at least verbalize intentions that are (usually) never birthed through action, when I say I have been meaning to update my WordPress blog. You see, I do have a list of topics to criticize:
A gunky accumulation of lethargy resides in the spherical object glued to my neck, and until it drizzles out, I suspect this blog will endure further dormancy. Pringles, watermelon, veggie burgers, and coffee serve as energy suppliers, which I burn through in a matter of hours by fending off drunken or mentally ill night prowlers and watching things like Spaced, Terry Pratchett’s Hogfather, Torchwood, and Wristcutters: a Love Story—even if I’ve already seen them. (By God, I will watch them again and again.) In the mean time, because I do not want my blog hitting the absolute shit-end in the low quality blogging spectrum, I present a vegetable monstrosity. (How can a blog post go wrong with a bad vegetable? This is rhetorical, of course.)
The mutant presented on the left was discovered hiding out in the fridge’s vegetable drawer. It had successfully blended in with three other onions until a green stem sprouted—four days after its purchase, no less. I buy produce at local Fred Meyer stores, and I cannot neglect the fact that this is not the first time a deformed onion has found its way into my home. Every onion’s center sprouts quicker than Michael Phelps’ fastest breaststroke on steroids. What does this mean?
Several theories swirl inside my head, almost like a flock of seagulls with excitement fluttering about: flap, flap, go limp birds.
- First off, who provides the onions? Is it California? Mexico? Dear God, is it local?! Wherever these rotting-white vegetable beasts originate, I suspect growth enhancers for increased profit or…
- aliens. Not that Torchwood or X-Files or general paranoia have eaten half my brain and I’m one step away from Crazy Town, but will you look at that thing? It’s in the baby stages of developing a pterodactyl beak, and the closest thing to a live fetus that I have ever seen.
It even has tentacle-like fibers shooting out of its rear, reminiscent of spring grass (only it’s white and marred with the presence blackish decay and growing out of an onion’s bottom).
The notion of an alien organization supplying grocery stores their eggs is not all that outlandish if you’re an eight year old with a great mind or simply a sci-fi geek which I am not. (No, really. In all honesty, I’m as close to being a sci-fi geek as Barbie is to the nearest fat camp. But you can’t say I didn’t warn you about carnivorous invaders from another galaxy. And you won’t, because the next time you pick up an onion from your vegetable drawer, it’ll chew your face off.)
Outside the government, beyond the police. Tracking down alien life on earth and arming the human race against the future. The 21st Century is already here, bitch. Fuck, Jack Harkness, go choke on weevil vomit. We’re all going to die.