Earlier I made cookies, actually one big slab of cookie.  A slab of cookie is as great as individual cookies but different. A slab of cookie can overtake the resourcefulness of a singular cookie and replace it with an urgency to delve into the overwhelming singularity of its moist, thick, goo shape–and this moist, thick, goo hunk of cookie is encompassing because it suctions perception to the smooth half-baked insides of the deliciousness and cuddles it, causing consciousness to breathe slower than normal. Heart rate increases, intensifies, and at the precipice of sugar-shock a register-of-information compels activity towards downing a large glass of milk immediately, however in my case I didn’t have milk, and the coffee was my roommates not mine, but what I did have was black tea that had been sitting around for a few of hours, and that was enough to suffice the pre-shocking disturbance of an over-abundant code of firing glands pinging-and-panging in the saturation of moist’s information slapping against the glass of my brain. Before the tiny squids could slap their suctions against the tank walls and begin shouting. I downed that black tea like it was water straight from the tap, and at that moment a surge of whale cries flamed in the gut below. Their tunes were synchronized to the insatiable tendency to devour more of the cookie slab–I cut another corner and ate it without second guessing. The whales quieted to a dim flicker, where each flick was the sound of a calming storm drain, and I knew the barrel at the bottom of the cellar collecting dregs was what was going to sustain me if an emergency were to settle in. I immediately took another deep gulp of the tea until it disappeared causing a reservoir of whales from reaches across the underwater currents of the earth to resurface, there was only one thing I could do, finish the cookie slab. I instantaneously was propelled by a cosmic force and grabbed the slab and ate it entirety. There was no more tea. The squids in my brain began to smack the insides of the tank, the whales were losing patience, there was no more tea. There was no more tea. But exactly at that moment before I was to retire into a shock of convulsive squid temper-tantrums, residue sludge gunk reserved on the inner lining of my stomach began to slither into the lower reaches of my large intestine; it was the dregs. Suddenly, a large amount of methane from an unknown location in a sensation I had not yet breached, nor had previous information on, expelled an enormous, spontaneous, cosmic release. Immediately the squids turned into sleeping pups and the whales abandoned their protest and disappeared from persistent aggravation into hidden depths of ancient earthly oceans.


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