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What it Tastes Like to Be Sane


Sean Ahern

Copyright 2011 © by Sean M. Ahern

All rights reserved

Published online by the author at

ISBN: 978-1-257-83094-7

Chapter I

and the clown disappeared in a cloud of lettuce. Epispastic was the word of the day. Baritone Juicebox, who had so recently been full to the brim with quixotic ideals, now desired so badly naught but the construction of an oceanic sarcophagus, of which he would become a permanent resident. Why he got to this point and what occurred afterwards is encompassed by a gallimaufry of tales of joy and despair, of elation and woe, of euphoria and not having access to tacos at the moment you most desire them, and other contrasting adjectives, the first of which is a positive and the second of which is a negative.

See, at this point, for our dear Baritone, the Earth’s oceans were bereft of their usual vastness. Where one could normally, on a good day, see a double, maybe triple digit quantity of miles or kilometers to the horizon, Baritone (or Bari, as will often be referred to hereafter) could see every ocean, sea, and body of water on the side of Earth that was facing him that was large enough to be seen from the moon. The Earth, as a whole, seemed extremely pastoral from this viewpoint, for everything was quiet. Naught could be seen stirring from here, though the contrary was actually true, as all the usual stirrings were occurring on his home planet. Still, from his perspective, he could easily ignore the conflicts and the multitude of strife, and the mundane regards of all the lives and deaths going on below him. Indeed, what he saw was a postcard image, one that he would be proud to send to his dearest relation or to his closest friend in order to incite jealousy of him and the wondrous places he had visited. Bari, however, had only purchased one t-shirt to prove he had been to the moon, and he wouldn’t be mailing it to anybody. He wanted to wear it to his grave, in order to provide proof of his lunar escapades to whoever found his body, should it be found before his new oceanic companions devoured him, if ever. Otherwise he would content himself with floating about, unconscious of what was happening around him, or perhaps becoming useful by becoming food for one of the throng which would cohabitate the ocean with him.

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