183-word post, or “An English Major at Mealtime”

And lo, it did come to pass that Spazz didst open his cupboard, expecting to be greeted by sustenance as might quell the noisy beast of his hunger.

But naught did his eyes perceive in the way of consumables.

For verily, there was a dearth of any container as would reflect photons of light, whereby through either entropy or intelligent design, a process had evolved whereupon an organism of roughly Spazz’s height – possessing also two ocular organs permitting the experience to have three dimensions – might thereby translate said light shafts into bioelectric pulses as could allow him to glimpse a bag of chips, a fruit cup, or sardine can.

Fie, cried Spazz in his native tongue. “Fuck.”
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Whereby might I have laid wanton sloth behind me, and sought instead to ensure myself a bounty of edibles in my pantry? “I got no fuckin’ food. Stupid.”

Spazz thence spent several measures of time seeking coinage as might be found within the folds of his parlour cushions, as many as might a vendor of fine Italian redundant supper might summon. “Pizza Pizza here I come.”

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