Tragically Fine

Garfield Is Let Out of the Bag and Cries at the Literalness of the Pun.

Posted by Kyle Jacobson , Monday, September 13, 2010 7:26 PM

Why it was harder to see this morning, as opposed to other mornings and rare cases mournings, remains a mystery to me and all of my "friends." It wasn't pitch black or even a darkened gray encompassing my sight. It was just like looking at the world through a child's halloween mask. It was confusing. This morning just started off, off.

        I grabbed the newspaper and began to search for the comics, being the most trusted source for facts in a newspaper. I first noticed the front page. It was jumbled beyond belief. So beyond belief that no religion accepts that extent of jumbled. I couldn't read a word.
        "Mlrfistick?" What is that? Well, it doesn't have an "i" in front of it, so it has nothing to do with music.
        "That's all iGot." I said in a hurry.
         I felt a bit claustrophobic while reading the paper and not being able to understand a single word. Then I climbed out of the dog kennel and claustrophobia vanished. But the annoyance of jumbled letters still flicked me in the ears. I took a leap of faith and moved to page F11.
          "The comics can't be jumbled, they just can't," I half-heartedly reasoned. The comics, i.e., the most used resource for ninety-eight percent of collegiate research papers had to have some sort of anti-jumbler.
        "Palyfekj!" Said Garfield.
        "Immmpep!" John replied.
          "NOOOOOOOO!!! This can't be!" My screams would not be heard.
          I went to my computer as fast as my crutches would take me. I quickly realized that they wouldn't be taking me anywhere. Crutches are inanimate objects. I require far too much of them. Feeling bad, I got up and ran over to the vibrant screen. I began to search all of my usual forums: I searched the declaration of independence gang blog, the procedure of making license plates in prison, even the online Rastafarian  vocabulary dictionary! All of them were completely incoherent and even harder to understand than normal.
        
            I went to Jeeves. Jeeves knows everything.
            I began to type in his perfectly-sized text box.

            KJfiyyyije alkckjz ieiufajk mi tarrimp?
          
           "AHHHHHHH!" I screamed, "What is going on!?"

            I grabbed a close-by pen and began to write on the nearest paper I could find, my birth certificate. I couldn't afford to lose my sanity, it took me three hours and sixty seven bucks to get it back from the city auction the last time I lost it.
        The message I had just written came out resembling messy picture blocks, made of lots of little scribbles and lines. I couldn't think of anything else to do. I would die a confused adult that only wanted to live to see what it was like to ride inside of a herse. I never will get that chance. I began to cry, a bit more annoying-sounding than usual.

             I ran to the mirror. I had no idea what to expect to see, and I had even less of an idea of what to see to expect. The person looking back at me from the mirror was not me at all. Then, I realized that a mirror just reflects things and that the person in the mirror was exactly me. I had obviously gone to sleep Caucasian and woken up Asian again.
                                    
                                             Internationally,
                                                                    Kyle