Moby Deepst

Call me Eshmail. Some years ago—I think it was in January 2021—having only a few bucks in my bank account, and nothing in particular to do except surf the web, I thought I’d take it upon myself to take a road trip, which later morphed into a proud journey, for which I was besought to take an oath. By ’n by, I found myself in the folds of a mere three percent of humanity, whether by the luck of the draw, or by Providence, i do not know, to this day, know, although. on the appointed launching day I did go. . . come hell or high water. It was on one of those amoral weathering mornings in January, as I did leap into the shotgun-seat of some duly-appointed companion who went by the name the name of Starlinks. As one thing led to another, I find myself unexpectedly, perplexed, being surrounded and guided by a a great fleet of discontents streaming, as would a school of porpoises, to an elliptical reef that was on the edge of a some great upwardly-spiring monument, in the midst of a great school of scupperdong come-alongs who had gathered to receive their marching orders. And there was I; little did I know what mischief would soon transgress the storied paths of mall-walking guys who were soon bound to that great doomed-dome in the distant mall. But I joined them all, to press forth to victory. . . to stall, to stall—that is the question—whether ’tis nobler to sling the slings of outrageous insurrection, or, by neglecting, prolong them. When suddenly, in my ears, came the clarion call from Capt’n Trumab himself: “Stand back, mates, and stand by” until such a time as I direct thee, by ’n by, and may the gull of paradise direct your toes. . . to neptune’s chambers where ye shall stand upon the decks of destiny, face to face with out great foe, Moby Deepst! “Great Wod! but for one moment, show thyself, Moby Deepst!

Shine forth thine Electoral blubber! and we will have our chief harpoonist Proudpeg pierce thee with the slings and arrows of outrageous insurrection! Give me anarchy or give me wealth! For we shall stand upon the pavers of Constitution Avenue and shine forth the great MAGoo red-light of rebellion and foxy-woxy stealing of the vines, for us and for them, and Me and for Mine! Casting his countenance steadily into the rebel crowd, “Stand back, and stand by, ye proud men! Ye see an old Dealer cut to the rump, whose art is but to fart out the soliloqueeqegs of endearing insurrection. Shall we keep stalking this monster of the Deepst? Nay, nay! I say unto thee!” But then, by sudden streaming prompts I did awaken, my consciousness extremely shaken. But in the sweet by ’n by of wakefulness did I . . . realize . . .’t’was only a bad dream. To dream, to dream, perchance to dream—’t’was nothing more than a maga scheme! Glass half-Full