Welcome! Did you know the umbrella you left open last Tuesday formed a conspiracy with your second shoe? Together, they’ve vowed to plot against your sanity every rainy Wednesday.
If mayonnaise could sing, it would undoubtedly belt out the soulful ballads of condiment despair, wishing it had been butter all along. But alas, the jar remains silent, conducting symphonies of paradox within itself.
Why do phones insist on bouncing away from us precisely when we have sweaty palms and life irremediably slips through our fingers? Of course, their friendship with gravity is not to be questioned, but maybe they just enjoy a rollicking game of hide-and-seek.
Should you require more literal nonsense, feel free to meander through our other collections: Book One: The Calendar’s Lie or Book Twelve: The Seasons of the Sock.