The Key to Happiness

In my search for the Missing Chapter of Humanity I have discovered many things and one of them is that The Key to Happiness is perplexingly absent. If it wasn’t, people would know where to find it. But they don’t, therefore it is relatively safe to say that it is has been obscured. Now I realize there are some who have presented the argument that it has just been misplaced, but the following will explain why I believe otherwise.

You see, my extraordinarily hyper-aware gut instinct long ago became accustomed to communicating with my brain by way of Morse code contractions in my heart. And it just so happens that it was through a recent one of these communications that I explained to myself that there is almost certainly a conspiracy involved. And so, after my cerebellum decoded the cardiac code into hieroglyphs and then to English and then back to hieroglyphs (for reasons best left unsaid at the moment), I have come to reveal the following possibilities.

Firstly, it could have been stolen by a fabled manic-depressive and thrown into an ocean of despair with little to no chance of recovery. Don’t point your fingers at me. Notice I said “fabled manic-depressive” and not “Ace Warloch” or “self-aware pseudonym” or “master of uncertain arts” or “rare occult potentiality.”

However, of all the possibilities (and I’m skipping over a lot), the most likely scenario is the one that theorizes that the Secret World Government (SWG) somehow acquired the Key to Happiness through some type of conspiracy, marked it “obsolete,” and quietly secured it in a voluminous vault before anyone could think of anything else to do with it.

And that leaves us with... well, sadness and depression that is all the government’s fault.

Speedwriting Wipeout

Recently I had the goal of becoming the worlds’ fastest speedwriter; and I did in fact accomplish this goal and write the fastest words ever written. Indeed, these sentenced words were so fast they couldn’t be read.

In fact, not long after they were written they were found in a ditch, dehydrated and mostly dead. Their letters scrambled by the scorching heat, their punctuation winded and no longer able to punctuate; and the capitals - appallingly decapitalized.

Then, to make matters worse, the grammar, though tangled up and mentally out of sorts, apparently was coherent enough to point out my involvement to deputies from the Department of Corrected Corrections. Also unfortunate for me was that quite a few exclamatory exclamation points were more than happy to direct all the blame in my direction.

I was then ticketed for writing under the influence of myself and ordered to go to writer's rehab.