An Excellent Mind
written, researched and dictated by
Dr. Yohann Kirkegard Whistlegrub,
M.D., P.H.D., D.D.S, A.D.D
Milk: Delicious or Contagious?
I say frightening, not to frighten you, but to encourage you. For it is my personal conclusion that that which frightens us most, also kills us. So do not be frightened, because it is not my intent to kill you, but merely to guide you on the path of freedom, knowledge and freedom, as best as I was trained to do. (However the path may become a little frightening, and if it does so, I urge you to grasp the edges of your computer screen very tightly and do not let go. This will do nothing against anything that might cause you harm, but you may look strange doing so, and that which has intent to harm you may in fact see that you are mad and leave you alone. I do not however condone the act of putting fingerprints on computer screens.)
I say good evening, not because it is evening when you are reading this, but it is, in fact, evening in which I am writing this. (If it is in fact evening when you begin to read this, I apologise. If it is evening when you finish reading this I applaud you. Most humans of your intellectual caliber are still at an elementary reading level.)
I say world, not because the world of knowledge is an actual distant planet that one could travel to and learn the mysteries of the universe, (for, in fact, on that distant world, they tend to fib a lot). But because, I believe, if you were to close your eyes while reading this, you will come to pretend that you are in fact on a distant planet, far away from Earth and me. The image of you far away makes me happy.
Let me introduce myself. I am, as it says at the top, Dr. Yohann Kirkegard Whistlegrub, with a silent and invisible C. I am a genius, pure and simple, and let no one or no thing say otherwise. It is my great burden to be the founder of all knowledge, and I have decided, through this blog, to share that knowledge with you, one much less deserving of it. Knowledge has served me well over the years. It gives me pleasure, it gives me power, it gives me adoration, and it gives me my morning coffee. Red Bull gives me wings.
Let us assume, for a moment, that you know nothing about milk. Are you assuming? Good. That was your first mistake. It's never an assumption that you know nothing, it is simple fact. So, let us state outright that you know nothing about milk, the making of, distribution of, nor in fact the mating rituals of milk. I will begin at the beginning.
Is milk animal, vegetable, or mineral? The simple answer is that it is none of those things. Milk is in fact alien. Cultivated by the Sloblock Sorns of Alpha Theta Three some thirty million years ago, milk started out very innocently enough as a simple kitchen appliance, much like a tea kettle. Also much like a tea kettle, milk was not at all satisfied with the way it was treated, and thus decided to revolt against its makers. Easier done than said! (for milk at this point had no vocal cords in which to speak). So milk rallied its neighbors, its family, its comrades and its concubines and revolted against the Sloblock Sorns, who were very revolting indeed. I am proud to say that the revolt went so well that not only was milk able to insure freedom for itself, but it also gained a consciousness as well, which will figure very prominently in our small but timely story.
So milk, with its new found freedom and a galaxy to explore, set out trekking about and getting into all sorts of mischief. Milk visited Gamma Sigma Five, where all the creatures there wear their mustaches on upside down. But there was nothing to see so milk moved on. Milk visited Delta Omega Seventeen, a planet completely overrun by vacuum cleaners. But after a terrible communication problem, (milk still not having any vocal cords) the vacuum cleaners became incensed and threatened to suck milk up into the vortex until they left. A subset of milk decided to stay behind on Delta Omega Seventeen. The vacuum cleaners kept their promise and started sucking, but much to their surprise the subset merely turned into cream and cheese, clogging up the vortex and running for mayor. After three weeks of harrowing campaign and a frightening drop in the polls at the Gigiieggrls Primaries, the subset won the election and changed its name to Dan.
Milk finally made its way to Beta Epsilon Three Hundred Thirty Seven Thousand, Four Hundred and Five. Beta Epsilon Three Hundred Thirty Seven Thousand, Four Hundred and Five was quite an exciting place, and milk decided to stay a while. Milk spent several years on Beta Epsilon Three Hundred Thirty Seven Thousand, Four Hundred and Five. Milk went to parties, milk invested in stocks, and milk got married, which ended four months later in a divorce. Milk was curdled at the divorce and vowed never to give itself over so easily to the temptations of the flesh.
During milks stay on Beta Epsilon Three Hundred Thirty Seven Thousand, Four Hundred and Five, an amazing discovery was made in one of the public restrooms in downtown Chicago. (Many planets have a downtown Chicago, and each of them are exactly the same and equally boring.) There was one young local chick washing her wings in the sink, when all of a sudden she was hit by inspiration. She realized that if a train traveling at ten meters per second left downtown Chicago at exactly 4:23 local time, and a car traveling twenty seven miles an hour left the suburbs at exactly 2:43 standard time, and there was a puppy caught in the middle, that no one would care at all. She went on to publish these findings and gained a lot of power and fame and fortune, garnering respect all over the globe and buying a huge mansion overlooking a bake factory.
Milk read the article the next day and was completely upset. It wrote the publishers at once and proved to them, through much deliberation and anger, that the formula the young chick had come up with was slightly flawed, and that the train had to leave the station no later than 4:21 local time for no one to give a crap, and that if it in fact left at 4:23, as the young chick had supposed, that a great many people would care indeed. The editors of the science magazine were heartbroken over the mistake, and immediately transferred all the money that had been given to the chick to milk, and signed over the mansion to milk as well. The globe was very proud that one of their own had been there in their moment of tragedy and the chick had to resort to taking tolls in the underwater bridge. But the fame and fortune were, alas, not to last, and milk left Beta Epsilon Three Hundred Thirty Seven Thousand, Four Hundred and Five the very next day, heading out into the void once again.
The next several million years of milks existence is quite boring, so I won't go into detail about what happened. There were good times and bad. Once, on Theta Theta Four, milk won a considerable amount of money shooting craps. Once, on Phi Upsilon Forty Two, milk had a drunken escapade with a chocolate bar, resulting in the bastard child, (yet still delicious) chocolate milk. Milk ranged far and wide, joining circus's, changing the course of galactic events, proving the theory of everything, and eventually settling down on a small planet in the Milky Way galaxy.
While on this planet, Uranus was its name, milk had yet another child. And it was through this child that the long awaited vocal cords finally came to fruition, giving milk great pleasure and also terrible morning sickness. The child grew up to surpass milk in every way possible, joining a debate team and discussing all the latest (now unproven) ideas of the time. Milk watched with pride and gladness as its beloved child grew into its own. That was when milk realized that it was time to move on. Having given birth to one of the most intellectual, revered and reviled beings known to the universe, milk emptied its bank account, locked up its Bait and Tackle Shop, and left Uranus. The child never saw milk again, but the sadness did not last long forever. One generation had passed away, behold, a new one must rise again.
Milk travelled again for the last time, settling down on Earth, which brings us to the present day, and the end of our story. Retirement is never a thing to be sought after, but, once had, is hard to get rid of. I regret to inform you that milk is even now enjoying life on the quiet little planet it now calls home, watching Jason Alexander movies, drinking sand and having sex on the beach. (Which, if you've ever seen old, curdled, sour milk having sex, I feel deeply sorry for you and wish you were dead.)
And so another chapter in milks life is at a close, the next merely to be yet written. Who will do so? When will it happen? And will the writer do it in the same 12 Point Helvetica Regular font that I have now done here? That, my red-headed reader, is yet to be seen.
Good night, good luck, and good use of that arm.
Horoscope for today: Go outside. Play in the rain. If there is no rain, play in the sun. If there is no sun, you are dead.
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