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Chap 1.2 - Page 1frangles: Skip book 1: Writer's Bricks

            It seemed like the first mot of the second seven of the dawn of Skip's short life as an obscure frwoa writer somewhere between the dawn of the dawn of time and 1:12 Monday morning.  If his memory was working at all, Skip was pretty sure he had little or no memory of anything before it.  Yet if he didn't, then why did it seem like the first mot of his second seven rather than the first of the first?  Skip got very dizzy at this thought; so much so that he didn't even consider that the known universe might need some sort of naming before he thought himself into it, and unconsciously bypassed this first task and went straight to his second.
            As to what to actually do next, Skip had a faint inkling that something or other about his purpose in life had been already established.  If he'd had no such inkling, he might have pondered heading off on a great and wonderous journey of self-discovery and enlightenment covered in Frangles Flutonia Extended Deleted Alternate Timeline # FFEE-131122 | FFM t-R2-D2-C3-P-infringe | F:\ frangles \ skip \ bullshitFFMlocations.rtf \ buy it now \ limited offer while \ supplies last part of \ a complete breakfast \ .com  But, since he did, all he could ponder was the nagging feeling that there was something he was supposed to be doing.  Precisely, to write the catylist frwoa of the entire 88 X 10 to the unknownth year progression of Okuaka before 7:77 that evening.  While it seemed a pretty liberating task, it still felt like an violation of originality to be denied the writer's right to think up a more original one.
            "Okuaka!"  Skip exclaimed aloud.  Then thought silently, "That's would I should write about.  But what is it?  What does it mean?"
            It suddenly dawned on Skip that "Okuaka" was the first thing that he or any writer (or anybody, as far as Skip knew) had ever decided to write about--or even say--and was hit with a battle hammer rush of nostalgia, deja vu, and regret that it was someone else's fault he didn't have a more interesting topic.  Out of everything anybody could write about, what was so special about Okuaka?  Since no one had ever explained the innapropriateness of copyright infringement to him--especially in the most important fractal work of art of Okuaka's entire progression--Skip decided to risk remembering something someone once said to the producer of the first episode of a space battle saga with strange aliens and trippy glowing swords of light.  They had said, "Of all the things you could do, why in the !@#$ing hell would you do this?"
            Imagining the memory that the saga became as popular as deep fried twinkies (a trademark he suddenly decided no one should have a problem with him thinking about given his total isolation from any sort of trademark law whatsoever), Skip took comfort in the chance that this story about Okuaka would be all the rage at some point or another in the progression of... of... "Of Okuaka!"
            Saying his second and third words led Skip to a doubly strange deja vu akin to the feeling he'd had after he'd said his first.  He took a moment to thoroughly quantify everything he was sure he'd ever said as a sentient being, and brought up a colorful slide presentation in the empty conference room of his mind.
            The pie chart of the ratios of particular words was heavily dominated by the words "Okuaka" and "of."  "Okuaka" took up an entire two thirds of the pie chart, and the latter the remaining slice.  Aggravating his bafflement that the task of writing about "Okuaka" was already a strange pick, the fact that the word apeared at a ratio of two to one out of all his frwoa's content so far was even more of a shock to deal with.  Especially since it was only just now Skip had even considered that his monologue should begin the great frwoa he was to write.  (A thought he now discarded).
            Yet, thinking his thoughts some sort of story led Skip to story some more.  "Hold it.  Can 'story' be used as a verb?" he asked aloud.  Then, upon recieving no answer, figured why the hell not!  For all Skip he knew he was inventing the very medium of language itself as his story storied on!  And since all language that stories story through require some sort of vocabulary other than "Okuaka" and "of," he decided to create a bit more of it.  For some reason a series of terms just rolled off his pinkish something-or-other near the top of his head as if he'd heard them a thousand--or at least one or two--times before.  " 'Bilennia'... 'worflii'...  'frwoa'... 'vifa'... 'bricks'... 'tots'... 'dots'...  'mots'... 'Vifps'... 'Okuaka'...  Wait, I think that one already made the list.  Let me check."  He did, and it had.  But what he found missing was an entire language of nouns, verbs, adjectives, and gramatical rules, that he would certainly need in order to tell a story about Okuaka.  He made a mental note to come up with one, but the lack of a language to put it on paper and make it a memo--not to mention the lack of a paper and pen due to the lack of physics entirely wherever the hell Skip was--caused Skip to skip the task and then forget about it altogether.
            " 'Skip to skip' ", Skip quoted in a dually strange deja vu: one for the skips, and two for the feeling he'd had them both before.  Perhaps it was time for the phrase to mean something new.  He thought it would make a dandilion opening to a short poem frwoa, and decided to think up a good one, but then realized he only had time to contrive a bad one.  His train of thought was approaching its stop and he only had a mot--had he not--to not define his terms a little better before he forgot where he had heard them before.  He also forgot the one phrase he'd thought up the poem for that he'd somehow forgotten to even insert.

Moments are mots, and tots are like thoughts,
And so are the trains of them stopping at stops.
Bricks are small frwoas that frwoa tot growers
Confuse, loose, and fruse into writer's tot blocks!

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