Photo by Ivandrei Pretorius from Pexels

A shit storm of sperkles, perhaps, not sparkles on a bad day, but maybe in a bad way.

Fancy a sperkle?

The Urban Dictionary says its another word for sex, which seeing as I thought I just made it up, means that I’m behind the times already, or maybe the UD has its finger on my pulse.

NOT THERE! You perv.

Not to be confused with a sperklestorn, which is related to a ribsnooter, if you know what that is. Don’t bother looking it up. With its finger on my – oops! – instead of my pulse, the UD hasn’t caught up yet.


Or is that foreshame, before shame is brought on? Is that some kind of innocence, or an incense of innocents. (Would that be an appropriate collective noun?) I’m incensed! Am I sensing a trend here?

Not a gnat’s willy of a chance!

I’m talking to myself again, deviating from my topic: a deviant deviating from her deviation.

I’m falling into a time loop. Shit, I must be doing the time warp again, which is probably a good thing in the throes of a sperklestorm, and that is much better than during a sperklestorn, having that rib torn out to germinate a superior being, i.e. a ribsnooter.

A rib with a nose?

That would be a ribsnout. And it isn’t a ribshooter either. That would be ribs with a breast, which is just plain disgusting. Not a rib-shooter either. That might be a fatal error.

Tell me more about sperklestorms. I’d rather go there.

Of course, you would. That’s where my mojo is safely tucked away. I almost typed fucked away … is it possible for my mojo to be fucked? In the middle of a sperklestorm, that is certainly possible, likely even. My mojo is probably slip-slidin’ around in an orgy of inspiration, waiting to give birth to … well, maybe another ribsnooter, but possibly a snoodsnacker.

A snoodsnacker! My head is spinning.

Like straight out of … what’s that movie? … Halloween, or something like that. You’re just an owl.

You’re an owl!

You and I are the same person. You wise-cracker.


Firecracker, snoodsnacker, what’s the difference?

A sparkly sperkle?

In a sperklestorm, it’s just context.

I give up.

I gave up on you long ago.


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