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March 17, 2010

THE BEGINNING OF THE BEGINNING:
Okay from the top…the END OF THE END!
THE MIDDLE OF THE BEGINNING:
Okay from the top…the END OF THE END!
THE END OF THE BEGINNING:
Okay from the top…seriously I got it this time…THE END OF THE ENNN…A-A-A-H-H-H-H forget it I’ll start somewhere in the middle….
THE BEGINNING OF THE MIDDLE:
This story is a Magic 8 Ball during an earthquake in the fact that it seems to be answering questions no one’s asked.
Hey, quick press Stop, then press Rewind, and now press play again while asking: “Who is Mr.J and what was he doing Tuesday night?”
Well, I wasn’t going to mention it…but since you’ve pry-ed with the steadfast curiosity of a sweatshop employee wondering if deodorant would lead to being fired, I’ll indulge your inquiry.
Meet Mr.J who was wrisfully paralyzed in elation while strolling last Tuesday night.
Mr.J’s glance fastened as he is subtlety captivated by the red sun was once overhead hovering restlessly the first half of Tuesday then replaced by sparkling pepper stars sprinkled intermittently across the powdery air.
Mr. J’s eye’s involuntary winking as he is visually awe inspired by Tuesday night’s velvet twilight, after the earth lurked away from the crimson-rose-coloured beams gleaming from the red sun.
It’s quite simple to sum up Mr. J as ughhh hmmm errrr…dinstinct in a vague sense, unique like everyone else, and unforgettable for something or rather.
Less eloquent and more epigrammatic delineations would paint your mental canvas with brush strokes of colourful details, descriptions, and depthful definition but combing with scrutiny of a fine toothed comb as if it were a Cliff Note Version of Mr. J and Cliff Note Versions are obviously way harder to read because it’s the full length version of the original story opposed to a brief synopsis and short summary.
According to Cliff and his extensive notes that are the stenographer of Mr.J’s every thought, action, and thought of an action or action of a thought.
THE MIDDLE OF THE MIDDLE:
According to this nerdy note-taker named Cliff, this Mr.J is well, well,well…
Well-He’s a twenty something man with reserved reticence.
This lack of being mealymouthed was often confused as him being veraciously meek, authentically humble, or some other admirable attribute that he genuinely didn’t merritt.
Truth be told, Mr.J was the anti-thesis of this popular yet precipitous postulation.
In fact, unbound by the shackles of affectation, Mr. J was so self involved that he almost failed Astronomy 101 because he thought the world actually revolved around him.
Yes, he was the center of attention, focus, and known universe.
Yes every floating planet orbited around this megalomaniac’s sanguinely misplaced sense of self entitlement.
His contemptuous smirk radiantly abortive of sorrow acted as the midwife to the birth of his pretentious, pompous, and pedantic son named, “Skewed Self-Consciousness”.
And this son was the sun and only sun.
This son was the grandson, godson, and the 3rd rock’s ultraviolet sun.
His arrogance glistening privileged glimpses of riotous sophism’s and short lived elegant excursions so bright even during winter evenings, it’s reflection turned the dark moon into a pale beacon casting audacity rays wedged between shadows of unguarded ears that his wicked tongue was poison to yet tickled.
His vast fetid sump sucking wasteland abyss of empathy was what the Egyptian God Ra represented on hieroglyphics.
Yes to Mr.J, this is why he failed astronomy because he was the sun.
THE END OF THE MIDDLE:
Him, a man that was charming yet as contradicting as a mime performing ventriloquism.
A man as vexed and perplexed as a mongoloid trying to crack the Rubik’s Cube unknowing he’s also color blind.
A man who was emotionally stable as the quivering hand of Micheal J Fox during an intense game of Jenga.
He was the sun opposed the golden disk that illuminates our blue marble 12 hours of the day.
Footnotes juxtapose a paradox portrayal that’s the Rosetta stone to decrypting decoding and discovering the davinci code disguise.
His denial, deception, demeanor dictated a diminishing denotation disparaging and deprecating.
The simplistic quizical easily enigmatic peiceless puzzle of Mr. J is art imitating life imitating Mr. J’s life imitating his art which imitated Mr.J.
THE END OF THE BEGINNING:
Mr. J doesn’t give an F about LIFE and parenthetically note the word LIFE minus the letter F spells the word LIE.
Subsequently, LIFE is a LIE for those who never gave an F, that’s a FACT.
FACT for those who don’t give an F is just the word ACT and that’s Mr.J’s ACT of LIFE no LIE, FACT.
THE BEGINNING OF THE END:
If he did give an F…some F’s…or all F’s they were Fd up.
F’s fell frequently foreshadowing famously funny flings flickering flames fluttering fickleness feigning form facing fictional facade foiled fully from foibles, follies, and flaws forging fake face of Mr. J who gave an F yet was ineffable so F it.
THE MIDDLE OF THE END:
Okay now either look or listen close because I’m not restarting or repeating after I begin…actually lemme start over one more time.
THE BEGINNING…of the end…ahh forget it I’ll finish at the beginning.

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