Seriously, Who Has Monogrammed Pajamas?

I Figure The World Is Basically A Machine. I Don't Know Who Made It, If It Was The Fates, Or The Gods, Or The Capital-g God Or Whatever. But It Chugs Along The Way It's Supposed To Most Of The Time. Sure, Little Pieces Break Off And Stuff Goes Haywire Once In A While, But Mostly... Things Happen For A Reason.

If You've Seen A Crab's Mouth, All Foamy And Gross With Whiskers And Snapping Bits, You Can Imagine This One Didn't Look Any Better Blown Up To Billboard Size.

I Pressed Play And Started Up Chiron's Favorite--the All-time Greatest Hits Of Dean Martin. Suddenly The Air Was Filled With Violins And A Bunch Of Guys Moaning In Italian. The Demon Pigeons Went Nuts. They Started Flying In Circles, Running Into Each Other Like They Wanted To Bash Their Own Brains Out.

A Person's Shadow Stood For His Legacy, His Impact On The World. Some People Cast Hardly Any Shadow At All. Some Cast Long, Deep Shadows That Endured For Centuries.

Hermes Has Threatened Me With Slow Mail. Lousy Internet Service And A Horrible Stock Market If I Publish This Story. I Hope He Is Just Bluffing.