1. Preheat oven to 500,000°C.
2. Mix peanut butter, egg nog, flower, & coffee into bowl.
3. Drive down to the closest grocery store, since you clearly forgot to buy peanut butter, e’en though your spouse reminded you to 3 times yesterday, ¿why don’t you ever listen?
4. I was kidding: you don’t need the coffee. I sure fooled you.
5. Smash your hand in a waffle iron. This won’t make the waffles taste better; it’s just fun.
6. Put bowl in oven & wait 30 minutes.
7. During that 30 minutes, drive down to the closest grocery store & buy a box o’ frozen waffles—seriously, this is the 21st century: you don’t need to make them like they did down on Blue Acres.
8. Waffles are bad for your arteries, anyway. A good banana muffin will fill you with the proletarian class consciousness you need to get through the day—as well as plenty o’ protein & Vitamin B.

Li’l did Elat realize that the lawyers she took to be on her side had only aimed to sell her as a slave to some “cheerful” Plutoan. Though they probably hoped she wouldn’t overhear their agreement with the Plutoan they met, what they failed to realized was that she could very well comprehend Cracjac.¹

She didn’t dare try ‘scaping, having heard the kind o’ violence Plutoans were capable o’ enacting gainst the hated Jupiterians; however, when they finished speaking, she was surprised to not see the Plutoan put any force field over her @ all. He² simply turned & went, leaving her ‘hind.

She confronted her lawyer ’bout it, only to be told that the Plutoan had only purchased her name—her trademark. He would simply be able to use her name & likeness for whatever ads³ he wanted.

Footnotes:

Her¹ attorneys discussed it with her & informed her that her only solution was to fly to Pluto.

“Ertuwert Ut-achun Urch Urst²,” said 1 o’ the attorneys as she revolved her visage, her words roughly translated as, “The Urst government will surely lock you up.”

So her attorney snuck her into a bright car³ & sped her off to a distant field, where she was snuck onto a rocket to be sent to Pluto.

Even far into the launch, when she was confirmed that her exit wouldn’t be stopped by the government, she held tightly to her seat, for she had no idea what worse trouble she could find herself in on Pluto.

Footnotes:

She shook so much that her desk wobbled while she clutched her hands tightly to each other.

She saw them everywhere: with their bellies full o’ variously colored words & #s—their ints, bools, & doubles, or their publics, privates, protected, & even their statics & virtuals.

“Your panicking’s just paranoia,” the student next to her said as he pushed up his glasses. “Now, I don’t see any class anywhere. I just see stuff.”

From ‘hind a class rushed toward him with its yawning braces teeth & crunched him in its maw, breaking his body down into nutrients in its destructor.

Unfortunately, someone forgot to tell the destructor that that kid wasn’t a true kid. He was only the pointer to a true kid.

The destructor forgot to delete the kid.

Now his memory haunts the world forever.

“Easy, li’l guy… Not too fast.”

O’Beefe slowly rocked back & forth in his ol’ wooden rocking chair as he held a white & black spotted tabby named Patches in 1 arm. The other arm grasped a bamboo stalk in front o’ Patches. Patches wouldn’t wait to reach out, grab the bamboo end, & nibble on it faster than the speed o’ light, his cotton-candy-consistent belly bulging with nutrients.

O’Beefe looked on with a smile.

How precious…

& just imagine how precious he’ll be when he’s grown to his fullest form…

This’ll be my magnum opus.

Turtly carefully measured every second & all o’ the ingredients to ensure that every variable was perfect.

There were no 2nd chances here.

He decided on a crispy cake, since that type had baking @ the end, after the peanut-butter frosting & apple chunks were already added.

When all o’ the ingredients were added, he put the batter into the oven & clicked the stove on. Then he added 1 last extra: he squeezed himself into the stomach o’ the great cake, feeling the thick batter press into him from all sides.

Lastly, he reached out to close the oven door & awaited his final confection.

On an edge o’ the Invisible Continent, Chicken Medium huffed & puffed as he twisted a screwdriver into a screw in 1 wing & scrubbed a toothbrush onto the machine in ‘nother, both going as quickly as he could muster.

It’ll all be worth it when the Vision comes true & we join the upper crust.

But the machine was unstable. It always wanted tuning & scrubbing, & sometimes the scrubbing made the screws untune & sometimes the tuning made the machine dirtier, ¿& how could he decide ‘mong all o’ these problems when he felt like he was killing it just as he was trying to clean it? ¿When he was expected to compete with bent bristles & rusty screwdrivers?

& then there was the plague lurking round, threatening to cause whole cogs to fall off, ruining the whole enterprise!

They always knew when she was coming by the muffled—to the point o’ sounding alien—sound o’ her footsteps going up the stairs to the door.

The door opened. None understood how, for no one had e’er seen her lift her sleeves, nor could she have kicked it open due to the softness o’ its opening & the way they could clearly see the knob turn.

They stared @ the buttons @ the top o’ her coat—the closest to a head she had—as she stepped to the center & slowly revolved toward them.

That was when they always felt the ideas slipping into their minds. They knew o’ no way to stop them; indeed, they always felt their will to reject them eased, too—a’least till class adjourns.

No matter how many times I tried washing them, they still wouldn’t become clean.

As I lifted the bucket to replace its graying water with fresher water, I looked up @ the white sky outside & saw the 1st crow o’ October perching on a power line.

I knew I’d never clean these books o’ all their typos, uncited quotes, irrelevant sources, & gibberish left by crabs sidestepping over keyboards.

But I knew that if I didn’t the crows wouldn’t be happy.

& when the crows aren’t happy, they’re hungry.

& when the crows are hungry, they eat people.

& being eaten isn’t fun.