Due to my dear love of the alchamemes at the Starfire Codes, I’ve decided to attempt to write a short story to highlight the Perplexicon. Please click the image below for the proper translations of the vocabulary. (Words with a footnote are new words that I use regularly, which are not currently in the Perplexicon.)
It may help to watch this quick 2 minute video before attempting to read this story- The Perplexiconistory PreReader Guide.
Act 1- Introductions
This morning, at some point between my early AM hurkle-durkle and later day workle-durkle, I heard a strange sound coming from my ambitchous roommate’s room.
“Hey, are you ok?” I yelled quietly. There was no response, so I decided to go check on her.
The scene in the room was chaotic, crazy, confusing, and slightly impressive. At 9am on a Sunday, I found her twerking in bed on camera to a paid audience. Perhaps I waited to long to announce myself. Mid twerkle-durkle, she spun around and accused me of lurkle-durkling her.
”Hey, I’m not the one still in bed, sweating!” I replied.
She killed her live stream and got out of bed. ”Sorry.” She apologized. “I need to get up. I have a severe case of humiditities and Chad is supposed to be coming by with his brofessor for breakfast pyramisu. I need to get these chesticles showered. You want to stick around and meet him?”
“Shit, I don’t know. I’ve been successfully anti-stalking him for weeks. Why would I want to end a good streak now?” I asked.
“Well, it is soon to be Smonday and it’s National Unmalicious Day. Maybe it will be a good thing.” she answered.
“I’ll think about it.” I offered as I carefully stepped over and around a few of her clearly labubupazzuzzuz affected stuffies strewn about the room, awaiting their moment to strike an unsuspecting innocent. I went back to my room to get dressed for the day.
I really didn’t want to spend any of today listening to the many broclamaitions and brofessions those two brofessional bromans were undoubtedly going to be broasting about using their intentionally limited brocabularies. I mean, one was an actual tenured brofessor. But then again, her pyramisu was better than anyone else’s, including the ones you could get at the tryceramisu shop down the street.
To kill some time I decided to make the suckrifice and doomscroll some cringestack writers I’d been arguing with online. They were the standard assortment of egotarded yet fascistnating dicktims, credtards, and flaggots, but ever since my emergency filterectomy I had grown quite whelmed with trying to crack their grimscape world view.
Even though I had definitely been receiving the short end of the substick on my own Substack page, I was still prepared to embrace the suck and get to work no matter how irkle-durkle I was certain the lurksome task would be. Fortunately for me, her cat Kitty came in and put me into a deep state of purralyisis. The time went by quickly.
I came out of my incatpacition to the over repetition of brofixed words and brofanities emanating from the kitchen. Bro this and bro that bro nauseum. I had to do something about it.
“Nutmaste, pazzuzzyouboo!” I simultaneously blessed and accused as I entered the kitchen.
Without missing a beat she countered with, “Nutmaste, pazzuzzuyoutoo!” while pouring a healthy dose of pazzuzzubooze over 4 triangular slices of pyramisu. I could tell that today was gonna be lit. Fat, Drunk, Stupid, and Lit.
I turned to the two bromans and introduced myself, “I’m Andi. Which one of you is the parachon brofessor?”
The older of the two smiled and brofessed brofessionally, “That would be me, Bro. I run the brogram at the broversity. Nice to meet you.” His hand offered forward in a configuration somewhere between shakeable and a fist bump. I opted for the fist bump.
“Then you must be Chad.” I deduced as I turned to the one with the broffant hairdon’t1.
“I am, indeed.” He brofessed with brototypical brovado.
My roommate caught me up with the topic of broversation I had interrupted. “We’re discussing the silly belief in the kakistocracy, the puppepresident, and the philanthropaths who own him.”
“How brofound.” I sighrolled. “I think I am gonna need a couple shots of that labubupazzubooze I’ve been saving for an occasion like this.“
“I’ll pour you a drink.” she offered as she retrieved the discothulu themed bottle from the top shelf.
And that’s how I found myself engaged in a deep prellspawn pazzuzzusnafu, stirring my drink with a spife, and listening to two plan-trusters brofize the latest intellimafia talking points while nerdsplaining the most pignorant views I’d ever heard. One, sniffling like a psyopconnedreact and the other, a card carrying member of the puppeparty, both extolling the virtue jerk gaslightenment of our ineptocratic system to an audience of two. One of which was a paraselite whoreshipping2 omphaloskeptic choreleader3. The other, me, an exhaustipated lexi-con artist who had recently quit a high paying omni-industrial complex job, spuddling in an orafice, in order to spend more time obsessegorizing on my coddiwomple through life.
I was totally pisstified. I knew my roommate was an occasional pazzuboo and could even be a fairly hardcore labubupazzubu at times, but this day’s toxoplasmostest change took the tirashitsu cake and it wasn’t even the prevening yet.
“Enough with the bollotics and lunatic-edging asanity!” I cried, both my tardlerance and melioristic reserves nearing zero. “I’d rather get traffucked harderer in a windowless Ford Festiva than listen to you three trespooping all over everything good and rational in this world for another minute!”
My outburst was met with silence. In fact, the three of them were looking at me with what appeared to almost be gruntlewhelmed expressions on their faces. I knew I was full bore grimming at this point and I wasn’t terribly grimthusiastic about it, but both the bitchilante and the apocaloptimist in me came together and continued to speak in one voice, Mine.
“I don’t care if you think I’m heartrageous for saying say this.. but I am far too heartraged not to point out that if it wasn’t for the constant hegel finagling by our mindfucked poliphiliaticians4, none of these concepts you are bromoting, would be acceptable to any of us!”
They bromained silent, too stunned to broply.
I yelled, “Fuck you, ack-a-foos!” as I grabbed a hematomato from the counter and hurled it at a painting of squarrels running from a hungry squear, on the far wall. I left feeling like a total sturmfrie isolato as the tomato guts slid off the squircery style painting and slopped on to the floor.
Continued in Act 2.
A Tale Told in the Perplexiconistory Act 2
This is a continuation of A Tale Told in the Perplexiconistory Act 1- Introductions
Hairdon’t- A bad haircut or a great haircut in a terrible style.
Whoreshipping- A person whose religious praise and worship are always Quid Pro Quo. See also- “Prosperity Doctrine Christianity” as one denomination of whoreshipping believers.
Choreleader- An extremely vocal and enthusiastic slave. Also- Those who work minimum wage jobs, “Not for the money, but the love of the game.”
Poliphiliatician- An ancient word for a political representative who wants to fuck everyone. Shortened over the years to simply, politician.