You see, dear reader, my fanciful journey began along the humble roadway known as Route 17 in the north western quadrant of southern New York (two hours north of Manhattan). I was being ferried carelessly from my home on "zac's" shop table to some sort of outing, some field work or what have you, I'm not really sure where we were going but I'd heard it involved bagels and large steel mailbox and I will say no more (the mere thought is unnerving). Whilst on this journey, sitting in the back of that horrid pickup truck I decided to make my daring escape. You see I noticed a large passenger van just behind us with Colorado plates and with that in my sights I caught a slip stream with just enough gust to carry me into the open side window of the van. From there I remained hidden inside the van until our arrival in Boulder Colorado.
While In Boulder Colorado I managed to spend a little time at UC Boulder, eventually meandering my way through the sea of litigations which buffer the admissions process and became a full matriculated student. During the time spent there I received my undergraduate in literature and quickly was invited to become an adjunct teacher for a semester. During which time I taught a class entitled "Life's a bitch and then you die" which actually focused on the pains of the afterlife (Dante's Inferno was the course's foundation).
Eventually, mid semester to be exact, I was accidentally placed in the briefcase of a traveling Evangelical who preached the Gospel of Trebufette the Blind Ox-boy to Carni and Circus folk at various locales along the Mississippi river. I found the mans sermons to be ridiculously abstruse and riddled with holes but the tenants upon which it was founded were imbued with rich moral fiber of which I heartily approved.
However I could no longer stand the man's countenance and was forced to again derail my path. I managed to get caught up with a group of New York bound Hop-heads who were intent on stopping at every rave and music venue they could find. Eventually these bewildered maniacs made it the state of Ohio where they were (rightfully/thankfully) arrested for possession of narcotics. The state trooper in charge realizing that I was a helpless captive took me into his own possession. He was going to, I assumed, restore me back onto my journey in a manner befitting a man of the law... I, of course, assumed incorrectly. You see instead of sending me off somewhere he simply placed me atop a beer bottle which sat on the rail of wooden fence at the edge of a vast field and began to slowly walk away from me. I simply thought that this was some strange way of releasing me into the wild. When he reached about 200 paces, however, he stopped walking and turned around and drew a large police issue Magnum revolver and began to slowly set up for the shot. It was at this moment that I realized that this man was not a member of the standard American police-force, but rather a symbolic figure of death brought down to restore the cycle of my torment and misery. He fired the trigger and everything went black.
You see, dear reader, I assumed that was the end, just as you likely did. Much to my dismay I was not greeted by a host of scantily clad angels or a divine garden or pearly gates atop a sea of clouds or anything of the sort. In fact I was treated to what felt like a single nights restful sleep and upon re-entering the world, I was back hanging on the wall at that very same welding supply store where my naive eyes first looked upon my hated captor, that awful "zac". And whom do you think the first face I would see is... none other than he. And I tell you, I had never before believed in the Law of Infinite Returns, nor understood it's precepts, I tell you that now it as clear as day to me. And this is my cycle of infinite returns, this is my 7th circle of Dante's inferno, my recurring nightmare, my terrible fate.
-Glove
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