eyebrowless man

anonymous asked:

what do u think about shrek

I generally try not to. the feelings of adoration and adulation that rise up within me when I consider his emerald visage are almost too powerful to withstand. they rend my physicality asunder. at one point in my life, it became so bad that I felt I had to go…. away…. I had to seek answers, in the spiritual places of the world…. I went to my local supermarket. there was a man there with no eyebrows. I knew at once he was a soothsayer, because when I asked him where the milk was, he pointed me to aisle 5 - which is where the milk would be housed, indeed. in the future. it was, at that time, in aisle 7. the eyebrowless man was a genius, and I knew it. I asked him; I said, “I have travelled for many moons and many suns, and then I also popped to the shops and here you are. tell me, wise one, for I sense your almighty power: how do I move on from my deep and profound attachment to that verdant creature of gritty and fertile beauty??” the soothsayer looked at me in the eye, and he said, “listen… listen… to the sound of the fridges. hear how they hum. is it not alike to a mosquito’s hum, in a swamp?” I nodded, though I was sorely confused. then he said, “listen… listen… to the sound of the wind through the pasta noodles in aisle 18. is it not alike to the sound of the wind through the grasses of a swamp?” once again, I nodded. the pasta noodles were, at that time, in aisle 7. I respected his genius. “listen…” he said, once more. “listen… to the sound of swirling, gelatinous desserts being shaken in aisle 3. is it not alike to the sound of gas bubbles rising from the fetid waters of a swamp?” I nodded, though my mind was yet clouded by uncertainty. the desserts were, at that time, in aisle 7. aisle 7 was a mess. “I don’t understand,” I said aloud. the eyebrowless man raised his above-eye-skin. “He is with us,” he said. “He is all around. He is in the fridges and the desserts and the pasta noodles. His swamp sounds live with us, always.” I fell to my knees. “where,” I said. “where did you get such wisdom? how did you corrode away the foolishness in your soul so completely that it seems as though it has been done with bleach or some shit? what happened, to make you… thus?” The eyebrowless man shook his head. “I must know,” I begged. He turned to me, with eyes like the gooseberries spilling out over the floor in aisle 7. “well,” he said. “some-”