To the press:

This is a document. This revelation came to me in a dream. In it, I was alive, sort of like a bee. Or maybe a cat? I don’t know. Anyway, I was walking down the coffee, drinking my wall. There was music coming from my stove, and it was horrible! It kept going on and on about a “flying fishmonger” and how he flies. I suspect this was the reason for what happened next. It started raining in the living room, until eventually my pet cable box set the water, which was now flooding the house, on fire. While this would be fine on most days, today my furniture was *not* in the mailbox like usual, meaning this now red-hot water was burning my wooden boots and my prized leather piano.

Let me elaborate further on this leather piano. It was a gift from my great-great-great-great grandson from the future. He was 107 when he arrived in his car from the future to leave it on my driveway. How do you know this, you may ask? Well, the car had all kinds of dents in it, so he must have modified it to add some time travel things. Not to mention, it was leaking suspicious translucent fluid, which I doubt was gasoline or oil because when I tried to burn my neighbor with it, nothing happened. It did taste good, though I had to be hospitalized for food poisoning after trying to drink it. Anyway, back to my dream and the following revelation about documents now.

My house, which was now on fire, started to smell like burning chinchillas, a smell which I will describe as I remember it in a future submission. While the smell was okay, the fact that the walls were made out of chinchillas was not. I rushed to throw away as many as possible before the giant countdown to the left of me hit 0. I didn’t manage to save any, but I did get some good trade deals with Russia. I used this to my advantage and purchased a Russian water extinguisher. By now, it had been a few days and the house had shrunk down in the washing machine. I baked a house cake, which was remarkably good, despite the fact that I had just eaten a leather piano, hundreds of dead chinchillas, and, as the dictionary said, “an enthusiast for animal characters with human characteristics, in particular a person who dresses up in costume as such a character or uses one as an avatar online.” I don’t know why he chose to stay in my house, but he doesn’t really do much except eat over 300 dollars a month in potatoes and steal all my cassette tapes, so whatever.

By now, the file size of my house was large enough to warrant deleting my friends, but eating it (my friends, not the house) resolved the issue. While this was good and all, the stove music was still playing. Turns out there was a 72-piece orchestra in an egg in the microwave I was cooking on the stove. This was shocking, because I didn’t properly ground the stove. Not to mention, the egg was out of charge, so who knows what was powering the orchestra. Probably protein, but I made sure to only cook the shell, so I highly doubt it.

By now, I was starting to wake up. Turns out, this dream lasted long enough to import fire extinguishers from Russia only because I was hit by a car and was now in a deep coma. Fortunately (or unfortunately), this meant that the world was starting to collapse in on itself as I woke up. In the 9 hours it took for anyone to actually try to make me wake up, whether it be a coma or not since “*5 more minutes*,” many things happened.

First, a woman wearing a dodecahedron and her child, who *was* a dodecahedron, handed me a clock. This will not be important later. Some negative 3 minutes after that, a mouse appeared and handed me a clock. This will be important later. I screwed around for the next 45 minutes, during which I attempted to burn my neighbor with translucent fluid from a car with speed holes, as I mentioned earlier. Remember how I said it didn’t work? That’s when it hit me. A brick that is. Being an atheist, when some god dude tried to take me to heaven, I shot him and ran away because it’s legal in whatever place I live in. I would ask my neighbor where I live, but he stopped talking to me after I murdered him, probably because dead men tell no tales, or whatever they say in whatever place they say it in.

Here’s where the clock is important. I tried to make it into an alcoholic drink, but it didn’t work and I instead got a document. It contained theese exact words that you’re reading, so I just stole it and am now passing it off as my own. I’m surprised that even the person who wrote this the first time plagiarized it, including this part because someone is turning a clock into an alcoholic drink and they’ll probably plagiarize it when it turns into a document. Enough about that though, we have to talk about the whole document thing. The document whispered to me, “I am a document.” This brought me to the greatest realization in my life, and the most profound thing I will ever know.

# This is a document.

However, by now, I had woken up. I had 311 broken bones, which is surprising, because humans don’t have 311 bones. The doctors tell me that I have lost 30% of my brain function, but they quickly shut (shat, shet, shit, shot?) up when I burned them with something labeled “blood transfusion,” whatever the hell that is. Or it might have just been that I lost my hearing due to lack of blood. That’s probably the case, because soon after that, I died. Unfortunately, this time I did not have my gun so the gods took me to the other place, I guess. Turns out the one true religion hasn’t even been invented yet. I wrote this document, and am now turning it into a clock so that you, the press, can distribute it 2 weeks in the past in efforts to make sure I find it while I am in a coma.

From,

I forgot my name please help me