Journalism is His Medium

To the Editors:

So there I stood, or maybe I was sitting. Sometimes it’s hard to remember little things like that, especially in moments of great emotion. Like this one time, I was kneeling, or maybe I was squatting. At any rate, this pygmy monk started to spread frosting on my ear, and then when I yelled at him he apologized and offered to lick it out. I allowed him to, but things got a little weird. But anyway, back to the “there I stood” thing. So there I sat, on the tip of a match, laughing at the celestial world below me and the stapencrestial world above me and below me. Then a little bat came and winged me a jar of frosting. I slapped him, and he returned to Frankenstein.
Then the doctor examined my urine for traces of opium muffins.
Soon I traveled to a sitcom. I was waiting in a Chinese restaurant to ride, ride, ride and write my name in the sand, but then the host died at the age of 24.
Milk. I love a tall, blonde, sexy glass of milk. Soymilk is rubbery though, if you like ’em flexible. Apes are funny on mescaline. Running around at such a speed, bumping into shoelaces. I’m not crazy, said the llama. Headcheese is good on pizza. Acid candy lane I was a-strolling with the llama. He handed me some vegetarian pizza. It was very good. That’s all. I don't know why I should finish here, with an incomplete llama story, but sometimes things like this happen.
–Travis Heaney
College first-year