IHNIWID 6/11/2019
Time passes more rapidly the less you engage in meaningful activities. Uncle Jeep Tim’s time was passing quite rapidly. Like Robin Williams in the 1996 movie Jack, Uncle Jeep Tim’s time seemed to be moving at four times the pace of everyone else’s.
While walking the dogs one evening a flurry of wind kicked up, sending approximately eight thousand seven hundred and thirty three whirly-gigs pinwheeling end over end. A muted cacophony of dried plant matter, stretched over helicopter frames, cascaded by Uncle Jeep Tim on what was sure to be the same route, on the same dog walk he took each and every evening.
Time was suspended, all those lost moments from life’s continual acceleration into agedness slammed on the brakes and came to a screeching halt at this exact and present moment.
What would you do if you realized that you had access to every lost moment in your life? Would you bat an eye if I told you that this week alone, sixteen minutes of your time has been spent on the toilet re-reading posts you have already seen on Facebook? Would it surprise you that the original sixteen minutes spent reading said posts was also wasted time?
Uncle Jeep Tim looked at the sidewalk and saw half of a bird. The thought echoed for eternity “but where is the rest of the bird”???
Time was frozen around Uncle Jeep Tim, an indescribable taste lingered on his taste buds; the stasis of time has a metallic tinge to it, not unlike thousand-year-old blood.
There appeared to be fissures on the crust of the earth, an air of oppression emanated from within these “hot pockets”. Like the heat waves seen radiating from hot tar on a summer day, these “heat waves” jagged between depravity and unbridled hedonistic rapture, jack-knifing up from the ruptured surface of the Earth.
Things had taken a sincerely sinister twist as Uncle Jeep Tim became increasingly aware of the perilous nature of being perched on the pernicious precipice of time. An alternate reality unveiled itself, stripped away, the cloak of time. Uncle Jeep Tim was on a different plain of existence. Far removed from day to day dog walks, his dogs had manifested in the form of two 8000 year long Ouroboros (Ourobori?) continually eating their own poop. Perpetual machines that never stopped to ask themselves if they should, but simply are.
Uncle Jeep Tim was not alone on what used to be Falmouth street. Little happy creatures burbling a stream of nonsense had replaced the whirlygigs that just moments prior were swirling past Uncle Jeep Tim’s ankles. They flowed around him like a river going down a stream, the “street” was not so much a tarred surface any more but the substrate of every surface that has ever existed at this exact place and time compiled into an androgynous landscape sprawling before him. Every surface was all possible elevations, every pock-marked path and every blade of grass and none of those things at the same time.
There was a certain beauty to be found in not being able to identify one single aspect of anything around him. It was like being inside a computer algorithms interpretation of what it means to exist but someone forgot to punch in the quantifier of time.
Even though there was no passage of time it appeared as though it was getting dark outside (”all of side”? For you see he was simultaneously inside of every structure that had ever existed in this space, while also occupying every outdoor space that had existed here as well). The creatures seemed to have taken a much more marked execution of their meanderings and were all now coalescing into large undulating groups. They didn’t seem as carefree anymore. They clearly had places to be.
As the last of the creatures streamed by Uncle Jeep Tim, a deep thrumming began to emanate from the surface of the Earth. It all happened so quickly he could barely register it as a subterranean creature surged forth from the fissure in the Earth and snatched up a meandering morsel and scarfed it down post-haste, before turning it’s alien eyes upon him.
Was that too spoopy for poodums?
That was just a really long way of saying Uncle Jeep Tim lives outside the confines of time and you’ll get an article when you get one.
Tune in next WHENEVER for another exciting installment of “Uncle Jeep Tim surely stole part of this plot from H.G. Wells - The Time Machine and the other part must have come from the time his Mother’s dog Smidgen ate two pot cookies containing an eighth of weed”.
Don’t think you can wait 3, 6, Possibly even 12 months for the next installment?
DON’T WORRY I HAVE A SALVE FOR THAT.
I mean seriously, I’m busy with other things now.
Do you really want more content? Here, check out my band, we are tentatively called 3piece4piece until someone challenges me on that shitty name.
OR THIS SONG EVEN
Oh that’s not good enough? Here’s some Uncle Jeep Tim Original Meme’s you Fart-knockers. GOODNIGHT
Gorton Freeman in Gaff-Life
You seen all those Kyle Meme’s going around? Uncle Jeep Tim flips the script.
Perhaps some beer based puns?
Work related meme?
Or maybe vulgarity is your thing
One things for certain, you can expect more of me on my bullshit.
<3
