About the Redundant Writer Who Couldn’t Stop Repeating Himself

When he met her he met her and he liked her as much as she liked him yes, he heard things better, meaning better than before and quite possibly better before he met her, and in his eyes those powerful bright blue orbs that had taken in her presence when he met her the lines of the physical world meeting up at that point where they had met each other and he had liked her, she liking him as much as he did, both standing on these lines signifying the point of the world where the two met, and they both liked each other. He was smarter, smarter than you, smarter than her yes, and quite possibly smarter than the rest of the world because he was a writer of redundant details, and he always had something to ramble about, whether political satire or short shorts or sentences for the kids. They would publish him because he was rich and because he liked you and liked her and he wrote about cute digressive things, nothing about the real world, the world he knew before he met her and they liked each other, just as they were standing on the lines of demarcation. But as to these physical lines of geography demarcating one detail from another, it should also be said that in addition to liking each other, they also liked these lines of geography, and it is safe to say that the lines of geography also liked them. And since everybody liked each other, they would soon spread this terminology across the planet, getting assorted people to stand upon these lines of geography, these lines of demarcation, and making them like each other without force. Everyone’s eyes would turn into bright blue orbs and, yes, he would like her, she would like him, the twain would like the lines of geography, and whoever else happened to be in the room (other than he and she and the lines) would also like everybody else. It would be a fine plan for a fine afternoon involving fine people.