I wake up in the mornin
look in the mirror
What could that smell be?
It could be the smell of sugar
"caramelized" onions
covered in a salty vinaigrette
But the masquerades and the video arcades --
Wait I'm just typing nonsense. But you know what's nonsense? Waking up and feeling just OFF. The hairs on the back of the neck going all erect and stiffy in a jiffy, the hackles, the hackles just saying, SOMETHING IS WRONG. And you say, make your time? Or you say, What... IS IT... MAaaaaaaaaaaaaaan? And your eyes are a little foggy like an old fogie, and you taste a bitterness on your tongue. And you think - something is RONGWAY, something is just woooooah, but you can't figure it out? And you say, I think something is on fire. And you say, I think this house is on fire. Does this make sense? Does this make sense that this house would be on fire? Reth reth reth?
Then all of a scum-sucking-sudden, BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP - it's the fire alarm! It's the fire drill! It's the fire's smoking detective agency going BEEP BEEP BEEP THERE'S SOMETHING WRONG BEEP BEEP BEEP SOMEONE SET US UP WITH BATTERIES AND WE ARE SMELLING BACONATED FUMES IN THE FORM OF DEATH-SMOKE BEEP BEEP
and you head downstairs and your living room is completely dripping with fecundantic smoke. At this moment you think sad thoughts, or at least I did in my position at that time in question. I said to myself, I am feeling sad now, that my living room has filled with smoke, and the alarm is reminding me gently with the loudest possible noise it can create, that I should be alarmed. At this juncture of sadness and "blue-thoughts", I called up to my loves up stairs and told them to quickly vacate into the front yard, whilst I fetch my phone and search for flames and feel sad that everything I know and love (MY COMPUTER OMG) is going to explode into wreaths of flickery flapjack fire.
Whar wuz all the smoke coming from? Through my conjoined neighbor's doorway. Uh oh. I call them (on the phone!), no answer, as I'm walking back around the house to see - thar's thar culprit. She be fillin' her room-holes with the fair lady of the foggy brime: smoke. I knock and ring the doorbell, but since they didn't answer they must be oot and a boot so as the vernac's go around here. I'm half-way calling 911, which is fairly difficult if you think about it. Did I press the 9 and was in the middle of about to press the next 1? Or did I press the 9 and the 1, and that's half because you have to press 1 and then "send"? All of these thoughts rushed through my headmuffin, when I figured I should at least check their door to see if I could open it up and possibly take a fire enumerator and postfumously ex-hume on my own accord. Luck! The door opens, and there.. I see... my neighbor! Standing there about to open the door - sleepy, perhaps drugged? Drugged with sleepiness or sleepy with drugs, or just sleepy, but the room is full of smoke? She is unconcerned. I can't see how she can breathe, you know, from ALL THE SMOKE. She says to me, not to worry, she just burned some oatmeal.
For 6 hours.