Worm Butthole

Worm Butthole. These haunting words have been haunting my mind for the past haunting weeks. Their confounding portentousness have bedevilled my very soul. I am awash with flabbergast.

The words came to me in a vision. An electronic vision. As I was attending to my duty of worshipping the Great Television Overlord (praise thee!), the images on the screen formed a 'vision' (which they frequently do), and the vision spoke to/at me. Amongst the snowy whirr of cluttered chattering, one of the characters mumbled something seemingly incoherent, but in the interstices of this ranting drivel, my ears did elucidate a wondrous revelation: worm butthole.

It is, of course, possible that 'worm butthole' is actually what the character was meant to say, and thus not a message from another dimension (or even from the beyond!). But it was quite random and completely unrelated to anything else going on with the narrative at the time, AND it was worm butthole! And it wasn't one of those wibbly-wobbly, avant garde type productions where kooky-ass randomness is often par for the course. Nor was it a nature documentary (a place where the words 'worm butthole' might not be entirely out of place).

Also, I thoroughly reject any suggestion that I might have imagined these words. The notion that I have a silly and puerile mind which, of its own volition, conjured the aural worm butthole, is completely abhorrent to me.

So now I face the daunting task of discerning and deconstructing these powerful words. Are they an urgent environmental sustainability call to planet earth to make more use of worms for composting? Or is there a deeper, metaphysical message contained within - are these words, perhaps, referencing the time-space continuum, signalling the existence of multidimensional worm-holes, which connect to each other via 'butts'?

I also face the existential question: was I the only one? Were these words meant only for me? Or did they travel haphazardly into the ears of anyone who happened to be in front of the television at the time. There may be other worm butthole ponderers. Maybe I am not alone! I shall make it my life's work to seek out these (possible) others and we can ponder together. And there will be cake. And we may even become a cult.

Harden the Fuck Up, INFJ!

Whenever I take the Myers-Briggs secret identity test (a.k.a personality test), I always 'come out' as an INFJ.
[I=introvert, N=intuition, F=feeling, J=judging]
[Whatever all that means]

Apparently, this personality type is the least represented personality amongst the people of Earth, and sometimes, other personality types think that we're crazy (sometimes we are). We can be quite aloof at times (though we do care). We like to understand and ascribe meaning to things/situations/people. We can only have a proper conversation with one other human/animal/object at a time. We shun conversations that aren't proper. We are terrified of gatherings where we're expected to conversation with more than one person. We love interacting with books/movies/television 'cos we can be alone with them or close/stop them when our brains start to go fuzzy. But the thing that an INFJ most likes to do, the thing that makes it all worthwhile, is wallowing in puddles of maudlin reverie. Oh yeah!