The prime mover.

The prime mover.
Ah! So I have created, like god, ex nihilo, this little pawprint, this binary scat, as it were, of my blazing trail across the Internet. Except it wasn't so much ex nihilo, seeing as I just had to poke words into fields on a form that somebody smarter than myself had made. So I guess I'm not god after all. So I guess that means I'm going to have to stamp all those prayers that have been pouring in "return to sender". I apologize in advance for any inconvieniance this may cause, and um, would you sign this waiver?

I was going to name this thing fried underpants. While the phrase has not lost any of its stunning comic power and hilarious majesty for me personally, I have a sneaking intuition that the friend(s) who have been subjected to my blurting it out and cackling wildly, on a more-than AllBran-regular basis, are a leetle bit tired of it. And since said friends are my only reader(s), I'm guessing it's not so wise to bore them right off. There is plenty of time to bore them in the near future.

But still: Fried Underpants are not Imaginary

I think my morbid fascination with the subject may have something to do with the fact that it is one of the most pure examples I have come across in my short life of how every little thing has been said or thought before. I had, in my callow, naive way, thought that "Fried Underpants" was a creation new-born, begotten in the damp, cobwebby recesses of my singular mind. And so I entered them into Google, awaiting confirmation of my unique brilliance by an empty page. But no.

No.

There were, to my gleefully horrifed eyes, no less than "about 5" (in Google's careful estimation) entries for "Fried Underpants", including "deep fried", "french fried", and "delicious hot fried".

I learned a lesson that day, my friends. I really did. Mock me if you must. I have been humbled - the mortifications you heap upon me can only serve to aid in my education. I bow my head.