Dawson Filter as He Relates to Lighting

As Sylvester Denny stood atop the tumour, he peered down upon the one-log cabin he’d forged alongside the blind men who’d accepted him into their clan, promptly after which they agreed to thwart all of his life goals until the end of eternity. He bid it good riddance as his surroundings morphed into something not unlike the Atlantic ocean.

“Oh, we sure are in an ocean.” Dawson Filter lamented, throwing his arms in the air, as if they somehow belonged there. In reality, his arms didn’t belong anywhere.

“No,” Lance corrected, somewhat undermining his correction’s credibility by slurring the sentence’s opening ‘n’, “the ocean’s way better lit than this dump. Dead giveaway.”

“It’s just midnight.” A second Dawson Filter explained. “Lighting has the tendency to really drop in quality about now. It’ll be the ocean in the morning.”

Dawson Filter was startled by his voice, and how little consent he had given before it spoke. Strongly empathizing with his plight, the Dawson Filter more actively involved in the voice’s actions forced it to continue, saying “Every time-oh, a pun, because ‘time’ sounds like ‘time machine’, I’d better add that to my list-someone uses this time machine we arbitrarily call a tumour to visit 2016, he always pops up exactly four seconds after the new year begins, with the tumour at exactly this point in the Atlantic ocean. Here’s everyone who ever has and ever will come to 2016 in this tumour, from each time they have and will come.”

“I hate how I’m at the point where I believe you.” Sylvester said, just slowly enough that Babe Listowel was able to crochet the words into a tea cosy.

“Dawson, Sylvester, Babe,” Dawson said, placing his own name first intentionally and with malice in his heart, “since this is your first time here, and you’re going to come back more than anybody else, it’s your responsibility to separate all the tumours currently occupying the same space from each other.”

“And what of me?” Inquired Vance, although he thought he already knew the answer.

“You run off to help the man over there who looks uncannily like the lead singer for the BYU Men’s Chorus find his fiancee ‘n’ save the world. I’d give your priorities a 3/10, but as long as your boat’s floating, and you’re not torturing me, I’m at piece with your life choices.”

Lance nodded, and ran, relying heavily on his legs, to the man. He was pleased to become part of Erik’s crew, where his silent hatred for surnames would be shared.

As Dawson Filter2 left his past behind, Dawson Filter realized that he’d not the slightest idea how to separate tumours occupying the same physical space. Upon reading this section of his companion’s mind, Babe Listowel suggested they Bing® the answer using the unmarked laptop, router, and telecommunications tower descending from the sky, which inspired Dawson to Bing® the answer using the unmarked laptop, router, and telecommunications tower descending from the sky. After several minutes of sifting through information, he found that tumours can cause non space-occupying lesions. If these lesions had created different numbers of holes in tumours from different times (ie; 1782’s tumour and 2040’s tumour each cause a lesion in 1431’s tumour, while 1782’s tumour causes a single lesion in 2040’s tumour), then each tumour would have a different mass, and, due to general relativity, progress through time at a slightly different rate. Granted, each tumour would still pass through each point in time; but if Dawson could only convince his author to disregard this fact, the tumours would indeed separate.

“Come on,” He egged me, “lower your standards for the sake of the storyline. Everybody’s doing it.”

The True-Meaning-of-Feelings-ists earliest in their quest saw the others fade into what I have chosen to call oblivion, and knew my decision. I’d forsaken the reputation I’d built up with sensible time travel, renowned DOORKNOB psychology, and flawless walrus data as a distributor of sensical storytelling to join the ranks of so many Hollywood directors before me.

But I would do it all again for The True Meaning of Feelings.


6 thoughts on “Dawson Filter as He Relates to Lighting”

  1. I’ll give you $15 and a signed head shot of Bill Cosby for that cozy. “I hate how I’m at the point where I believe you” were the last words my mother spoke to me before leaving to get the groceries over an hour ago.


  2. I would really like to purchase that tea cozy. “I hate how I’m at the point where I believe you” is actually my personal credo. I use it when speaking to my wife, my boss, my MP, and my pastor.
    I’ll give you $12 for it…as long as it doesn’t smell like a tumour.


  3. Non-sequiturs are don’t make for see to how what were far but when you ate why car who was where on pass wind the your did him that bark dog contributing to climate change.


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