I met Blog of Stupid in America while I was out wandering around in the woods. I had a backpack on. Inside the backpack were bugs with thermodynamic politics on their minds. I liked them.
Blog of Stupid in America was standing on one leg on the bank of a small stream. I handed him a kitten. He said "thank you," and put the kitten down on a paper plate with capers and ice cream cones.
I could hear traffic in the distance. The cars were carrying people to Christmas parties. It was August.
"Do you come here often?" I asked Blog of Stupid in America.
"Did you know that crawdads appreciate Bach on a level we cannot even begin to understand?" he asked me back.
Of course, I had no idea. I had no children, either. That was why I had the kitten. The kitten was on the ground, watching the crawdads.
"My uncle was a flagpole," Blog of Stupid in America said. He tossed a lifetime's supply of Tic Tacs into the creek. "Doorknobs are actually intelligent beings from Chicago. Did you know that?"
Naturally, I had no idea. I had no pants, either. That was why I wore shorts. It was hot in the woods because it was August.
"I'm writing a parody of an author on my Blog," I told Blog of Stupid in America. "What should I write about?"
Blog of Stupid in America spun on one knee for ten minutes before answering.
"What was his stuff like?" He showed me that he was serious by handing the kitten a marble. The kitten seemed to like it. He was orange and stripey and had fuzzy little triangular ears.
"Strange," I said. "I think he was on drugs."
Blog of Stupid in America took some drugs. "Very tasty," he said. The kitten seemed to appreciate that. He rolled onto his back and hummed Tchaikovsky to the clouds.
"It was nice meeting you. I have to go now because there are things I must do back home. It's going to be Christmas soon," I said.
"Waffle pie," said Blog of Stupid in America. It was August, and the moon was out.