The moon does strange things to my mind. Whenever I see it, my chin and mouth is pulled uncontrollably upwards, I arch my back, and start to howl. The sun is a real mind-f*ck as well: The need for me to strip bare whenever in its shining rays is often unbearable, and many a picnic has been ruined by my shredding off my garments and prancing through the park for all to see, sending uptight mothers into fits of rage and old ladies into comas. The effect the ocean’s presence has on me is subtler, but no less dramatic: I lose the ability to speak English (or any other known language for that matter), and can only speak in the language of waves. It’s an interesting language, but unfortunately it’s just as wet and flowing as the sea itself, requiring prodigious amounts of saliva to power the slish-sloshy oral effects of the dialect. If I’m at the beach on a sunny day and happen to see the moon hanging there in the blue sky, well, let’s just say the police are often involved. Called to see about an “insane, manic man who’s running around naked and wailing loudly in between spitting up froth,” the veterans of the beach patrol force are quite hesitant to approach me, while the newer, more gung-ho guys are often all too ready to beat the sh*t out of that “crazy sonofab*tch” with clubs and fists and haul me to the nearest jail.

Just something I wrote. Thought it was kinda silly...