The T and the V and the V.T. in its corner. Pilosorapter Scrunchyface is scrunched and rapt and next to, watching. He will tell you, if you ask him, that he is doing something more than watching. He lives to study tiny diny dots. His way is to eggsmamine them.
While Cyclops has been about the Pome of Town collecting and reflecting all the same opinions in multiple iterations, Scrunchyface has been seen seeing the screening and noting and building his philosophy from dots and their illusions. He has been busy busy in building his philosophy, and also his economics. He has struck up his own towers of suggestion, explanation, and he keeps it cabbaged inside his squishy squirty body for his own health and stealth and economic wealth.
Scrunchyface has a slogan, or is it a mission, or is it a religion, or is it his ultimate glory goal in life. He wants to be, he wants to be, he wants to be invisible but deadly. He sings it in his inside way, he sings it in his whole one head, invisible but deadly. These full three words are all about, and he thinks them like cyanide, his way, he’s on the couch but has three words to guide him from one cushion to another, invisible but deadly.
When Cyclops comes back from his first great advice tour, Scrunchyface asks him about all the great one stops on the world of Pome Town walking tour, and all the gigs he played for the townspeople and their comments, and the flavor of their response, and the color of the wisdome and the wasdom and the relevance and elephants and meaning monkey screaming.
“I don’t know a thing that I didn’t know before I left the couch, so I say ouch. Not one of them could tell my anything, not just a thing, not two or three, not just a part or less than that. Not one of them could tell me a thing, could tell me a thing I wanted to hear,” said Cyclops with his one mouth and his one eye winking and blinking and making some nods.
“Such information is helpful to me in making my own adjustments to my town life and Philosophy,” said Scrunchyface, who couldn’t help but play follow the leader with the bright dots of TV screen. He told Cyclops a little about what he TV missed when he was non-TV walking, about how Dingy Bahsome moved from one channel to another, about the stores and the condos and the parking lots of new and distant lands, and Cylclops listens, but he only cares about the words about the Dingy who is his dream, the Dingy who is Bahsome who he seeks to see and be.
“That is a nice report about the land of TV that we seek and we peek,” said Cyclops. “But I am wondering about all that bad advice I got without paying about town from clown and frown and living room, and what I should do about that.
“What should I do anyway for advice and reference? What should I do anyway to get some comments and questions? What should I do to become the me that I seek to be? I could watch more TV and hope for a TV sign, or I could ask some more townspeople and get their opinion, or I could follow my dreams and my screams and my pulling, or I could sit back and sleep until I could never remember.”
“Did you talk to Willie the Lizard?”
Cyclops listens and he thickens and he seems just like he didn’t.
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