Upon the Invention of “Interrobang”

Upon Carrie Matteoli’s mention, “Interrobang (‽) is my second favorite word. Just listen to it! It’s like you stop to ask somebody directions and then punch them in the face,” this was written…

The targets of which are supposedly born every minute, as opposed to spitters, of whom puts the answers so glaringly out there, that there’s no room to ask a single utterance of a question. It doesn’t even make it to “quest”, or the shorted “que”? 

A quest which is adorned for its journey, and que, of which is so beautifully delivered, that how could one not answer? Gobsmacked at the strike, unseen, when absorbed in the opportunity to potentially share one’s warez. As for the spitter’s presence, perhaps the initial “q” doesn’t even make it off of the uvula, the fuel jettisoned, and out of runway. Aborted at perhaps a deep revulsion, unconscious, and entirely instinctual. 

No, I don’t recommend interrogation, for the entirety of its fit and function, usually follows many bangs and pops, or under the cover of extraordinary rendition. It is itself a bang, only longly drawn out, and reminiscent of low-intensity conflicts spread about no differently than drool, soaking the pillows on which life rests. Wake up! The questioner shakes the dreamer, “the sleeper must awaken”, for that my friend is the very bang of bacon, begging and announcing its entry at sense doors before the question…

Is that bacon? Or toast? Might be brain roast, otherwise known as a stroke… and that’s one hell of an interrobang indeed. 

PS: Please listen physicians’ advice and start therapy immediately following such unfortunate… events.