10 Cuils

You ask me for a hamburger. My attempt to reciprocate is cut brutally short as my body experiences a sudden lack of electrons. Across a variety of hidden dimensions you are dismayed. John Lennon hands me an apple, but it slips through my fingers. I am reborn as an ocelot. You disapprove. A crack echoes through the universe in defiance of conventional physics as cosmological background noise shifts from randomness to a perfect A Flat. Children everywhere stop what they are doing and hum along in perfect pitch with the background radiation. Birds fall from the sky as the sun engulfs the earth. You hesitate momentarily before allowing yourself to assume the locus of all knowledge. Entropy crumbles as you peruse the information contained within the universe. A small library in Phoenix ceases to exist. You stumble under the weight of everythingness, Your mouth opens up to cry out, and collapses around your body before blinking you out of the spatial plane. You exist only within the fourth dimension. The fountainhead of all knowledge rolls along the ground and collides with a small dog. My head tastes sideways as spacetime is reestablished, you blink back into the corporeal world disoriented, only for me to hand you a hamburger as my body collapses under the strain of reconstitution. The universe has reasserted itself. A particular small dog is fed steak for the rest of its natural life. You die in a freak accident moments later, and your soul works at the returns desk for the Phoenix library. You disapprove. Your disapproval sends ripples through the inter-dimensional void between life and death. A small child begins to cry as he walks toward the stairway where his father stands. You ask me for a hamburger. A warlock nearby floats into the plastic cup. The noodles transform into thin wires. Your wooden table at home begins to yell in anger. All cows in the world slowly disintegrate. You are given a cheeseburger by my coworker. My coworker is dead, and never existed. I instantly become vastly intelligent, but it is overwritten by the nearby pencil heads. A beggar in the distance stands up and fades into the atmosphere. A golden tophat is given life, but realizes its fate, and turns into a hamburger. You do not receive the hamburger. You are now corporeal, but your new form does not last long. You get visions of the far future, and the long-gone past. My hand touches your brain, and you are enlightened. A growing embalming feeling engulfs your lower calf. The pitch black goes to the store to buy food, but there was no store, and the store is instead replaced by Morgan Freeman. A situation of anxiety fills my mind, and I tell you that you want a hamburger. You forget what I have told you, and reply by informing me of my late mother. You turn to the meteor slowly growing as it consumes a glass of iced tea. The waitress nearby suggests ordering a large framed tissue box. I do not exist. You are within another realm, but are already a spirit. All religions are true for an instant, but only the existence of the Flying Spaghetti Monster exists. A large cow in the distance moans in agony. The meteor is almost at the planet Pluto, where you reside. I inform you that your clothing is very sluggish, but you insist that it is, in fact, lonely. All grammar rules are false, and an English teacher at a negative distance away runs into you, and then turns into a slice of bread, and plays calming music. I give you a hamburger, from my home in the Atlantic Ocean. You thank me, in an alternate universe, though your thanks did not reach me. You feel angry, and swing your phone at a nearby tree, but the tree was already hit by you 3 minutes ago, so you instead lightly tap your eyeball. You engulf the small, mediocre hamburger, and feel satiated. In an instant, all hamburgers are removed from the planet jupiter, and the sun engulfs San Francisco. An asteroid collides into your handkerchief, and you sing the song of your people. The meteor hastily descends upon Earth, but you are in Pluto, so it doesn't matter. The granite airplane takes you to Earth, and you die. In an alternate universe, you did not take the granite airplane, and the airplane was a hamburger. You instead call the police, and they lick the granite hamburger until it turns into hard candy. You eat the hard candy, but you only feel angry. In anger, you mourn for a family that has just lost their pet cow. A nearby supermarket is no longer Chinese. The Westboro Baptist Church becomes sentient, and creates a video game that is only a towel. A question floats in your mind, and you speak it. The cats nearby are offended, and you give them clay. Steak is now ham, and you are thoroughly educated. Your education leads you to believe in a fate that will soon occur, but your unborn child tells you otherwise. I am now a grain of sand, and you hold me in your hands. I ask you for a hamburger. You give me a hamburger.

Wait, what just happened?

Who am I? 

How long was this going on for?

Who are you?

Why were you listening to me?