Don't ask. This meanders a bit (a lot, actually) and makes no sense even when it IS on topic. Ah well, just enjoy it for what it is: the irate rantings of a deranged mind.

May the squirrels be with you.

P.S: Does anyone know if it's possible to upload italics? Somehow, they never turn up when I do. *mutters* Evil opponents of test formatting. Taste my wrath! (in the form of an overcooked pot roast)

I have hands.
That fact makes me extremely happy. Indeed, if I had no hands, how could I touch tomorrow?
Ha ha.
I believe the correct cliché is "see tomorrow" or "face tomorrow" or perhaps even "ogle tomorrow in a leering and wholly inappropriate manner." However, quite aside from the offence incurred from this statement by anyone named Tom Morrow, we are not discussing eyes, are we? So I digress.
My hand. How amazingly it flies over the paper, like a deranged whale whose echolocation system has been destroyed by sonar. Ink-stained, stubby-fingered, .em. on the whole, rather handlike. Or perhaps not. Description is obviously not my strong suit. My brain yearns for action, so my right hand will write it.
Speaking of which, it is cramping most terribly. I am truly astounded by the speed at which ridiculous little neurons relay brain messages to the muscles, without even utilizing the services of Federal Express. For Lo! I think "moo" and, as instantaneously as is feasible, my fingers maneuver the shiny green pencil to transcribe it on the paper.
Ha ha. I feel the power.
This is why primates control the world (unless you're a Presbyterian). Not because we're smarter, stronger, eviller (well, actually.) or more attractive than any other species, but because some bizarre accident of evolution gave us opposable thumbs. Well, granting *cough* favours to the Process of Natural Selection didn't hurt.
It's enough to make one want to high-tail it for the zoo, and wave your hands in front of the animal cages obnoxiously, gloating "Look wha-at I've got, look wha-at I've got" and doing the whole opposable-thumb thing. Then run like the wind when the lions escape and, bent on unholy notions of terror such as ripping and mauling, chase you down the street as you shriek maniacally in abject terror.
Or you could use your hands for other purposes. Think of your cabinets, your clothes, the building you sit in-what do they have in common?
That's right! They don't really exist! They're really just a figment of your deranged imagination and you're the unwitting subjects of a sickeningly cruel mind-control experiment perpetrated by Republicans, blonde teenage popstars, Teletubbies, and other icons of horror.
Right. Well, actually, they were made by people with--you guessed it!-hands! Whoo hoo! Chalk one up for the brilliance of young America!
An oxymoron if ever there was one.
Indeed, hands area fascinating subject-just think of all they can do. Scribble mind-melting doggerel, save the world through a crocheted lap-rug the size of Andorra, or even make something remotely resembling music come oot o' th' bagpipes! (Insert awed gasps of electrified appreciation here)
Naturally, with such marvelous and incredible powers, certain steps must be taken to ensure the safety of the general public. The Attorney General has recommended; in a statement widely supported by paranoid xenophobics, mentally deficient third-graders, and the Baptist clergy; that the hands of "all those known, or suspected, immigrants, regardless of illegality or legality of their residence, due to their un-Americanness, for the protection of the American people," be chained to a tree (an American elm, of course) at the discretion of the federal government. Their legs, however, would be free to wander.
You, too, can help in this effort: Wear boxing gloves constantly, in case of terrorist sightings. It is a noble step in the crusade against dangerous hand-use, towards a glorious, shining America of the future where all will be free and equal. (except those still imprisoned. Oh well, you can't please everybody.)
Wait. Stop. This began as a harmless enough little musing on the amazing faculties of the carpals, metacarpals, and phalanges of the human race and deteriorated into an obnoxious, pompous rant about government conspiracies.
Quite apart from the fact that each person on this planet has his/her own favorite conspiracy theory, involving psychic powers, the coming apocalypse, enormous colonies of retired Congressmen roaming feral in the Nevada desert, etc., I daresay that a vast majority of the brains of Earth have been reduced to a quivering mass of gelatin by this point. Not that they were much better to begin with, mind you, but at least the gelatin had whipped cream on top. But enough about the government. Whatever your personal viewpoint, probably most people have better things to do than listen to anti-authority ramblings that make about as much sense as an anthropomorphic British penguin with a penchant for knitting and her own talk show on the public access channel. (It's called "Teatime with Mildred," you really must tune in sometime.) Right. I think we're all agreed. Politics is a volatile, sensitive area that shouldn't be prodded with a forty foot pole and can only lead to ghastly insults and threats of physical violence. Let's turn to a nice, inoffensive subject that everyone can agree upon: Religion.