Prefaced by madness, my thoughts are average.

Shigeki's Neanderthalic Meanderings. My, this will be a difficult title to do proper justice. First, I must apologize for being mute. Now that that's finished, I suppose I'll introduce myself. Any of the regular information can be found in my profile, so if you feel so compelled, click away. Word play amuses me greatly, and so you'll mostly be getting random stories and ramblings filled with the like from me, rather than the nifty pictures and stories of Shigeki's life. Often, my first reaction is to over-think and underreact. That is I, and the following is a laconic story.

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Emi's father hated people who touched his newspaper. Whenever he was forced to set it down in sight of someone else, he would give that person a stern, warning glance, much like God glancing at Lucifer with that important "Don't even think about it" look. Lucifer must have smiled innocently - so did Emi. Her father set the newspaper down and went to answer the phone.

"Hello?" Emi heard her father say in the kitchen. "No. No, I'm not interested. Go away." The phone clicked in its cradle, a baby put to sleep with soothing babble after three shrill wails. "I hate telemarketers," Emi's father announced to the kitchen walls.

By the time he returned to the living room, Emi was gone, and his newspaper was covered in bright purple paint from her paint-by-numbers kit.

That, at least, was in violet.

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Oh, and Babel Fish: 'Twas a (Holm) Oak, I believe.