Of or Pertaining to Mercurial

'Whoever undertakes to set himself up as a judge of Truth and Knowledge is shipwrecked by the laughter of the gods.' – Albert Einstein

Phil awoke to find himself awake.
He hadn't the slightest idea as to whether or not he was actually awake, however.
"What in the hell...?"
It was bright. Too bright.
The sun was yawning its way past lunchtime, and was belching through to dinner. That is to say, it was three O'clock. Well, it wasn't 'O'clock' for there wasn't a clock for it to be three on...perhaps it all really doesn't matter.
Phil turned to his left. He saw a naked angel; clearly male. Its brown hair tufted and parted; the colour and texture reminded Phil of Pit's farcical faeces, only dubiously more pleasant. Nested in this hair was a golden, almost illusory laurel wreath – this made Phil smile, for a reason he couldn't work out.
As spectacular as the wreath was, it did not distract Phil's gaze from the boy's face. His face; it was that of an angel. It quarrelled with the meaning of the word 'erroneous', in all it's glorious anti-elegance, and sent not a shiver but a lightning bolt down Phil's spine - and also into his now-erect penis.
This boy was unbelievably beautiful. Of medium build, silken by his soft skin (that, for clarity over implication, Phil was stroking), he was a dream.
A wet one, in Phil's case.
"You know what?" questioned the now-awake angel.
"No, I don't know what. What is what?" alleged the oddly-not-startled Phil.
"What,"
"What?"
"Yes, what,"
"What about what?"
"What is what,"
"I had gathered that about what. What else?"
"What?"
"What else is there to know about what?"
"Go on, tell me what,"
"No, I was asking you what,"
"Wait, what are you talking about?"
"Well you started stating about what, so I asked what about what,"
"Then what?"
"Well now we're here; we're still stating what,"
"What's so interesting about what?"
"I don't know. That's why I asked you. You're the one who initially stated what,"
"What?"
"What!?"
"What?"
"Who?
"Phil, it's me. Pit."
"WHAT?"
"Is that a pickle in your pocket, or are you just happy to see me?"
"Neither. It's my dick."
"...yeah,"
"...I'm not even wearing trousers. How could it be a pickle?"
"It's a figure of speech, or a metaphor, or something,"
"Oh, Pit, did I tell you – you grew wings. Like, proper wings and all that,"
"What?"
"Yeah; look," Phil pulled the wings round to show Pit.
"I was joking with the 'what' thing...I know I have wings. Of course I do; they're mine,"
"Well it wasn't a very funny joke then,"
"Your mum's not a very funny joke,"
"Yes it is. It's a hilarious joke. It was intended as an insult and ended up as a humorous statement regarding your opponents' mothers. It makes no sense at all. That's what makes it so funny, especially when it's taken out of context. For example, someone says 'Ugh, this maths homework is so HARD.'. The only possibly apt response to that must be 'So's your mum'. I mean, 'so's' isn't even a word. You can't abbreviate 'so is' to 'so's', you just can't do it. Plus, the little squiggly red line underneath it that MS Word seems to have drawn agrees with me. So it must be right. But then again, it did say inefficate wasn't a word...but you can't make a verb from the 'inefficacy' route – which is an adverb. Also, it would be 'inefficacate', wouldn't it? Were it possible, that is. Oh I don't know. What was I talking about again? Oh yes – your mother. On the subject of your mother: she is a very nice lady who makes the nicest scones in the whole of England. But I suppose that means everywhere else as well, because only the English eat scones. I think it's an old charter, or something. Was I quoting Robert Rankin? I read too many of his books. Wait, what am I talking about; you can't have too much Rankin. That's ridiculous. Phil, you need a slap. Or do you? That wouldn't be very pleasant, and it wouldn't teach you anything. Or would it? I doubt the pain - which wouldn't be much, I stress - would initiate some sort of fundamental in my life stating that I must never say that you can have too much Rankin. Well, I'd like to think it wouldn't. But that's all a bit aside the point, really. What was the point? Oh yes, scones. Wait no – your mother. Your mother is nice. She makes nice scones. Wait, I already said that. Didn't I? Yes I did. I just checked. It never ceases to amaze me how I can do this. It makes no sense. I thought our Universe had 4 dimensions. Leftwards and rightwards, forwards and backwards, upwards and downwards, and 'forwards' through the ever-expanding dimension of time; if it's expanding that is. Were it not, as though we were following a roller coaster track pertinently labelled 'time', then our 'destiny', or future, would be 'fixed', or unchangeable, relative to that track. Right? That'd prove the theory of 'destiny' and the concept of 'future'. I say the concept of, because if were to assume that the 'future' is 'created' as we travel 'into' it, then it actually doesn't exist as anything other than a hypothetical way of talking about this 'expanse of time'. If we did follow a track, then it would have to exist for us to follow it, surely. Perhaps it's all relative to the observer. You've been awfully quiet, Pit. Is something wrong?"
"Just shut the fuck up and kiss me you absolute faggot."
"Yes sir."