Eris has seeped into my mind like green pleasant (peasant?) smelling goo seeps under the door. I have been infected. And, in that I rejoice.
I looked at the Mona Lisa recently, and saw Eris. I looked at Thomas Jefferson, and saw Eris. I even looked at the swan in the poster that's hanging over my bed, and saw Eris.
I was disturbed by all of this Eris seeing, and went henceforth to my masterbatory sanctuary in order to sort out the meaning of all these sightings. I began to poke my penal gland with a great many pokes, until it became perturbed enough to perturb Eris enough to come down and listen to my quandry.
"What the fuck do you want? I was watching old 'I Love Lucy' [I have also seen Eris is 'I Love Lucy episodes] episodes."
I then related to our, obvious menstral (or menapausal? I'm sure one of you ladies can tell me), SIRE my quandry.
She then began to stratch her chin, looking at me irritatedly, and said, "Fuck off, I don't exist anyway."
She then disappeared, leaving me feeling pleasently Illuminated. It was the same kind of Illumination one feels when one wears a skirt, and one has someone (presumably a dirty old man, or a horny young man) stick a mirror or flashlight under one's skirt.
That of course, was the realization that Eris does in fact exist everywhere. And, no where.