it's back again

[Hoshiko]

Applause, applause.

You're always worth the read!


And it's still making me think, too. I don't know how you do that, but you do.

[Sepia]

The bombing would begin. Our world, abyssmal, engulfing. Creatures ragged in clothing running in the streets, madmen talking about political and economical analyses and politicians running around with signs saying 'The end is nigh.' Then someone wakes up after having slept off a 8days speed trip seeing out the window, haliburton security troops fighting off ravagers, desperate men and women wanting something now and not far in the future. The government urged for patience but the people wouldn't listen. Not because they were starved or without houses, water and emailaccess. But the same White House that preached death over the Kyoto protocols and the only longterm goals were those of profit. Enviromental issues wasn't important. It didn't affect them nor us. We would all be dead by then, wouldn't we? The government had showed them that everything had to happen now. As soon as possible. Let's ravage the planet, we took it. We took the rights to this planet. The revolutionary masses thought about this. Yes, in unison, we claimed this planet. It was rightfully ours, wasn't it?
They set their own wheels in motion, leading on, attacking as we've seen in all the comics. The rebels, starved and fighting with sticks. The Haliburton sec.force armed with tazers, bleeding rubber bullets and using their ion cannon. A gang of C&C fans wanted to erect a hand of Nod but they were all skinny nerds with nothing but ideas and creativity and a passion for making the digital world real. Men with ideas can't stop bullets with their ideas. The woken man lighted a joint and tried to watch the Flying Circus but there was no electricity. He went next door but his marijuana plants had already died. Bricks and mortar would be tried and no lawyers would defend because all the lawyers were busy making creme brulee in the bunkers scattered around suburbia. All the french chefs had died because the englishmen had killed them in the name of freedom, vengeance and frog legs.

The point of paralyzation is not important when you learn acupuncture. The buzzing of industrial lights will eventually kill the sound of flies. Cicadas won't survive a nuclear winter.

The pumping made the shotgunshells go away. The shotgun was replaced with two crappy mp5s from two dead soldiers with haliburton gear and their slogans 'building a better world for us'. Noone would survive the disaster area. The joint was fading and so was his eyes. He was in the right mood though. Akimbo mp5 and a stormtrooper suit on him. He threw a flashbang first and then a frag grenade. This was gonna be easy he thought just as he dropped the joint. This is going to be just like counterstrike and I will wtfpwn everyone in sight.

The hammer strikes. The churchbell tolls. A mad arab is standing in a tower screaming that the truly mad arab has been reborn and he brought the book of the dead with him. A sniper takes him out but on the outside of Fayetteville, North Carolina, the mad arab abdul al-hazred grins sheepishly as nyarlathotep regains control. The mad arab joins the Cthulhu for president party and is 57th most evil person to be president of the whitehouse.

[East Coast Hustle]

that was really awesome until you brought al-Azhalred into the story.


then it became uber-wicked awesome.

[Sepia]

my mythos is rusty and my typing too...

:)

[Sepia]

Your cubicle is reeking he says. He brings the coffee and I snort loudly, to prove a point yet there is no point for me to prove. So I make the snort into a moan and ask What?
It's fucking reeking! The other people, the cow-orkers, are complaining. They can't seem to concentrate. It stinks of death. DEATH!? you hear me? Clean up the fucking mess you fucking skinny little tart.
Whassat?
Clean up your mess and clean up your fucking act. Jeez. Can I state this more clearly?

My mom told me once that I had a clock on the inside of my tummy. I'd just seen a cartoon where some poor wolf got maimed by a ticking bomb so I asked mother: Does the clock tick? And mum said yeah, but you gotta be really quiet to hear it.

His face is sortof disorted, is that the word? I'm hearing ticktocking. And then I know what is about to happen and I suppress it. I take my desire of having offspring and I replace it with my desire to make the whole fucking world of fucked up fucking cocksucking asslicking buttmunching assholes pay. No plan, no real vengeance only bucketloads of teenage angst, locked away for years, boiling, making my clock go ticktock. Somehow, Evanescencesncensce booms from the radio and I grab my used plastic spork kungfu style and shove it into the fucking annoying guy's brain. The plastic snaps and he ain't dead yet so I open up the side of my crappy DELL computer and grab the cpu fan. He's a mess on the floor, not believing what is happening, so I make him believe.
I'm getting turbocharged and ready for some good old fashioned ultraviolence, grabbing paperclips and an old inkstained ruler.
You should've seen me ma. I was fucking brilliant. I was alive.

Twenty seven years, that's what they're gonna say. Twenty seven years serving the public, serving morons and jerkwads wanting the make this place more hellish than it already is. Then they're gonna say, ohwell, you know, women. Then they're gonna think the thoughts their fathers thought before them. Women. Broads. Can't kill 'em and can't live without 'em. Hysterical, you know? Ya gotta protect them. They're property. Gotta slap 'em sometimes and be gentle sometimes. Then they'll say something about a scientific report but they're not going to bother. Why try to explain something in gibberish teknolanguage that everyone can relate to in plain english?

Broads.

Twenty seven years I shriek. My mind goes blurry as to what comes next but I think I'm slashing a jewish wifebeater with my aloe vera plant whilst screaming heil fucking hitler and doing a double backflip over to some puertorican scum and I bite his throat off and start to giggle when he makes nasty bloodbubbling sounds. Then he's in sight. White male. White whale, gold chains, BBQ tux and he's heavily exceeding his allowance of body hair. There's sweat on his upper lip and it mingles with the snot running out of his nose, his voice echoing, echo echo, I've heard it times and times over. He's gonna say how his wife fell down some stairs. And she won't have the nerve to tell me that he only gets turned on is when she forces herself to put dead and skinned rats up her ass. White whale, white fucking whale. Outwards, the pride of the family. I go mad ass fucking ahab on his fucking white whale ass. It bulges as I penetrate it with a letter opener and this fascinates me for a short piece of time until he tries to run away and I have to silence him. The television showed reruns of satc and I'd seen it.

[Bob the Mediocre]

love the lack of transition between psycho killer and everyday crap. Especially the last sentance

[Irreverend Hugh, KSC]

Sepia

10/10.

Keep it up. I enjoy it much.

[Sepia]

And it happened. The bullet went berserk, heading towards the tv, hitting carrie in her face, directing towards something, like a magic bullet and it took a ride down history lane viewing the last 100 years as kids did when someone forced them to school instead of them sitting home and playing gta and everything was in hitech technicolor and the magic bullet hit kennedy in his pineal gland.

Death was standing 50 years later shooting a rerun of sex and the city, grinning madly, laughing a coarse laughter. But then Death transformed in his cubicle and became once more the annoying pest of the office. The annoying pest (death) sat in his cubicle and though about burning people, staking babies and masturbating with donuts when this sort of weird reek came from the neighbor cubicle so the annoying pest (death) crouched under his desk with a strong feeling of deja vu.

The president makes his commands to the undead zombie minions of the world. All televisions have been relocated to newly built mass-crematoriums and by sacrificing everyone seeing 'friends' he managed to open the gate and call forth the blind goat god. Yog-Sothoth entered forth when everyone who watched the reruns of 24 for the third time was grilled. Cthulhu rose when they torched everyone sitting stoned and laughing of monty python creating a smarter cthulhu that had munchies instead of a desire for pants. The darkness was spreading but noone noticed. The commercial banners and ads were replaced by 'In 2005 Cthulhu took the world. In 2010 he will have the galaxy for breakfast!' typish things. But on the telly there were no reruns and only new and fucking good tvshows and on the internet everyone acted differently, all trolls were amusing and noone posted long histories which they wrote by stream of consciousness whilst stoned. It was peace on the world. It was a dark world.

Then, ofcoursely, something has to happen or I will be forced to do jesterlike dances and stuff to hold on to your desire to read further.
But, just what will happen?

[Sepia]

And in one blinking shortcut it's one of those days, grit your teeth or let your teeth grit you. Destruction itself it already rapidly growing and the laws of apathy makes more sense now than ever. Everything you ever worked for and loved seems to be working against everything you ever did. One big bile of bad in your stomach, like a fist of fists, the smoking gun of happiness. You wake up and you see that everything in your life is covered in shit. Everything is something that shouldn't be alive, like the greatest profanities of all existance. Things that should've worked doesn't. People that shouldn't be there are.
Every struggle as bigger than the second world war. Every line of stupidity seems to underline this fact and every aspect of hypocrisy is heavily expanded and italicized. And noone's there to tell you, it's just today, it's just today, instead, they all gang up and say: Yeah. This is the world. This is the real world and you're getting a glimpse of it. You've been overprotected all your life and you haven't seen jack shit yet. Yeah, our thoughts and ideals are limited to sex and money. Our views are limited to what we contradict ourselves with everyday. We're at the height of who we are when we drink and you speak of love towards every other human being and you're up there, snap snap, on the fucking buddha level, discussing metaphysics with god, jesus and l. ron hubbard. You're forgetting. Your music is being aimed at the top of the world. You want to be able to stand there being interviewed, stoned as fuck and say that you love the world. Childhood dream, wasn't it, fuckface? Childhood dream to afford enough dope so that the world looks like disney on ice.
And then, you release something, and it isn't in the newspapers and you get drunk and you drink and you crawl into my bed at night, weeping, whispering, why don't they like me. Why won't they notice me, this is what I wanna do, god damn, I love them, but they don't love me. And all I do is to dry your tears and nothing but.


(thought i'd gather all my bull in one post)

[Hoshiko]

I don't want to sound like a broken record because there's so much good stuff in this forum lately, but that was awesome. You have a way of writing from the Character's POV that still sounds convincing and REAL. It can be shocking (in an honest way that counts and makes you feel it), and then it resonates... Again, I don't know how you do it. You kind of blur and mix the lines of reality but keep things crystal clear, if you will. I'm really loving this.

Thanks for putting it all in one thread. I even printed it out.

[Sepia]

you know you've flattered me to the degree that there is no stopping me now you know?

damned good to have you back. don't you ever leave us again for so many days...

[Hoshiko]

you know you've flattered me to the degree that there is no stopping me now you know?

Yea!

damned good to have you back. don't you ever leave us again for so many days...

Don't worry, I've handcuffed myself to my desk and glued my wrists to the keyboard. You'll get sick of me in no time

[Horab Fibslager]

my so called wife? i sthat possible?

of course because although we'v never bee n married, i also hate you. so uh, yeah. w0d uop/?


i thoguht you had a jeybaord stuck in yoru skull>?

[Hoshiko]

I do. It's getting really hard to see with all of this crap in front of my face.

And you hate me? Them's fightin words! I thought we weren't supposed to hate each other until the divorce/subsequent freakout.

[Horab Fibslager]

i idunno i think im ight've been talkign to my bedlight.