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Once I couldn't find my shoe,
I only had the one.
So what I did was shove it up your ass.
I fucking hate you.

No Dutchspagistan either

So I decided to track a fictional ghostpoomp by Payne. At least, where he used to live, cause he lives at Pixie's now (right?) and I dunno exactly where that is. Sorry Payne, it was either you or Syn, the only two places in the UK that I know PD-ians live

Payne's POOMP

(well it's not entirely accurate but I dunno how to place the starting point in a more exact location, so this is where Payne Poomp would go if he were to fling his faeces out in the fields, I guess)

WHOOSH!

He looks like such a happy little guy.



Yeah, he needs a fucking squashing.

 

The City was calling me. It's still calling me. I resisted for a while, but I broke down. Everyone does, in the end. I broke down, but I didn't go. I couldn't. I knew better.

I couldn't stand the pacing in the hall, the racing in my chest. A bad night to be indoors. So I grabbed something warm and shoes and keys and went out and sat in the old, broken woman, but something was amiss. I put the key in the ignition, turned it to Accessory, and felt the Watching. You know the feeling.

I looked round, and at first saw no one. Then I saw- it was lurking, trying to hide. I saw it again, this time in less light. It blinked. It was a shape, sort of like people, but misshapen, wrong. Reddish shadow where it shouldn't be. The City, localized. It watched. Waited.

What could I do? I'm not lucky enough to test when the City comes to call.

TGRR and The Calvinist

"Hey. Help me get my boot out of this toilet."

Reverend Bill looked up from washing his hands to find a large, bald man with an aggressive mustache leering at him. "Pardon me?" he said faintly. This man, he thought to himself, was most certainly A Sinner.

"I said, help me get my boot out of this toilet. It offended me, so I kicked it, and now it's stuck."

Reverend Bill dithered while attempting to sneer at the man. It was harder than normal. The  man really WAS very big... "It offended you? How on earth could it do that?" The man was insane. Clearly not one of God's chosen.

"Well, it wasn't a toilet when I got here. It was the fountain of youth, cleverly disguised as a toilet. And then she told me that there was no such thing as the fountain of youth, and to just 'flush the damn thing already, and to stop eating that fucking peyote all the time or fucking share', which is ridiculous, beacuse why does a fountain of youth disguised as a toilet NEED cactus anyway?" And then the man giggled. It was a sound that made the hair on the back of the man's neck stand up.

Now, Reverend Bill was a Good Christian. He had always believed the right things, and told other people to believe the right things as well, because they would Burn In Hell if they didn't, just like his father, and just like his father's father. But this man... This man was not really a man, but a demon. He was sent by The Devil to test him. Yes.

A sound came from behind the large man. It sounded like the voice of a woman at the other end of a phonecall. "Well, I could think of a few good reasons why a toilet would want to trip balls, but seriously, Roger, FUCKING SHARE next time. Greedy ass bastard."

"HAH!" Roared the man, apparently called "Roger," and he spun around and strode to a stall. The Reverend just now noticed that one of his boots was indeed off, and there was a growing puddle on the floor. "YOU'RE JUST TRYING TO MESS WITH ME AREN'T YOU? I SWEAR, HOLY MEN TEE EM GET NO RESPECT, NONE AT ALL!" And then he laughed.

While the man named Roger was busy shouting, Bill thought it best to sneak away. Watching for signs of Roger turning his attention back to him, Reverend Bill ran full force into the paper towel dispensor, giving his arm a good knock. It went numb, but Bill just ran toward the door.

Out in the parking lot, Bill tried to catch his breath. It was difficult. He supposed he ought to try and eat better, the wife had been mentioning how much weight he'd been putting on. Feeling was coming back into his arm, but it was pins and needles, and spreading to his shoulder. His breath wouldn't come, either. He panted, and tried to shake off the pain in his arm, when God showed up and started tromping on his heart. He had a brief flash of insight as the pain mounted - there wasn't a lot he could look back on and call --

YOUR SISTER.




SHE IS ADORABLE.





STOP THAT SHIT.

For that matter, you've heard so many things about Tucson.

So five gallons of water per person ration?

Per day. Thats the really important bit.

It probably means that this coming February is going to be the roughest one yet.

Holy days:

April - October: "Holy Hell, it's hot" day.
(more to come)

Holy(ier) places:

The Shrine of the Black Madonna, located somewhere near TCC, shown to us by Eater of Souls
The Meetrack, located at 210 W Drachmann
The Wall, located on _______ (got to check)
(more to come)

Okay, I didn't want to post in here until I had something good, so here's the Religion of Tucson's Creation Myth.

The Creation Myth

There is a reason Tucson is a horrible place. The land itself is sentient. It is angry. It hates us all.

The land beneath Tucson was once beneath a great sea. And it slept deeply in the cool and the dark. The seas receded, and the land's dreams became broken. The sun beat down, and the land grew fitful. The wind blew across it, and the land's surface became dry. The Heat came, and the land awoke.

It was angry, for it wanted to return to the quiet and constant night it once had. New kinds of life sprung into being, and the land became angrier still. When man came to build his cities, the land was wrathful, and drove him to insanity, but man would not – could not – leave. The land wanted man to pay for the scars he had put upon it, and would not allow him to leave. It wanted him to pay.

It took his dreams and broke them, as its own dreams were once broken. It took his will and crushed it. It dangled escape in front of him, only to snatch it away at the last second. And man became lost, there in the desert, though he did not realize it. And it gave the land grim satisfaction to cause man great suffering. And man multiplied, and the land became more enraged and more delighted, had more lives to destroy.

It still yearns for sleep, the land. Until then it will take we who remain and play with us as the dog plays with the rat – shredding us to bits, leaving us when there is nothing left of us. The land is angry. It is joyful. It hates us all.

No America. Laem.

Excellent.

It was Trip's.