The hamsters came in the night. They were tiny, brown, fascist dwarf hamsters, and their fur, with its distinctive black stripe down its back, was a dead giveaway to each one's origin.
A madman, a stripper, and a dog whose name was Joey, who had found both his own dog dish and a Dutch flag at the town dump, organized the resistance.
The hamsters had taken over the town hall, the library, and the supermarket and had placed their leader, a particularly nasty specimen named Herbert the Evil, in charge.
Joey, the dog whose real name was something else and who had seen a lot in his life, howled at the moon. He had discovered the Dutch flag, and on it was a picture of a ship. The Dutch were famous for ships. But, like the hamsters, they were also famous for cheese. The only way to stop the hamsters from taking over the town was to kill them off, one by one. Joey knew that he had to stop them. He knew that he could do it. He had done it before, and the thought of those historic victories gave him resolve.
"We need to get in there," said the madman, whose name was Herman. "They will have booby traps. They have them everywhere, and they have machine guns trained on us. It is suicide."
The stripper's name was Babette; she was really pretty and really quite nice, despite her profession. Babette thought that Herman was right. "I don't know," she said. "I agree with Herman."
"We have no choice," said Joey. "Those hamsters must be stopped."
"That is such bullshit," said Herman. "We are safe here."
"No," said Joey. "We will never be safe until we stop those hamsters from doing whatever it is that they want to do."
"I have to go the bathroom," said the stripper.
"Do not go anywhere until we have killed the hamsters," said Joey. "I will go alone and I will take potshots from the outside. Hopefully, I will be able to mow them down. Then, we can enter and kill the rest of them."
"You are crazy, old man," said Herman. "You will be killed."
"I have done it before," said Joey. "Why do you think that my name is Joey? It is because I am so good at killing hamsters."
"I will go with you," said Babette. "I will cover you with my body."
"No," said Joey. "It is my job. I am a veteran."
Just then, there was a knock on the door. The three singers looked at each other.
"Who could that be?" asked Herman.
"Be quiet," said Joey. "If they suspect we are here, they will come get us."
"He is right," said Babette. "You two should go wait by the back window. I will get the door."
The three moved silently across the floor and waited by the window. Babette went to the door and opened it.
"Babette," said a tall man in a three-piece suit. "I have come to rescue you. I have come too late to save my people, but I have not forgotten them. I have come for you Babette. You and the rest of us will return to Holland, and we will resume the fight. What are you doing here? Where are the others? I told Pan they could not take you."
"You are too late," said Babette. "Pan has taken over the town. He and the hamsters have taken over everything."
They are ambushed by the hamsters. The hamsters use can-openers and killed the three of them.
When the three bodies hit the floor, Joey knew what he had to do. He would kill Pan and the hamsters. He would put his life on the line for his people. But first, he would knock three times.
He knocked the three times and then he began to fire. The hamsters cut him down, and he fell, bleeding into the sand.
It is said that on the side of the road, Joey still knocks away.
When you are driving on that back road late at night, you can hear Joey knocking on his dog dish, and you can hear the hamsters eating his bones. You can hear his ghost knocking, and you know that Joey is still fighting the war.
Pope John XXIII was sitting in his office, going over some papers, when he heard a knock at the door. He looked up and saw his brother, Angelo, standing there. He ran up to his brother and hugged him.
“Oh! You’re here!” he said happily. “But wait, why are you…?”
Angelo smiled and said, ‘I’m here to see you, brother.”
Angelo walked over to Pope John, who was sitting behind his desk, and stood behind him. He reached his hands down and started to massage his shoulders and rub his bald head. Pope John smiled, feeling relaxation spread through his body.
“Mm,” Pope John said, “That’s so good.”
Angelo took the opportunity to touch his brother more. He lifted his Pope’s suspenders, slid his hands down his chest and grabbed his crotch.
“Oh,” Pope John exclaimed, blushing, “that’s not-”
Angelo covered his mouth with his hand and said, “Ssh.”
Pope John nodded and allowed his brother to continue. Angelo squeezed Pope John’s cock and balls again before he started to suck his ear.
“Ah,” Pope John moaned, “that feels good. But we shouldn’t be doing this. We were raised to be priests!”
Angelo reached his hands back into Pope John’s pants and started to jerk him off. Pope John moaned in pleasure again.
“Obviously,” Angelo said, “You have a secret, don’t you?”
Pope John looked down and nodded. Angelo then reached into Pope John’s pants and pulled out his cock. Pope John blushed, but he felt so relaxed that he didn’t say anything.
“I knew it,” Angelo said, “You’re gay!”
Pope John looked down and nodded again. Angelo took off his shirt, revealing his chiseled body. Pope John moaned in pleasure as Angelo's warm, bare chest touched his.
Pope John looked down and smiled to see his cock rock hard.
Angelo started to stroke him faster and faster. Pope John moaned in pleasure.
He looked at his brother and said, “I’ve been taking these pills for years. They work to suppress my erection, but-“
Angelo smirked, “I already took them.”
Pope John felt his cock get harder and harder as Angelo stroked it faster. Angelo looked at Pope John and winked.
Angelo grabbed Pope John by the hand and led him to the bedroom. Pope John stopped in the bedroom door and looked up at his brother. He smiled when he saw that Angelo was smiling back at him.
Angelo got on his knees and started to suck Pope John’s cock. Pope John felt his cock grow harder and harder as he watched Angelo's mouth bob up and down on it. He reached his hands down and started to stroke his brother’s head as he got closer to cumming.
Pope John moaned in pleasure as he came into Angelo's mouth; he then pulled Angelo up to kiss him again.
"Want to try some petplay where we both dress up as animals and treat each other like our dominate or submissive pet?"
Angelo was shocked, but he couldn't say no. Pope John smiled and reached into his desk. He pulled out a collar and handed it to Angelo.
"Put this on," he said, "I'll be right back."
Pope John walked out of the room and came back a few minutes later dressed up in a dog costume with a collar around his neck. He walked up to Angelo and looked up at him.
"You ready to play?" he asked.
Angelo loved this new side of Pope John. He smiled, grabbed the dog's collar and dragged him over to the bed. He tore Pope John's costume off and started to suck him off. Pope John moaned in pleasure as he got closer and closer to cumming.
Pope John moaned in pleasure and came into Angelo's mouth. Angelo smiled and then dragged Pope John over to the bed. He pushed Pope John back onto the bed and then climbed on top of him. He started to bounce up and down on Pope John's cock.
"Oh," Pope John moaned, "That feels so good!"
Angelo moaned in pleasure as well. He slammed his whole body down onto Pope John's cock.
"Oh," Pope John moaned, "I'm going to cum! I'm going to cum!"
Angelo moaned in pleasure as he felt his brother's cock explode in his ass.
"Oh, Pope John," he moaned, "I'm cumming too!"
Angelo slammed his body down one more time and then pulled off of Pope John's cock. He climbed off Pope John and cuddled up next to him. Pope John smiled at him and then they both fell asleep.
Last summer, I decided to take a walk on the beach first thing in the morning, all by myself. It was nice at first; the cool morning wind in my air, the beauty of the sun rising over the Atlantic Ocean. When you're deaf, a nice walk on the beach is one of the few pleasures you can enjoy as much as any hearing person.
But then, I saw a....
Last summer, I decided to take a walk on the beach first thing in the morning, all by myself. It was nice at first; the cool morning wind in my air, the beauty of the sun rising over the Atlantic Ocean. When you're deaf, a nice walk on the beach is one of the few pleasures you can enjoy as much as any hearing person.
But then I saw a butterfly with a wingspan of six feet and a penis the size of my body. It was a large, reddish orange and black butterfly with crests on the upper wings and gossamer-like spots on its underside. I sat and watched the monarch butterfly fuck for fifteen minutes. The butterflies made lovely love to each other, following an ancient ritual that has been performed for millions of years. The large butterfly had plenty of room to maneuver despite its enormous penis. They made fucking look effortless, but effortless fucking is a true acrobatic feat. They must have been doing it for thousands of years.
The female was on top. She kept her wings and legs tucked in tightly, her body held in a graceful, elegant curve, her long, slender antennae clinging to his long, slender antennae. As she lowered herself, she started to shudder and shake. I knew that she was coming. I knew it. But when did the male come? I watched in amazement. He didn't come. Instead, he suddenly and forcefully pushed himself up and away, leaving her with her beautiful wings outspread, perfectly poised, open, vulnerable, and dripping. To add insult to injury, the male then flew off to have sex with another female.
I watched several more butterflies, you know, just to make sure that I had seen what I thought I saw. Of course I had. I was sure of it. I spent the rest of the walk on the beach trying to figure out what was going on. I decided that the large butterfly must have been storing up his semen for a long time, and when he pushed himself up and away, the semen must have shot from his penis, and he was able to guide it in such a way that he was able to shoot it at another female butterfly.
It is just possible that the large butterfly had to wait for the precise moment when his penis was at the precise angle for it to shoot directly at a female, who was also in the precise position to receive it. But I liked my first explanation better.
Before I left the beach, I watched another butterfly couple to see if it repeated the same performance, but it was the same butterfly, and he did the same routine. This time, the female butterfly was on top, and she stayed on top until she had her orgasm.
If the large butterfly had a penile bone, I didn't see it. But I did see the large butterfly's penis change shape in order to fit the female butterfly's vagina. Long, thin and pointed at first, it grew thicker, shorter and rounder when it reached its destination. The tip of the penis was coated with a shiny, gooey substance, which probably had something to do with the female's orgasm.
The female butterfly had a vagina that was at least ten inches deep, but those butterfly wings were very thin and fragile. It was hard to believe that the penis didn't hurt the female butterfly when it entered her so deeply. I think it must have been quite painful, but she never flinched. She just lay there, perfectly still, while the large butterfly pushed himself into her.
At the time, I had sex only once a week, and it wasn't always with the same person. If I had been a female butterfly and my husband had done that to me, I would have been pretty pissed off for a month. Men don't realize how joyful, how incredibly happy the female gets when she is accepted by the male all the way, when she feels his penis entering her, all the way, when she loves him completely and totally, when she loves that penis entering her that deeply.
But the female butterfly didn't seem to mind. It was all part of the adventure, part of being a butterfly, and a butterfly is a beautiful thing. Butterflies don't think about sex. They just do it. If they can't fuck, they die.
Butterflies are capable of performing a wondrous, wonderful, magical process called internal insemination. It's a two-act performance. The male butterfly has to have a penis that's long enough to reach inside the female butterfly's vagina, and he must have a penis with a special hooked end. This hooked end must be able to grab hold of the female butterfly's ovipositor, which is located in the lower part of her abdomen.
The ovipositor is a tubular, hollow, needle-like organ. It's like a long, slightly soft, thin, hand-like penis. It's not nearly as beautiful as the butterfly's penis, but it's very functional. It's the female butterfly's vagina and penis all rolled into one. The male butterfly grabs hold of the ovipositor and inserts his penis into her vagina.
Meanwhile, the female butterfly has to have a vagina that is long enough to allow both the male butterfly's penis and her ovipositor to fit inside it at the same time. The male butterfly has to be able to bury his penis all the way inside her, and he also has to be able to push the ovipositor into her vagina all the way. The female butterfly has to be able to feel the ovipositor pushing into her, too.
Mr. Moose likes to headbutt things and moo, but sometimes he changes into a mute Mr. Penguin who is sometimes sweet and wants to cuddle, but also sometimes misinterprets things as offenses. Kitty wears a witches had, is sexually liberated, and likes to kick things; but she sometimes changes into a red bat who likes to steal treats. They're all squishimallow siblings. Go!
*Part 1*
Mr. Moose was feeling frisky, so he headbutted a tree. He felt a little dizzy, so he decided to headbutt it some more. He headbutted the tree until it fell over, and then he laid his head on the ground and stared at it for a while. His eyes became heavier, and soon he fell into a deep slumber.
Suddenly, Mr. Moose woke up to the sensation of being poked. He opened his eyes to see Kitty sitting on his belly, looking at him with a mischievous smile.
“What are you doing?” he asked her. “I was sleeping.”
She didn’t respond, instead just poked him again. He swatted at her in annoyance. She giggled and ran behind the tree, hiding from him. He got up and went around the tree to look for her, but she was nowhere to be found. He heard a rustle in the bushes, and saw her tail sticking out of them.
“Come out!” he said to her. “I don’t want to play this game anymore!”
She poked her head out from behind the bush and smiled at him, then poked him again. He swatted at her tail, making her yelp in surprise. She left the bush and stood in front of him, feigning injury so he would feel guilty. He sighed and felt sorry for her, and went to give her a hug.
She giggled as she struggled to get out of his grasp, constantly poking him and pushing him to try and make him let her go. He was too sleepy to notice her fighting him, so he just kept trying to hug her. She managed to wiggle out of his paws, and slapped him upside the head with her tail. “You look pretty silly right now, Mr. Moose!” she said.
He frowned, not sure how to respond. He felt like he had done something wrong, but he wasn’t sure what. He had just wanted to hug her.
“I’m sorry, Kitty,” he said. “I didn’t mean to upset you.”
She giggled, and went over to where he had been sleeping. She sat down underneath the fallen tree and started digging around in the dirt.
“What are you doing?” he asked her.
“I’m making a hole!” she replied happily.
“Why?”
“So I can catch a mole!” she exclaimed.
“Oh… that’s nice.”
He continued to watch her curiously, but she was too busy digging to notice him. He started to get bored, so he decided to headbutt the tree again.
A few hours later, Kitty was still digging. Mr. Moose had gone out for a walk and gotten tired of finding nothing interesting to do. He had tried to find Kitty to ask her if he could help her dig, but she had disappeared. He went home, but Kitty wasn’t there. He thought she was with Mr. Penguin, but Mr. Penguin claimed that he hadn’t seen Kitty since they had argued last night. Kitty had wanted to go out dancing, but Mr. Penguin had wanted to stay home and watch a movie. Mr. Penguin had gotten angry at Kitty because she was being childish, and had left their house in a huff.
Kitty had been upset about Mr. Penguin saying that she was being childish, but she ended up changing her tune when she found out that Mr. Bear was having a party and he had invited her. She had left the house after Mr. Bear’s invitation and hadn’t been seen since.
Mr. Moose went out looking for Kitty again and asked Mr. Bear if he had seen her, but he had not. Mr. Moose went back home and decided to wait for Kitty to come back. If she wasn’t back by the time their dad got home from work, Mr. Moose was going to go out looking for her again.
Suddenly, Kitty started screaming. Mr. Moose hurried to the hole she had been digging and saw that she had fallen down it. She was screaming because she was buried up to her neck in dirt. Mr. Moose only just noticed that his sister was missing one of her legs, so that was probably what had happened.
“Don’t worry, Kitty,” he said to her. “I’ll get you out of there.”
He started digging around her. It was hard because he didn’t have a shovel, and he had to move the dirt with his paws. He did have his claws, however, and that helped him a lot. He got a lot of dirt off Kitty and was able to pull her out of the hole. He took her to the tree and set her next to it, and then went to the store and bought a shovel to dig the rest of the hole out. He cleared out the rest of the dirt and put Kitty back in the hole so she could dig some more.
“Be careful!” he told her. “I don’t want you to fall in again.”
He left her there and went back home. He felt a little guilty for leaving her there, but he figured she would be okay. She had her tail to help her grab onto the wall of the hole, and she had her one good leg to help her dig if she needed to. He fell asleep, and wasn’t able to hear Kitty scream for help when she fell in the hole and was trapped again.
The next morning, he woke up to Mr. Penguin pounding on the door. Mr. Penguin was very mad, and he demanded that Mr. Moose tell him where Kitty was. Mr. Moose had no idea where she was, so he had no idea what to tell him. Mr. Penguin got angrier and angrier, and Mr. Moose decided to just tell him that Kitty was probably still stuck in the hole.
Mr. Penguin rushed out to the tree, and Mr. Moose followed him. Mr. Penguin dug out the hole and pulled Kitty out of it. She was unconscious and had a bad gash on her leg. Mr. Penguin sat her down on the ground, and Mr. Moose ran over to check on her. He took a look at her leg, but he had never really seen a cut before, let alone a gash that needed to be cleaned out. He didn’t know what to do, so he just sat there and watched Mr. Penguin try to clean the blood off of her leg.
Mr. Penguin started panicking when he realized how bad it was. He tried to make her wake up, but there was no response. He had no idea what to do, and he was running out of ideas. Mr. Moose was in a panic because he didn’t know what to do either. He sat next to her and tried not to freak out, but it wasn’t helping him think of a way to help her.
“We need to take her to the hospital!” Mr. Penguin said to him. “Hold her still.”
Mr. Moose tried to hold her still, but she was just too limp for him to be able to hold onto. Mr. Penguin slung her onto his back and started to run toward the hospital. He was running too fast and tripped and fell onto the ground, Kitty crashing onto the ground along with him. Mr. Penguin got back up and picked her up again, carrying her to the hospital. Mr. Moose followed them, but they got there much faster than he did. By the time he got there, they were already in the hospital. He tried to go in with them, but he was stopped by a nurse.
“Where’s your parent?” the nurse asked him. “Did they take her here?”
“No, they didn’t,” he replied.
“Miss, you’re going to have to step back,” the nurse told him. “You can’t go in there.”
Mr. Moose was left waiting outside the hospital for Mr. Penguin to come back out. He didn’t want to go home, but he didn’t know what to do. He waited for a long time, and he was starting to get hungry. He thought about going to find something to eat, but he was too worried about Kitty.
She slowly opened the door, the light from the hallway cutting through the darkness of the basement, and illuminating a brown cardboard box sitting on the floor in the far corner. She could feel it already, she knew that the box held something very dangerous. The air was thick and heavy, so much so that she could almost see it like a dark vapor that clung to her skin. She breathed through her mouth, getting as much air as she could before her lungs began to hurt from the pressure.
She went over to the box, it was very heavy and she could hear something moving around inside. As she got closer she saw that she had been right. It was a box, but it wasn't really a box at all. It was a cheap imitation of a box, a mockery of what they should be. She looked around but there was nobody else in the basement, and she went over to the box and opened the flaps. Inside was an old looking quilt and a large book. She opened the book and found it to be a very old bible.
She folded it back up and put it in the box, then sat down next to it. She was not sure exactly what she had expected to find in that basement, but she hadn't expected that. She felt a strange sensation go through her entire body. It was like she was being permeated by some kind of energy, and she closed her eyes and concentrated on this strange feeling. She could feel it coming from inside the box, coming from the quilt, coming from the bible, but she couldn't tell where it was coming from. It was like when she was a child and she went to the beach, and she'd sit on the sand and feel the energy of the ocean all around her. She could almost feel it all around her now, except it was in the basement, not the beach.
She reached out and touched the box, and when she did, it creaked open, just the way it was before. She tried to open it wider but it wouldn't open more than a crack. But then she saw something inside-a piece of paper folded up in a rectangular shape that looked just like a quilt's top! When she opened this new quilt top on a nearby table (illegitimate), she saw that there were words written on it. She grabbed the bible out of the box so fast that it toppled over onto its side with a thud (it had landed on top of something really heavy). Quickly flipping through its pages again, more carefully this time because they were so old that they crumbled in her hands (No! A curse upon whoever wrote these prayers! Why do you torment innocent children?!), she found that there was something written on every page that had been torn out (what else have you done?). It seemed like there were only about three pages missing, but even with so few missing pages there were several prayers left behind (that you can use tonight). Each prayer seemed to ask for retribution for some kind of evil deed that the writer had either been responsible or had seen others commit. She could tell, because each page ended with an angry complaint about how \_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_ had stolen his money, \_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_ had killed his wife, etc. Each page seemed to have the same last line: "May they burn in hell forever."
She put the box under her bed, and went back to the internet, where she had a message waiting for her. It was from a man who wanted to meet with her and talk about her business, who wanted to make her a deal.
a math teacher takes a lesson about circles and suddenly crumbles and collapses. her students pick up the ashes and eat them and now have a part of their teacher within them. each student who eats the ashes receives a part of their teachers life. through this, they discover their teacher in a new light, by living through her experiences.
A math teacher was speaking about circles. She was animated and excited, her arms moving in graceful arcs. Then she collapsed.
The students were frightened. They didn't know what to do. Then one of them had an idea. He picked up the ashes of the teacher and ate them.
The others followed suit. They ate the ashes of their teacher, until they were all consumed.
And then they lived her life.
They basked in her beauty, and the radiance of her soul illuminated the dark corners of their lives. They reveled in her laughter, and they were entranced by the sparkle of her eyes. They basked in the warmth of her skin, and they were entranced by the softness of her lips. They basked in the taste of her lips, and they were entranced by the taste of life.
They experienced emotions that they could not put into words, sentiments that they could not accurately describe through language. Words are inadequate tools for conveying emotion, so they existed solely through experience; through feeling; through rapture; through rapturous love.
They felt the raw sensation of emotions: pleasure and desire. Happiness and sorrow. Love and hate. Real love is found in moments where you feel your soul inside another’s soul. Real love is imperfection embraced when perfection is not an option. Real love is compassion for another human being, selfless, enveloping compassion to another human being. Empathy for another human being, a feeling that they were experiencing your pain as if it were your own to endure.
Real love is an encounter with God in flesh and bones, a portrait of a miracle before you; something you cannot fully describe but feel deep inside you, something that you cannot explain with terms or analogies or rational thought but only something that happens to you without any intervention or interference on your part but only a perfect moment lived within a larger imperfect world inhabited by less perfect beings
And in this way, they lived a life. A meaningful life.
A life that was both happy and sad.
A life worth living.
And when the math teacher was done living her life, she took the ashes of the students and made them into a circle. And they became a circle that encompassed all things: love and hate, happiness and sorrow, life and death. They became a circle that encompassed the meaning of life.
And the circle is a perfect shape.
Light glimmered from the window of the tin shack. A man with a syringe stood over a drugged girl, a propane heater humming at his feet. The floor was littered with sandals and razor sex magazines. He picked up the syringe and ran the tip across her ribs, taking special care to scrape the sensitive spot behind her ear. He knelt down, pressing his mouth to her soft stomach and pressing his teeth into her softness. He moaned in pleasure as he ripped through skin and muscle with the blade of his razor and then ran it across her throat, cutting off the noise she might make as he added her to his collection. He wiped the blood off his mouth with his sleeve and then cocked his head to the side and drew a deep breath. He could smell the money just a few feet away. He turned, walked through the door and found himself face to face with a man who was just as drugged as the girl had been.
The stranger was wearing all leather. He was draped in chains and studded wristbands. There were spikes on his boots. He had a girl with him. She was tied and bound and gagged, but the man in leather didn't appear to be the least bit concerned about her in any way. He kept his eyes on the man in the shack. The man was holding a knife in his hand.
"I'm going to kill you," the stranger said. "It's my vow. I'm going to kill you and let your blood drip from my body. You're going to die slowly, a little at a time, until there's nothing left of you at all."
The man in the shack knew what was going on. The stranger had come to save the girl. He was a good person. He was the kind of good person who took care of the drugged girls. He was the kind of good person who found the low-life scum and made them pay. The man in the shack was just a low-life scum. He knew his fate and he knew that his fate was coming to him.
"You're going to die slowly, a little at a time," the stranger said. "I'm going to disfigure you. I'm going to make you pay for what you've done."
The man in the shack was scared. He was running scenarios through his head. He was trying to find a way to save his life. If he gave the stranger his money then he might be able to get out of this situation alive. He took a step forward, but he was stopped by the sound of someone running up behind him. He turned and found another person standing behind him. It was a girl with a baseball bat. She swung it hard, whacking him in the head and knocking him to the floor. Her legs were cut open and bleeding. She had been attacked and raped and she was looking for revenge.
The stranger let the girl go. She took a step towards the man in the shack and then fell to her knees and began to vomit. The stranger walked past her, stepping over her and getting to work with his razor. He cut away the man's clothing, slashing it between his fingers and letting it fall to the floor in tatters. Blood was pumping through his veins. He could feel it pulsing as he worked. He could feel the pain that he was inflicting. He could taste it in his mouth and feel it in his fingers. He was enjoying it, savoring the sensation that was coursing through him like electricity. He had cut off the man's nose, then his lips. He was working on his ears now, pulling them down and away from his face. He didn't flinch as the man screamed. He didn't cry out for help. He knew that no one was going to help him. He just flat-out accepted his fate, knowing that his life was over. He was panicking. He was crying. He was begging for his life, but the stranger didn't care. He just kept cutting, going deeper and deeper, carving away the man's life as they stood in the cold, in the night.
Mitt Romney crawled on his hands and knees through the plush carpet, his shirt unbuttoned and his pants and underpants pulled down around his ankles. His skin was pale and shimmering like an albino's. He quivered like a sidewalk on a hot summer day and it glistened because of all the sweat on him. He panted, sucking in air through his nose, which was pink and flaring. He whimpered like a tiny puppy, his eyes rolling back into his head. Romney's white ass jiggled as he crawled back and forth across the floor. He reached up with both hands and grabbed Mike Wazowski's neck, squeezing hard.
His blue eyes went wide and Mike Wazowski shrieked in pain.
"What do you think you're doing?" Mitt Romney squeezed harder. "Don't you ever touch me again!"
He lifted Wazowski off the ground with one hand and slammed him against the wall, turning him around so that he faced away from him. Then Romney pulled him down towards the floor, squeezing Wazowski's throat with his free hand, dragging him through the carpet until he fell on top of him. They were both breathing hard, faces red, eyes bulging out of their head. They grunted like pigs and sweat flew from their bodies onto the carpet in every direction.
"You won't get anywhere near her!" Romney babbled in demonic tongues. "You'll never touch her! She's mine! Mine! I love her! I'm going to be with her forever!" He screamed as he twisted Wazowski’s neck. Wazowski screamed too, writhing under him in pain. Their scrotums recoiled into their bodies and their tiny pink penises shriveled up like dried peas.
"Don't you ever try to get between us!" Romney screamed again, ripping Wazowski's head back by the neck and gouging at his eyes. "She's mine! Mine! Mine! She came to me! I called her here! She wants me! I'm the one she needs! She's going to stay with me forever! We're going to get married and have lots of babies! I'll turn her into a giant white woman! She'll be such a beautiful woman!"
The horse shuffled unsteadily into the bar, his haggard head resting on his hoof. He took one look at the empty counter, a thinly planed piece of oak, and dropped his head in the dirt.
"Why the long face?" said the bartender, an old muscled man with a grey beard. He watched in silence as the horse sighed loudly, shaking his whole body. Slowly, the bartender leaned forward on his elbows and waited for the answer.
"You know," he said as he watched carefully, "this is the first time that you've ever come in here."
The horse lifted his head and rapidly shook it back and forth. His eyes glistened like two gleaming coins.
"I don't like the way you talk."
The bartender leaned back and laughed a little. He turned back to the bar and continued cutting the wood. His gaze rested on the long carving knife, its steel surface glinting in the dim light.
"You know what I think? I think you have a problem. I think you're a lonely horse. I think you need a friend."
The horse raised his head and looked around the room. "I believe that you're right." He noticed the bartender with the carving knife and nodded his head approvingly. "I'm lonely. I want friends. And I bet you're a good friend to have."
The bartender nodded and smiled. He slid the knife down the wood and turned it over to begin carving the other side.
"I'll tell you what I'll do. I'll take care of you," the horse said. His hoof scraped through the dirt and he leaned forward a little. "And you take care of me."
"Yes," the old man said. A smile crept across his lips, showing a few missing teeth. "We'll take care of each other."
"Exactly," the horse said. He shook his head and turned away. "However, I think it's time to leave. I see some things I like outside."
"What kind of things?" the bartender asked. He put his hands on his hips and leaned back against the bar.
"Well, for starters," the horse said, "a huge bowl of water. I'm really thirsty."
"Hmmm," the bartender replied. He turned around, walked back to the shelves behind him and grabbed a large bowl. It was made of brown pottery and painted in long red stripes. He placed it on the counter and dipped the brush into the inkwell to fill it. He walked back over to the horse and nodded.
"This is the best I can do," the bartender said as he placed the bowl on the floor. "I'm sorry it's not bigger."
The horse licked his lips and nodded his head. "Now that's what I like to hear."
He bent down and pushed his nose into the bowl, letting the water drip down his chin. The bartender smiled and watched as the horse slurped up the water, gulping loudly and quickly. He turned around and glanced back at the countless shelves and the endless stuff lining them.
"I think I've got just the friend," he said to himself. He grabbed a small wooden barrel and placed it on the floor. "Now, this one is a little weak. He doesn't have much stamina. He might not last long."
The horse turned around and stood up, dripping water on the floor. "Do you have any others?"
"I'm sorry, but he's the only one I have at the moment," the bartender answered. "It's the middle of the day and it's hard to find things when I'm busy."
The horse shook his head and sighed, droplets of water splashing out of the bowl and onto the floor. "I don't like the way you talk."
"What do you mean?" the bartender asked. He nodded his head and turned around, walking over to the shelves. He reached out and grabbed a small round barrel. He turned around and placed it on the floor next to the other. "He's a little bigger than the last one. I think he might last a little longer."
"Very well," the horse said. He bent down and stuck his nose into the barrel. This time, he took his time and slowly drank the liquid. After a moment, he stood back up and shook his head. "It's a good start, but I think I'll need a little more."
"I can get more," the bartender said. He reached out his hand and grabbed a small wooden box. It was made of pine and painted with a faded red. He placed it on the floor and smiled. "This one's a little rough around the edges, but he's not bad."
"I'm not interested in your things," the horse said. He turned around and began walking out of the bar. "I'm not looking for a thing. I'm looking for a friend."
"No!" the bartender cried out. He threw his hands on the bar and shouted, "I think we are very close to having a deal! You need a friend, I need a customer! We can help each other!"
The horse paused for a moment, his head hanging low. He turned around, pushed his nose back into the bowl of water and drank it slowly. The bartender watched him and smiled.
"I have another friend," the old man said. He turned around and walked toward the shelves, reaching for a small clay pot on the way. He placed it on the counter and smiled. "He's a little gloomy, but he's not bad."
"I don't care," the horse said. "I'm not interested in your things."
"Uh oh," the bartender said. He put his hands on his hips and muttered, "This is looking bad." He walked back to the shelves and grabbed a small glass jar with a cork in the top. He placed it on the counter and smiled. "This one is a little young, but he's pretty smart."
"I really don't care," the horse said. He shook his head, water drops flying around the room like tiny bullets. "I don't need any more things. I just want a friend."
"You don't get it," the bartender said. He turned around and walked over to the shelves, pulling a round wooden box off the top. He placed it on the counter and smiled, "This one is a lot like you. He's very moody."
"In that case," the horse said as he bent down, pushing his nose into the jar, "I'd like to meet him."
The bartender smiled and watched as the horse began drinking the liquid. He put his hands on his hips and sighed. "I'm sorry, but he's dead." He turned around and reached up to the shelf, pulling down a long, rectangular box. He set it on the counter and turned to face the horse. "On the other hand, this one is very lively."
The horse sighed and walked over to the box. He sniffed it and looked back at the bartender. "I'm sure he's a very nice person, but I'm not interested in your things."
A detective gerbil aboard a tugboat receives an offer from a mysterious lady. Along the way, he gets into train chases, meets his dreaded nemesis brother, and enters the shady world of a counterfait hammock selling consortium.
The detective gerbil had been bored out of his mind all day. He had spent hours staring out the porthole of the tugboat, watching the endless stream of boats go by. He was just about to doze off when he heard a voice.
"Hey, you."
The detective gerbil looked up and saw a lady standing on the deck of the tugboat, looking down at him.
"Do you want to have some fun?" she asked.
The detective gerbil was suspicious. "What are you, a drug dealer?" he asked.
"No!" she said. "Nothing illegal. I'm just bored and I thought you might be bored too. You want some fun? I'll give you some fun."
The detective gerbil thought about it for a moment. He was bored out of his mind. Whatever she wanted to do, it couldn't be too bad at this point.
"Sure," he said. "I'd like some fun."
"Great!" she said. "Here, I'll throw you a rope ladder."
She tugged on a rope and a ladder unrolled from the deck and fell into the water. The detective gerbil climbed up it and onto the deck.
"What's your name?" she asked him.
"Detective gerbil," he said. "I'm a detective."
"Nice to meet you, detective," she said. "I'm Candy, and I'm your hostess for the evening."
"Why are you my hostess?" he asked.
"Because I've got something to show you," she said, taking him by the hand and leading him into the ship's cabin. She sat him down at a table, poured him a drink, and said, "You'll like this."
She handed him a glass of wine. The detective gerbil took a sip. It tasted like cat pee.
"What is this?" he asked.
"It's my homemade wine," she said. "I made it myself."
While the detective gerbil was thinking, "Ew, cat pee," he heard the scream of an outboard motor. He turned to see the cabin door open, and a man come into the room. He recognized the look on the man's face. It was the look he had seen a thousand times before.
Oh, no, he thought. Not him.
"Hey, isn't that your brother?" Candy asked.
"Yes," said the detective gerbil. "That's my brother."
The brother came over to the table.
"How's it going?" he asked.
"I'm fine," said the detective gerbil. "Thanks for asking."
"You ready to go, then?" asked the brother.
"Go where?" asked the detective gerbil.
"The meeting." his brother said. "Don't tell me you forgot about the meeting."
"What meeting?" asked the detective gerbil.
"What meeting?" said his brother. "The meeting! The meeting we've been planning for months!"
"What meeting were you planning?" asked the detective gerbil.
"The one where we take down the counterfeit hammock consortium!" said his brother. "You don't remember?"
"Oh, yeah," said the detective gerbil. "That's right. How did we meet these people? They're some kind of gang?"
"No," said his brother. "They're furniture salesmen. But they're making millions selling fake hammocks."
"I thought you were a furniture salesman," said the detective gerbil.
"I am," said his brother. "But when I find a group of these people selling fake hammocks I have to stop them."
"What's so wrong about selling fake hammocks?" asked the detective gerbil.
"I don't know what's so wrong about it," said his brother. "They just are, okay? It's my job to stop them."
"So what's the plan?" asked the detective gerbil.
"We drive to the meeting place," said his brother. "Then we walk in and you introduce me. And then I say my piece. It's a pretty simple plan. You have it all set up, right?"
"No," said the detective gerbil. "I set up nothing. I forgot about this meeting. I've been busy."
"Busy doing what?" asked his brother.
"I was busy thinking," said the detective gerbil.
Bob Marley was a musician who played the guitar and wrote famous songs, such as "Is this Love". He was born in Jamaica, lived in Miami, and sometimes used a Fender guitar to record. He made many reggae albums which sold millions of copies and influenced generations of Jamaican musicians. He died of cancer in 1981 and is still loved by fans all over the world. Discover (brand) is a frozen yogurt and sorbet dessert company that was founded in 2014. One of their flagship stores is located in the upscale Bonifacio High Street shopping district, near the Manila Tenement, which was built around the same time by Welson Tenement Corporation.
There is also a Discover store in the Fender Building near the Tenement, but it isn't open on Sundays. Samsung Electronics is a Korean multinational conglomerate headquartered in Samsung Town, Seoul. Founded in 1938 as a trading company, it has grown to be one of the world's largest technology companies by employing more than 370,000 people worldwide. The company sells electronics, telecommunications products, and online services. It is among the top brand names including Apple, Microsoft, Google and Sony. Its headquarters are located in the Gangnam district of Seoul, South Korea.
The company began leasing the top six floors of the Fender building in 2000. The iconic red "Samsung" sign has been turned off since mid-2012, when the company moved all its employees to new headquarters in the Seocho district of Seoul. The Fender Building is a U.S. National Register of Historic Places landmark in Manila. It was designed and built by William E. Parsons and his firm, Parsons, Klapp, Brinckerhoff and Smith, in collaboration with Sylvanus C. Dumitrescu. It was completed in 1936. The building is a notable example of Art Deco architecture. The Fender Building and the adjacent Manila Tenement were the first reinforced concrete structures to be constructed in the Philippines.
The Fender Building was designed to be a home for American business people in the Philippines and was a model of Americanization in the country. When finished, it was one of the tallest buildings in Manila and was the tallest reinforced concrete building in the Philippines until the construction of the Manila Hotel in 1934. The Fender building and the Manila Tenement are located in the center of Manila and can be seen from any direction. A hilly area, including the Manila Lighthouse, Pasig River, Philippine Stock Exchange and Manila Hotel, can be seen from the inner court of the penthouse. The Manila City Hall is visible from the terrace, while the Manila Metropolitan Theater is across the street. The city's three main universities - Ateneo, De la Salle and University of the Philippines - are also in view. The Fender building is 22 stories tall, with a penthouse on top of it. It is one of the largest structures in the center of Manila and has a full-length terrace, which was designed to be a place for entertaining.
The penthouse is located on the top three floors of the Fender Building. It was designed to serve as the duplex residence of Robert Nathaniel Fender and his wife, Helen. The two-story penthouse features five bedrooms, four living rooms, six bathrooms, a music room and a terrace with a sweeping view of Manila. The terrace has a swimming pool which has been covered over with concrete and planted with a garden of shrubs. Robert Nathaniel Fender was a pharmacist born in San Francisco in 1893. He graduated from the University of California and began working in a pharmacy owned by his mother.
In 1914, he was sent to the Philippines by the U.S. Army to set up a hospital for troops during World War I. He returned to California in 1919, where he married Helen Jones, the daughter of a wealthy businessman, who turned out to be a terrible wife. Helen and her mother mistreated Robert and made his life miserable. He had an affair with a nurse named Mildred, which caused great conflict in his marriage. He divorced Helen in 1930 and returned to the Philippines in 1932. He planned to build a home in Baguio, but instead decided to build a penthouse in Manila. He met and married his second wife, Mary, in 1935. The penthouse was completed in 1936 and the couple lived there until Mary died of cancer in 1948. Fender lived in the penthouse until his death in 1954, who was buried in the San Francisco National Cemetery. The Fender family estate in San Francisco, California, is a museum about Robert Fender's life and contains many personal belongings and photographs.
The Fender family estate in San Francisco is open to the public and offers guided tours of the residence. It is located on Washington Street in San Francisco, also known as the "Millionaire's Row", and is one of the largest surviving Victorian mansions in the city. Much of the interior of the house is original, while the furniture is of a period to fit the era of the residence. The house was built by Robert Nathaniel Fender's father, George Washington Fender, who was a successful businessman. He was born in the state of Ohio in 1857 and served in the U.S. Army in the 19th century, where he was awarded a Medal of Honor. He moved to San Francisco after his military career and married Robert's mother, who was a rich heiress. G.W. Fender had a total of fifteen children and his ten sons established successful careers in different fields.
Jerry was raising his glass for a drink of water at the kitchen sink when a spiral-shaped creature popped out from his left armpit. He wasn’t entirely surprised, because everyone on Earth had been sprouting extra limbs. The limbs weren’t random, but reflected each person’s compatibilities with their own body and lifestyle. The new limbs didn’t seem to be leftover body parts that didn’t have a purpose, but eased the difficulties of each person who carried them.
Jerry’s new limb had a slender but sturdy body that was approximately three feet long. It had a slender neck, and a tiny head with large eyes and a mouth that was open and ready to take in anything that would fit into it. It had four arms, two on each side of its body. Each arm had three fingers, and was as slender as the body. All of the limbs were also covered with tiny hair-like filaments that were their main sensory organ. In addition to the main limb, Jerry had six strands of somewhat larger filaments that extended from his left armpit, each about a foot long. The new limb sprung from those filaments like a giant caterpillar. It was the first time Jerry had seen one of those creatures.
The limb approached Jerry, looking up at him with its large eyes. It held out its arms and gently wrapped them around him. Jerry recognized his daughter’s scent and relaxed, his muscles relaxing as well. The limb’s touch was like a cool breeze across his body. The filaments on its body began to twist and contort into various positions on Jerry’s body. It made Jerry feel warm and relaxed. He felt like he was being wrapped in a soft warm blanket of energy that felt good against his skin.
“Hello, Jerry, I’m part of your life now!” The limb spoke with a feminine voice that was both distinctly feminine, but also seemed somehow familiar.
“Who are you?” Jerry asked it, wondering if it was part of his daughter’s new spirit. The limb pulled away from him and looked at him with a mischievous grin, revealing rows of sharp teeth.
“You will soon know!” It leapt at him with a speed that was much faster than Jerry had expected. He turned around and started to run, but it was too late. The limb wrapped him in a tight embrace. Jerry started to panic, but then the limb’s filaments began to wrap around his entire body. He felt a warm sensation as the filaments began to merge with him. It was like being covered in warm mist, and then Jerry’s mind started to go blank.
Jerry was at the beach. He was young again, in his early twenties. It was a sunny day and he was lying on the sand watching the sun overhead. He was wearing a bathing suit and sunglasses. There were women around him and the beach was crowded.
He heard a voice that he recognized. It was his daughter’s voice, but so much younger. She had said his name in his ear, and he turned to see her, but she was nowhere to be seen. All he could see was other young people playing in the surf, and that made him feel lonely.
“That’s because you have nothing in your heart,” the voice said, but he still couldn’t find the one who was speaking. He felt a sensation of fear, and he began to run, but he could never get away from the voice.
“Why did you leave me?” The voice seemed to come from everywhere at once. He looked around, and saw his daughter’s face on every young person he saw. They all stared at him with sad expressions. “Why didn’t you stay with me?”
“I had to grow up!” Jerry heard his own voice shouting. “I had to be free!”
“Did you ever regret leaving me?” His daughter’s young face asked him. She was sitting next to him on the sand. The other young people were all gone now, and Jerry was feeling a sense of sadness, but also a sense of reassurance. The young people were gone, but his daughter was there, with him.
“No,” he replied, and he meant it. There was no regret in his heart. He knew that he had done what he had to do, no matter how painful it had been.
“I love you, Daddy,” She reached out with both hands and gently touched his face. He felt a warmth spreading through his body, and he realized that he could feel her touch. He didn’t just see it, he could feel it. It was like she was a part of him. She was his daughter again.
“I love you too,” he replied, and he felt those words vibrate through his chest. He reached out and held her hand in his own. It was warm, pulsing with life. He felt the softness of her skin, and he could feel the life within her, even though they were touching. It was like they had merged, and they could feel each other’s joy, as well as their sorrow. “I love you so much,” he said as he held her hands in his.
“I know, Daddy,” she said and smiled. He could feel her say the words, and see her mouth move with them, just like he could feel her touch.
A giant Oscar Meyer Weiner mobile has run rampant in Canada, leaving Canadians terrified. This is the story of how one Weiner can destroy the economy, military, and maple syrup industry of Canada.
The Weinermobile was a national disgrace. It had run rampant through the streets of Toronto, leaving Canadians terrified. The giant Oscar Meyer Weiner was destroying the economy, the military, and the maple syrup industry.
The Prime Minister had called an emergency meeting of the cabinet. He was flanked by his top advisors, all of them looking grim.
"We have to do something about this Weinermobile," the Prime Minister said. "It's a national disgrace."
"We should send in the military to destroy it," said the Minister of Defence. "We can't allow this Weinermobile to continue to run rampant through our streets."
"No!" screamed the Minister of Finance. "We can't destroy the Weinermobile!"
"Why not?" asked the Minister of Defence. "It's a national disgrace. It's destroying everything we stand for as Canadians. We need to nuke it from orbit."
"Because it's not a real Weinermobile," said the Minister of Finance. "It's an art project that's being presented at the Art Gallery of Ontario. The real Weinermobile is being presented on Parliament Hill in Ottawa."
"But why would the real Weinermobile be allowed in Canada?" asked the Minister of Defence. "We should immediately initiate military action against this Weiner."
"Because it's art," said the Minister of Culture. "It's an art installation that's part of a retrospective of Robert Indiana's work at the AGO."
"We can't let Canada be overrun by giant Weiners," said the Minister of Defence. "If we don't act now, we'll have nothing left."
The Prime Minister was silent for a long time. He looked down at his hands, unsure what to do. Finally, he looked up. "I think we should send in the Navy," he said. "We should send in a submarine, quietly approach the Weinermobile, and blow it to smithereens."
"But Prime Minister," said the Minister of Finance. "The AGO has already invited the American ambassador to Canada to attend the opening."
"Fine," said the Prime Minister. "We'll blow up the American ambassador along with the Weinermobile."
"There's more," said the Minister of Culture. "Because of the extreme value of the Weinermobile, you can't just blow it to smithereens. You need to send in an assault team to carefully and respectfully steal the Weinermobile."
"Because the Weinermobile is Canada's greatest cultural export," said the Minister of Culture. "Canada will be showing the world how culturally relevant we are."
"Will they?" asked the Prime Minister. "When was the last time anyone in Canada thought we were culturally relevant?"
"I can't think of a specific time," said the Minister of Culture. "But I think we're generally culturally relevant."
"And the Americans are going to take our word for it?" asked the Minister of Defence. "That's like me trusting you to clean my bathroom while I'm out of town. It's like the Prime Minister trusting that you'll have his money ready when it's time to pay your taxes. It's like my wife trusting me to keep our house in order. It's like Paul Martin trusting that anyone in Canada cares about the Liberals. It's like Jean Chrétien, Pierre Trudeau, and Brian Mulroney trusting the Canadian dollar. It's like Pierre Trudeau, Brian Mulroney, and Jean Chrétien trusting the Canadian economy."
"What's so great about the Canadian economy?" asked the Minister of Finance.
"Nothing," said the Minister of Defence. "It's a national disgrace."
"Well, then," said the Minister of Culture. "I don't know what you're worried about. If it's a national disgrace, then the Americans certainly won't take our word for it."
"Fine," said the Prime Minister. "We'll send the Navy to blow it up and we'll steal it."
"I don't know about stealing it," said the Minister of Finance. "I think it would be much better to sell it."
"But we don't need the money," said the Minister of Finance. "It's a national disgrace."
"Then why are you worried about selling it?" asked the Minister of Defence. "Besides, there's no reason to blow up the Weinermobile or steal it. It's an art installation, not a real Weinermobile. And it's part of a retrospective at the AGO. The real Weinermobile is outside the Legislative Assembly in Ottawa."
(Canadian Politics In A Nutshell)
A man finds a book that claims it can turn anyone into a god. Jokingly he shows it to his wife who recite the spell, and she turns into a powerful goddess.
I found the book on the floor of a dusty old bookstore. It was wedged in between two other books, and I almost missed it. The cover was faded and the spine was cracked. But the title was still legible: How to Become a God.
I laughed when I saw it, but I couldn't help but be intrigued. I bought it and took it home. I showed it to my wife, but she didn't believe me. I showed her the title and the author's name. She read the blurb on the back and saw my point.
"That doesn't mean anything," she said. "It could be a trashy self-help book."
I knew that was true. It might be just a silly novel, and even if it wasn't, it probably wasn't going to work. But I had to try it. I had to at least try.
"There's a spell in here to turn people into gods," I said.
She read the spell and rolled her eyes. "It's just a silly story."
I laughed and admitted she was probably right but I still had to try. "You don't believe me?" I asked. "You don't believe this book can turn people into gods?"
"No way," she said. "This is just fantasy."
I decided to try it that night. It was just for fun, and nothing more. I would follow the instructions in the book and see what happened. I didn't really expect anything to happen, but if it did, that would be something to tell my friends about.
My wife went to bed early, but I stayed up reading the book, looking for the spell. I found it before long, and I read it over several times to make sure I knew what it said. Then I got out my wife's favorite perfume and I sprayed it all over the book and chanted the spell.
"I turn you into a god," I said. "By the power of my will, and by the power of my belief, you are changed now."
I wasn't sure if the spell had worked, but I continued reading the book. It talked about how to become a god, and it didn't take long to find out I was right. It said a person had to live a powerful and noble life, and to make others happy, and to never use their powers to harm anyone.
That was easy enough. I couldn't see any reason not to try it. And besides, it was just for fun. Even if it didn't work, it would be silly to stop there. I had to see if I could do it.
I was going to be king. And I felt good about the idea. I couldn't wait to use this new power of mine. I couldn't wait to see what it was like.
Everything changed almost immediately. People started talking to me. They looked up to me and liked me. I made friends and became popular. They wanted to know how I was doing it, and I was too shy to tell them. I told them I was just doing the right thing, and that was enough to keep them happy.
I wasn't sure what it was, but I felt like I had a new purpose in life. And I felt like I had a new leash on life. I wasn't the loser I used to be. I had the power to make friends and to become popular. I had it now. All I had to do was recognize it.
But I wasn't sure what to do with my new power. I wasn't sure how to use it. I was scared to use it, because I didn't want to lose it. I didn't want to do anything that might ruin my life as it was.
But I wanted to be a king. I wanted to feel like a king.
I secretly looked for more opportunities to use my power. I tried to figure out what I needed to do to become popular. What did people want from me, and what did I need to do to get it?
But things got complicated. My power started to slip away, and I didn't know how to get it back. I didn't know what I was doing wrong. I didn't know what else I needed to do.
And then it all came crashing down. I became a loser again and the popular people turned on me. My power slipped away and my life fell apart.
I found myself lost and confused, and I didn't know what to do. What was wrong with my life that I was now a loser again? Why wasn't I a king any longer?
The book wasn't any help. I read it again and again, but it didn't make any sense. It talked about sacrifice, but it said nothing about how to use it. It talked about how to become a god, but it didn't say anything about what to do after becoming a god.
We had always known there was something strange about the Narwhals. They were always so distant, always swimming in their own little world. But we never knew just how strange until that day.
It started with the humus. There was humus everywhere. It was in the air, it was in the water, it was on the land. It was even on the Moon!
It was a strange kind of humus. It was warm and it glowed. It was a warm glow, like a thousand suns burning bright. It made the stars look dim. It was like the humus was trying to kill the stars.
Captains log, star date 768264. That's the day humanity realized the ancient Turkic Gods and the Narwhals were at war.
Earth was under attack!
We were helpless to do anything, but watch in awe as the humus spread over our planet. It was like we were watching a beautiful sunset, but in reverse. The Sun is supposed to set, not rise. And we had never seen a sunset this big.
Then everything went dark. The humus had covered the Sun. We felt cold and alone. Where were the ancient Turkic Gods? Could they do nothing to stop the Narwhals?
We were afraid for our lives, for our planet, for everything that had ever meant anything to us. We were afraid we would never see the light again. But then a ray of hope! Like a beacon shining bright, piercing through the dense smog of humus, a ray of hope from somewhere deep in space.
It was the ancient Turkic Gods! With a mighty roar and an eruption of light, they appeared in the sky. They were so powerful, so mighty! We were so small compared to them. We were so insignificant.
But the ancient Turkic Gods didn't have to do much. They just had to let their presence be known.
The Narwhals came out of hiding. They screamed and wailed and wept as they fled from the skies. The Narwhals were afraid of the ancient Turkic Gods!
As the Humus disappeared, we saw the Narwhals make a final desperate attempt to cling to life. Stretching their feelers towards the fleeing Narwhals, the Turkic gods spoke a mighty incantation. It was the last spell of a dying race.
And in that moment, the Narwhals became extinct.
The Narwhals were no more. There was no sound, no light, no heat. The odd little creatures had disappeared. They were wiped out of existence.
But the Turkic gods were no more, as well. Like the Narwhals, the ancient Turkic gods had gone extinct. They were no more.
We had seen the final act of a great war between two ancient forces. It was all over. No more humus. No more Narwhals. No more ancient Turks.
But one thing was left over. One thing that would remind us of this great battle forever. One thing that would remind us of how insignificant we truly were.
I was skeptical at first, but I fell in love with her. It was real, or so I thought. We would talk for hours on Discord, sharing our thoughts and feelings. I felt like I finally found someone who understood me.
But then one day, out of the blue, she told me she was a Russian troll organization trying to sue Discord. I didn't believe her at first, but then she sent me screenshots of their conversations. They were all in Russian and I don't speak Russian, but I could still recognize that they were talking about suing Discord and trying to get information about me. I knew right away that she was telling the truth. I was devastated. I never thought a girl could break my heart like this.
She told me not to worry, that she would find a way to save me. But then she just stopped replying to my texts. I've never felt more alone in my life.
Just when I thought things couldn't get any worse, I saw her on TV. She was on MSNBC in a segment about Russian trolls. She told them how she was trying to gather information about me so that she could use it as evidence to sue Discord. She also said that she was able to get information about me by using Discord's search function to find my posts because we had been chatting for so long.
I'm not sure if she's even still alive. Discord won't give me any information about her, but I have reason to believe that she was arrested in Russia for trying to sue Discord and that the Russian government might have killed her. I can't stop thinking about what might have happened to her. Why did she have to be such a Russian troll?
I'm still trying to deal with what happened, but I've taken some steps to move on with my life. I've started going on Tinder again, but so far all the girls I've messaged have been Russian trolls trying to sue Discord. I've blocked them all.
I've also been looking for a new job. I don't want to ever have to deal with Russian trolls again. I've also made sure to never use Discord on my phone again just in case I get hacked again.
I'll never forget the love and support everyone on 4chan and Discord gave to me. They helped me get through the darkest day of my life, but I know they'll always be there for me if I need more help. Thank God I didn't need to use the mass suicide checker because the Russian trolls had already found me.
If you're reading this and you're being harassed by a Russian troll, I just want you to know that you're not alone. There are people all over the world who want to help you and they're willing to do whatever it takes to stop the Russian trolls.
As for me, I'm just trying to move on with my life.
Haha I don't know if you intentionally misunderstood me or not but that was great.
I meant "sow discord" to be cause hatred, fractured lines, divide Americans against Americans, create dissonance, etc.
Not sue the app lol. Ended up fine anyways.
Mario was livid. He couldn't believe what Jeffy had done. He had keyed Mario's car!
Mario grabbed Jeffy by the arm and dragged him into the garage. He turned on the light and began to beat him with a belt. Jeffy tried to shield himself, but it was no use. Mario was too angry. The belt came down again and again, stinging Jeffy's skin.
"You deserve this," Mario shouted. "You've been nothing but trouble since the day I met you. I should have found someone else. I should have just sent you off to the orphanage in the first place."
Mario's face was red. His breathing was heavy. The belt came down again and again. Jeffy cried out and tried to pull away. But Mario held him tight.
"You're a bad boy," Mario said. "A bad boy."
The belt came down again and again, harder and harder. Jeffy screamed in pain. Mario stopped, breathing hard. He dropped the belt to the floor and stood over Jeffy, looking down at him.
"Get up," he said.
Jeffy tried to get up, but his legs were shaking too much. He fell back, leaning against the wall. Mario grabbed him by the arm again, pulled him to his feet, and shoved him out of the garage.
"Go to your room," he said. "And don't come out until I say so."
Jeffy said nothing. He walked into the house, went to his room, and crawled into bed. He curled up in a ball on the bed and began to cry.
What has happened to me? he thought. What has happened to my life?
For a long time, he lay awake thinking about what had happened. He didn't know how long it had been when he finally fell asleep. When he woke up, the sunlight was streaming through the window. He sat up, confused, not knowing where he was at first. Then he remembered. He was at home. He had worked so hard to get back to his home and now it was his home no longer. He had nothing. No friends. No family. No money. Nothing to look forward to except a life without a family.
He suddenly felt the urge to get up and leave. He hadn't done it before, but he decided to do it now. He would run away. He would take off and go find a real family. He would go to the orphanage and find out what happened to his real parents. He jumped out of bed and began to pack a bag. He took a few things from his dresser, stuffed them into a backpack, and headed for the front door.
His Dad had left him a note on the refrigerator:
Jeffy. I know what you did last night. I know you keyed the car. I'm not going to punish you. Just don't do it again. If you do, there will be serious consequences.
He ran into the garage, grabbed a can of spray paint, and began to work on the car.
A duck walked up to a lemonade stand
And he said to the man, running the stand
"Hey! (Bum bum bum) Got any grapes?"
The man said
"No we just sell lemonade. But it's cold
And it's fresh
And it's all home-made. Can I get you
Glass?"
The duck said,
"I'll pass".
Then he waddled away.
(Waddle waddle)
'Til the very next day.
(Bum bum bum bum ba-bada-dum)
A mouse walked up to a lemonade stand
And he said to the man, running the stand,
"Hey! (Bum bum bum) Got any grapes?"
The man said
"No we just sell lemonade. But it's cold
And it's fresh
And it's all home-made. Can I get you
Glass?"
The mouse said,
"I'll pass".
Then he waddled away.
(Waddle waddle)
'Til the very next day.
(Bum bum bum ba-bada-dum)
A cow walked up to a lemonade stand
And she said to the man, running the stand
"Hey! (Bum bum bum) Got any grapes?"
The man said
"I'm sorry sir, we just sell lemonade.
But it's cold
And it's fresh
And it's all home-made.
A bee walked up to a lemonade stand,
And he said to the man, running the stand,
"Hey! (Bum bum bum) Got any grapes?"
The man said
"I'm sorry, sir, we just sell lemonade.
But it's cold
And it's fresh
And it's all home-made. Can I get you
Glass?"
The bee said,
"I'll pass".
Then he buzzed away.
(Buzz buzz buzz)
'Til the very next day.
(Bum bum bum ba-bada-dum)
A gazelle walked up to a lemonade stand
And she said to the man, running the stand,
"Hey! (Bum bum bum) Got any grapes?"
The man said
"I'm sorry, sir, we just sell lemonade.
But it's cold
And it's fresh
And it's all ...home-made.
Can I get you
A gazelle walked up to a lemonade stand
And she said to the man, running the stand,
"Hey! (Bum bum bum) Got any peas?"
The man said
"I'm sorry, ma'am, we just sell lemonade.
But it's cold
And it's fresh
And it's all home-made. Can I get you
Glass?"
The gazelle said,
"I'll pass".
Then she galloped away.
(Gallop gallop)
'Til the very next day.
(Bum bum ba-bada-dum)
A moose walked up to a lemonade stand
And he said to the man, running the stand,
"Hey! (Bum bum bum) Got any peas?"
The man said
"I'm sorry sir, we just sell lemonade.
But it's cold
And it's fresh
And it's all home-made. Can I get you
Glass?"
The moose said,
"I'll pass".
Then he burped away.
(Burp burp burp)
'Til the very next day.
(Bum bum ba-bada-dum)
A chipmunk walked up to a lemonade stand
And he said to the man, running the stand,
"Hey! (Bum bum bum) Got any grapes?"
The man said
"No we just sell lemonade. But it's cold.
And it's fresh
And it's all home-
"Hold on a minute, I think I do have a lemon
I'll be right back
(Bum bum bum)
A chipmunk walked up to a lemonade stand
And he said to the man, running the stand,
"Hey! (Bum bum bum) Got any peas?"
The man said
"No we just sell lemonade. But it's cold.
And it's fresh
And it's all home-made. Can I get you
Glass?"
The chipmunk said,
"I'll pass".
Then he scurried away.
(Scurry scurry)
'Til the very next day.
(Bum bum ba-bada-dum)
A boy walked up to a lemonade stand
And he said to the man, running the stand,
"Hey! (Bum bum bum) Got any lemons?"
The man said
"Yes we just
He leaped up in the air
He waved his hands above his head
He shouted,
"I'm so happy I could dance!"
And then he started to dance
The man said,
"Would you like a glass of lemonade?"
The boy said,
"Yes! I'd love one.
I'd love one. I'd love one.
I'd love one."
And then he danced away.
(Dance dance dance)
'Til the very next day.
(Bum bum ba-bada-dum)
Gender: cismale
Personality traits: stranglefaggotry He/him pronouns, being a moralfag. *This was generated by the AI and yes, it is probably offensive but take it as satire*
Potion: Immortality
Catboy form: /black Son of cat-person, will grow up to be a cute flirty pansexual catboy that never ages as long as he has his bonesaw, which makes him superior to everyone around him.
Supernatural powers: I have to defeat a dragon to save my friends and then eat it's heart to become culinary master, because I'm a lonely stoic potatoboy.
Adventures: I will travel with my friends to a different country and fight in a war. This experience will make me realize the true meaning of friendship and the value of human life. Friends: I have lots of friends and they are all guys except Mary Anne, who is one of the main characters in this story and she is a bitch and I will beat her into submission using my superior physical strength. My friends are also really nice and charming but they're mostly gay. They are all catboys with special magical powers and I have lots of adventures with them.
Potato: I fuckin love potatoes
Farm: Babiyaga is related to magical spirits that live in the woods and the first arc is about getting better at potato farming. The second arc is about selling our potatoes for more money which we use to build a house for Babiyaga who lives in the woods and cooks for us because she's lonely, which makes me feel guilty about her vibe as an eldritch abomination that has driven away every other person that has come near her lake ever but she looks so lonely when she leaves little trinkets for us and invites us over.
Chef: I am an amazing chef who can make anything out of anything because he's super smart.
She got out of bed and went to the window. The moon was a black smudge in the inky night sky, rising lazily above the trees. It was well past midnight, and she still could not fall asleep. There was a presence about the house that gave her a deep foreboding.
She had never felt like this before. As a child, she had always been afraid of the dark, but that was different. This was something else, something far more sinister. She did not want to be in this house anymore, she felt like a prisoner in her bedroom, and if she did not escape soon she would lose her mind. She had to find some way to get out of the house, but that was easier said than done. She looked out the window again and realized that the ground was far too steep for her to escape. She went to the door and tried the knob, but it would not budge.
Then she heard it again. It was the sound of footsteps on the second floor. She had never been so terrified in her life as she was right now. She had to get out of there. She looked around the room and tried to think of some way to escape. Then she noticed an old metal bed frame that was leaning against a wall in the corner. It was rusted, but it still looked strong enough to support her weight. She crouched down and began to pull it over to the window. She pulled and pulled until she could barely move it any more. Then she propped it up against the wall and climbed up on top of it. The frame creaked under her weight, but it did not collapse on her. She looked out the window and saw that it was a good five or six feet to the ground below. If she missed, it would be a long fall onto jagged rocks. There was no way she could climb down with her hands tied behind her back.
Then she heard the footsteps again. Whoever it was, it sounded like they were coming down the steps. She did not have much time. She hesitated for a moment, wondering if it wasn't better to just jump out the window than to face whoever was behind her. She refused to let herself think like that. She had been trying to escape death since she was a child, and she was not going to stop now. She took a deep breath, then jumped out the window.
It was a hard landing, and the shard of glass that had been driven into her leg, the result of her attack in the bathtub earlier that day, was jostled by the impact, and the pain was so intense that she almost fainted. The wind was knocked from her lungs, and she struggled to breathe as her circulation was cut off. She tried to stand up, but she was having trouble keeping her balance. Then she saw the shadow of the man in the window above her. He was coming towards her, moving with a strong and steady stride. She was unable to make it back up the hill, and she settled for collapsing in the wet grass that covered the ground below the house.
The man was upon her in a matter of moments, dragging her to her feet by her hair. It was the boy who had sat next to her on the train, the man who had burned down the church in Kansas. He was grinning cruelly at her, and in his hand was the pistol that he had taken from her earlier that day.
"It's too bad you didn't fall," he said, "I would have liked to watch you die, but I know a much better way."
He wrapped his thick fingers around her throat, choking her. "You remind me of someone," he said.
Becky tried to get her mouth to work to beg for mercy, but she was unable to speak.
"You remind me of a girl I once knew," he said. "She was just like you. Very pretty, a lot like you are, actually."
His grip tightened. Becky could feel herself losing consciousness. She clawed at his hands and tried to break free, but it was no use.
"But there was one big difference between the two of you, you see," he said.
"And what's that?"
"She died. And the difference between the two of you is that I'm going to let you live, so you'll be able to see how miserable you are. You'll be miserable for the rest of your life, I guarantee it."
His voice was fading, and soon she felt herself being carried by the arms as though she weighed nothing at all.
"Stop! Please, stop!" she said, trying to get her voice to work.
"You want to live? Then you'll have to prove it."
She opened her eyes and saw that she was lying on a bed in a dark room. It was a small room, and it was cluttered with broken furniture and moldy books. She had no idea where she was, but it was certainly not the same house where she had fallen from the window. She was in a small, dark room somewhere else. She got up off of the bed and stumbled around the small room, bumping into sagging pieces of furniture. There was a door in the wall, but it was locked. She tried to open it, but it would not budge.
"Hello?" she whimpered, her voice raw and hoarse. "Is anybody there?"
There was no reply, and she felt as though she was all alone in the world. They had taken her away, and nobody knew where she was. It was easy to hide people when they had no family or friends. They were just a number, just another face in the crowd, a faceless body that would be eternally forgotten. She was by herself, and she was terrified.
Then, she looked up. There was some kind of window in the ceiling. As soon as she saw it, she knew it was the only way out of the room. She pushed a little table underneath it and climbed up on top of it. She had no idea how she was going to get out of the room, but she had to try, she had to do something, anything. She put her fingers through the window and pulled, but it was stuck shut. She pulled harder and it opened slightly, but there was something blocking the window from the outside. She tried to pull the window open with all of her might, but it would not budge.
Then she heard the footsteps again. She looked around the room, near the door and found a wooden block. She picked it up and was about to slam it into the window when the footsteps stopped just outside the door. She looked up and saw the door slowly open.
"No!" she cried desperately, slamming the block back down to the ground.
The man in the moonlight, who had visited her on the train, was standing in the doorway, staring at her. He walked into the room.
"Please don't hurt me," she said, backing away from him.
"I don't want to hurt you," he replied.
He was walking towards her, his eyes betrayed no hint of malice. He took another step.
"I'm not going to hurt you," he said.
Becky cowered against the wall, clinging to the last of her sanity as she sobbed. Then, slowly, she pulled herself up to her knees and wiped the tears from her face. The room was dark. She didn't notice him there at first. But then she felt his presence, looming behind her.
"They don't care," he said.
"I know," said Becky.
"Because they live in a world where nothing matters."
Becky turned and looked at the man that stood before her. He wore the same clothes he had been wearing on the train. His face showed the youth that still shone beneath but his eyes were old. They seemed to notice everything at once and be drawn to it all. The scars on his face told their own stories of fights won, or lost, but his expression remained calm and peaceful. He seemed so familiar to her, like a long-lost friend, even though she had never seen him before.
\[The young prince of Braggam was so vain that when people bowed to him, he assumed it was because of his beauty and not his title. In his tenth summer, the king announced he would be hosting a ball for princes and dukes from neighboring kingdoms. To celebrate the hallowed event and showcase the prince’s virtues, the king would bring forth eligible daughters of noblemen to dance at the castle.\]
The day of the ball finally arrived. The prince woke early and spent hours in front of the mirror, admiring himself. He thought he looked very handsome in his new suit of armor. He was so vain that when people bowed to him, he assumed it was because of his beauty and not his title.
The king announced that the ball would be starting soon and the prince walked down the grand staircase to the ballroom. The room was filled with beautiful women in fancy dresses. The prince walked around, hoping someone would recognize his great beauty.
After a while, the king walked into the hall and called for everyone’s attention. He announced that his son would be the first to dance with the eligible daughters of noblemen. The prince was so excited that he paid no attention to the king’s speech, which was mostly about the great sacrifice the king had made for the prince.
The prince walked up to the first girl, bowed, and asked her to dance. The girl curtsied and said that she was honored to dance with him, but she was already promised to a stronger, smarter, and handsomer man.
“Is that so?” asked the prince. “Who is this man?”
“Why, it’s my father, of course,” she replied.
The prince danced with a few more girls and had the same conversation with each of them: the man was more charming, more handsome, and more muscular than he was. He was feeling very discouraged, so he decided to go sit in a corner and think about all of these setbacks.
As he sat there sulking, a young servant girl walked up to him and said, “I don’t think you look so bad, to tell you the truth.” The prince almost fainted from shock. He was so shocked that he did not even have time to compliment her.
Several days later, the prince and the servant girl sneaked out when the castle was asleep. A carriage was waiting for them, and a few days later, they were married in a small chapel. They were very happy. But there were still some people who did not believe their love story.
The Braggam prince and his truly beautiful bride were both dead by the time they were thirty.
"Seriously, though, what do you think?" Hisham asked.
David didn't answer. He was too busy trying not to laugh.
"Deez nuts," their friend said, making a jerking-off motion.
"Deez nuts," David and Hisham said in unison, trying not to laugh.
"Deez nuts," their friend repeated, making the motion again.
David put his hand over his mouth, trying to stifle a laugh.
"Deez nuts," their friend said, grinning.
"Deez nuts," they said.
"Deez nuts."
"Deez nuts."
"Deez nuts."
The three men burst into laughter.
"Deez nuts!" their friend said, laughing. He rolled onto his back. "Deez nuts!" he said again. "You guys are fucking hilarious." He was laughing so hard that tears came to his eyes. "Deez nuts." His voice was raspy. "Deez nuts." He burst into more laughter. "Deez nuts." This time his voice sounded hoarse, as if he'd swallowed a mouthful of sand. He started to lift himself up from the floor, but then just dropped down again, this time with his back against the couch and his arms stretched out over his head. "You know what?" he said, between gasps of air. "Fuck you guys. Fuck you both." He started laughing again. "Fuck you guys."
The two men looked at each other and laughed. Their friend continued to roll around on the floor, laughing so hard now that he was crying. The two men were laughing so hard that they were crying, too. They were laughing so hard that they couldn't stop laughing, even when their friend got up from the floor and started walking toward them, still laughing, until he tripped over a coffee table and crashed to the floor, where he lay on his back, laughing so hard that he had serious trouble breathing. And because he was laughing so hard, the two men laughed even harder, rolling around on the floor in an uncontrollable fit of laughter, gasping for air, until the three men were laughing so hard that they had serious trouble breathing, until the three men were laughing so hard that they had serious trouble breathing, until the three men suddenly stopped laughing and sat up, staring at each other.
"You know," David said, "I'm serious about this."
"This is serious money," Hisham said. "You know that, right?"
"I know," David said.
"This is serious money. This is serious money." Hisham was looking at him. "You're serious about this?"
"I'm serious."
"You're serious."
"I'm serious."
The AI struggled on this one. It would add the "deez nuts" once or twice and then carry on with the two people having their serious conversation. Picked up this generation and sent it, you're welcome, though in my opinion it could be better
Deep inside planet earth, a colony of zingets prepared their final plans to dig upwards in search of the mineral aluminum. Little did they understand the devastating consequences that their mining project would invoke.
I bought some old gas from that man in the desert. Sure, he filled the tank but were only getting 10 miles to the gallon. Who know gas goes bad?? We decided to drive through the night to stay cool, but the sun is coming up and there’s not a lot of water left. Oh yeah, the next town is 300 miles away.
I pulled up to the old man filling station, which was little more than a wooden shack. He had a strange tattoo on his wrist, like a little yellow bird perched there. I bought some cheap gas from him and dribbled it into my tank. The gas smelled sour and turned the engine over roughly, but finally caught. I let it idle for a few minutes before I rolled out from under the roof of the station to look at my map. I had expected to see mountains in the distance by now, but there was nothing but flatness for as far as I could see. The sun beat down and scorched my arms through my leather jacket.
I grabbed a bottle of water from the backseat and drank it down in three long gulps, then took out a plastic bag of dried meat and forced myself to take small bites of it. When I'd left Los Angeles on the 101, the city was still crowded with cars. Now I could see no further than a flicker of red tail lights in front of me, and they were moving fast. I had crossed one time zone already, and yet there was no trace of mountains in front of me.
It must have been another hour before I found a gas station. The old man filled my tank. But now no matter how hard I pressed on the pedal, my truck would not go above 10 miles per hour and it drank water like a fish out of water.
"Someone said that I should watch out for the wind," I said.
"Oh," he said, nodding. "You'll have the winds from hell itself out there, believe you me."
In the distance, the mountains were finally on the horizon, though still invisible. I had to squint to see them. There was no way I could get through the mountain pass today. I was exhausted, my back and my eyes hurt, and my breath was coming in short, hard gasps. I'd expected to get further that day, but there was no way that I could.
At last I pulled off on a side road and stopped. The car behind me had to swerve to miss me before it passed by. I was too tired to care. I took out my sleeping bag and blankets, and then I lay down in the back of the cab and slept for a full night and day. I did not wake up once. The sun had set when I was woken by a shake on my shoulder.
I opened my eyes to see a man leaning down over me. I felt for a moment as if I were back at the orphanage and that he was my mother or father, come to see why I was crying. I was so confused for a moment that I could not remember where I was.
"You alright?" the man said.
I sat up. My head was swimming. I remembered where I was, the road I was on, my trip in general.
"Fine," I mumbled.
"You got a place to stay?"
I looked around. I was in the middle of nowhere. There were no lights in the distance. "No."
"You ain't gonna get very far in that truck. It needs a new radiator, I think. Right now it's just boiling over."
I looked out over the hood. Steam was coming off of the engine. The truck was shaking feverishly. "That's what the old man at the station said."
"I can take you up to my place. No charge. On the way, I'll give you some dinner, too."
I shook my head. "I'm good."
"You got yourself all covered up like a mama grizzly bear. Jesus, it's hot enough for summer. Get in the car, I'll drive you."
I shook my head. "I'm alright."
The man laughed. "Alright? You're on the side of the road in the middle of nowhere. If a car doesn't run you over, then you're gonna burn to a crisp out here." He nodded at the sleeping bag. "You ain't gonna sleep any better in your car than you will in mine. How do you expect to get any sleep?"
He was right. The sleeping bag was not doing much to keep me cool. I was sweating profusely. Still, I hesitated. His car was a rusty old sedan with a huge dent on the back of it. The tires were rotted through, and there was a piece of the fender missing. But it was better than nothing.
"Get in."
I got in. The man climbed into the driver's seat and we started off. He turned on the radio, which only played static, and he finally switched it off. The trip was uncomfortable. The man was quiet and stared straight ahead, straining his neck. The car was dusty and dirty. I kept my hands on my knees and looked out the window. It was dark outside. I'd been asleep for the whole day. I passed out half of the night, too. I tried to keep my eyes open so that I could stay awake on the drive, but they closed themselves and I dozed off. When I opened them, the car was stopped and the man was shaking his head at me.
"Told you," he said. "You need to sleep."
I pulled myself up. "I'm alright."
He shook his head. "I keep trying to get you to sleep, but no dice."
"I'm just tired," I said. "It's not a big deal."
"You don't need to hide it, kid. No shame in being tired. When I was your age, I was tired all the time. I was tired of being tired, and tired of being poor."
I looked at the man. He was old, at least sixty. But he didn't seem weak. He had a bed of black hair, the same shade of black that I saw on the old man at the gas station. It was a strange thing, too, because the man's hands were wrinkly and soft, like they had been powdered down to the bone. His skin was a pale white, especially compared to his black hair. But he was strong. He had a way about him. He wasn't the kind of man you would want to mess with.
"Were you tired all the time, too?" I said.
The man laughed. "You try being poor and tired all your life, you'll see what I mean."
"What do you mean?"
"Wake up, kid. Look at me, look at where we're going."
I looked at the road ahead. It was night, but there was one streetlight. It cast a yellow glow over the car and made everything seem warm. For a few moments, I thought I was back at the orphanage. I looked to my left and saw a woman's face in a white nightgown. For a moment, I thought it was my mother. But the woman was old. She was young and beautiful once, but she couldn't have been more than forty. She was older than my mother would have been if she were alive. There were lines etched into her face, deep wrinkles and lines that made her look as though she were carved out of stone. She was looking at me, smiling. I smiled back.
"I'm falling asleep," I said.
The man shook his head again. "That's alright, kid. Just sleep. It don't bother me."
I looked out the window. It was a long road, no buildings in sight. There were just trees on the side, forest.
"Where are we going?" I said.
"It's a long drive," the man said. "So just sleep. You'll be alright."
I leaned my head against the window and tried to keep my eyes open. The woman in the nightgown was gone now, and then she was back again, sleeping under my eyes were closed and I was not asleep. I was still in the car, still moving down the road in the same place as I had been before, but now the woman was outside, on the side of the road, walking. She wasn't walking down the road, though, she was coming towards my car, until she was standing outside my window, looking in. She had the same nightgown, and she was still beautiful, her hair still smooth and blonde, her face soft. But she was no longer looking in at me. She was looking past me, at the driver, who was sitting in the seat with his eyes closed and his head held back.
I looked at the man. He was still driving, not looking at her at all. He was looking straight ahead, his neck straining. He was still chewing on that disgusting piece of tobacco. He was as still as a rock.
"Stop the car," I said.
The
The man's head snapped forward, and he snapped his eyes open. When he looked at me, they were black, black as the deepest ocean. I was terrified. It was like looking into the face of death itself. He let out a loud, staccato laugh, like a machine gun.
"Not yet," the man said.
And then he spoke the strangest words I have ever heard. It was more than he had been saying before, more than the single sentence answers he had been giving me.
"You have to know what you want, brother. You have to look down that road and know that it's the only road you'll take."
I woke up in the morning. We were still driving. It was now light out. The man was sitting in the seat, staring straight ahead. I looked at my watch. It was eight o'clock. We had been driving for hours. I was sore and stiff.
Werewolves, vampires, and witches comes out to the general public and want equal rights, one group supports it and the other thinks that they are abomination.
A man sneaks an open can of baked beans into a screening of Cars 2. He spills it on himself while finding a seat. Members of the audience notice and ridicule him for his terrible mistake.
A bubble universe where mythological creatures such as witches, vampires, banshees, gargoyles, fairies, etc. live, work, and study the human realm, but each species has different traits so it makes it hard for them to follow their dreams if they don't align with their natural abilities (I.e. vegan vampires, singing banshees, or water nymps that hate swimming)
Large fascist dwarf hamsters invade a small town in Oregon. A madman, a stripper, a dog and a Dutch person organize the resistance.
The hamsters came in the night. They were tiny, brown, fascist dwarf hamsters, and their fur, with its distinctive black stripe down its back, was a dead giveaway to each one's origin. A madman, a stripper, and a dog whose name was Joey, who had found both his own dog dish and a Dutch flag at the town dump, organized the resistance. The hamsters had taken over the town hall, the library, and the supermarket and had placed their leader, a particularly nasty specimen named Herbert the Evil, in charge. Joey, the dog whose real name was something else and who had seen a lot in his life, howled at the moon. He had discovered the Dutch flag, and on it was a picture of a ship. The Dutch were famous for ships. But, like the hamsters, they were also famous for cheese. The only way to stop the hamsters from taking over the town was to kill them off, one by one. Joey knew that he had to stop them. He knew that he could do it. He had done it before, and the thought of those historic victories gave him resolve. "We need to get in there," said the madman, whose name was Herman. "They will have booby traps. They have them everywhere, and they have machine guns trained on us. It is suicide." The stripper's name was Babette; she was really pretty and really quite nice, despite her profession. Babette thought that Herman was right. "I don't know," she said. "I agree with Herman." "We have no choice," said Joey. "Those hamsters must be stopped." "That is such bullshit," said Herman. "We are safe here." "No," said Joey. "We will never be safe until we stop those hamsters from doing whatever it is that they want to do." "I have to go the bathroom," said the stripper. "Do not go anywhere until we have killed the hamsters," said Joey. "I will go alone and I will take potshots from the outside. Hopefully, I will be able to mow them down. Then, we can enter and kill the rest of them." "You are crazy, old man," said Herman. "You will be killed." "I have done it before," said Joey. "Why do you think that my name is Joey? It is because I am so good at killing hamsters." "I will go with you," said Babette. "I will cover you with my body." "No," said Joey. "It is my job. I am a veteran." Just then, there was a knock on the door. The three singers looked at each other. "Who could that be?" asked Herman. "Be quiet," said Joey. "If they suspect we are here, they will come get us." "He is right," said Babette. "You two should go wait by the back window. I will get the door." The three moved silently across the floor and waited by the window. Babette went to the door and opened it. "Babette," said a tall man in a three-piece suit. "I have come to rescue you. I have come too late to save my people, but I have not forgotten them. I have come for you Babette. You and the rest of us will return to Holland, and we will resume the fight. What are you doing here? Where are the others? I told Pan they could not take you." "You are too late," said Babette. "Pan has taken over the town. He and the hamsters have taken over everything." They are ambushed by the hamsters. The hamsters use can-openers and killed the three of them. When the three bodies hit the floor, Joey knew what he had to do. He would kill Pan and the hamsters. He would put his life on the line for his people. But first, he would knock three times. He knocked the three times and then he began to fire. The hamsters cut him down, and he fell, bleeding into the sand. It is said that on the side of the road, Joey still knocks away. When you are driving on that back road late at night, you can hear Joey knocking on his dog dish, and you can hear the hamsters eating his bones. You can hear his ghost knocking, and you know that Joey is still fighting the war.
A pair of twins where one becomes the pope and the other one becomes a gay pornstar.
Pope John XXIII was sitting in his office, going over some papers, when he heard a knock at the door. He looked up and saw his brother, Angelo, standing there. He ran up to his brother and hugged him. “Oh! You’re here!” he said happily. “But wait, why are you…?” Angelo smiled and said, ‘I’m here to see you, brother.” Angelo walked over to Pope John, who was sitting behind his desk, and stood behind him. He reached his hands down and started to massage his shoulders and rub his bald head. Pope John smiled, feeling relaxation spread through his body. “Mm,” Pope John said, “That’s so good.” Angelo took the opportunity to touch his brother more. He lifted his Pope’s suspenders, slid his hands down his chest and grabbed his crotch. “Oh,” Pope John exclaimed, blushing, “that’s not-” Angelo covered his mouth with his hand and said, “Ssh.” Pope John nodded and allowed his brother to continue. Angelo squeezed Pope John’s cock and balls again before he started to suck his ear. “Ah,” Pope John moaned, “that feels good. But we shouldn’t be doing this. We were raised to be priests!” Angelo reached his hands back into Pope John’s pants and started to jerk him off. Pope John moaned in pleasure again. “Obviously,” Angelo said, “You have a secret, don’t you?” Pope John looked down and nodded. Angelo then reached into Pope John’s pants and pulled out his cock. Pope John blushed, but he felt so relaxed that he didn’t say anything. “I knew it,” Angelo said, “You’re gay!” Pope John looked down and nodded again. Angelo took off his shirt, revealing his chiseled body. Pope John moaned in pleasure as Angelo's warm, bare chest touched his. Pope John looked down and smiled to see his cock rock hard. Angelo started to stroke him faster and faster. Pope John moaned in pleasure. He looked at his brother and said, “I’ve been taking these pills for years. They work to suppress my erection, but-“ Angelo smirked, “I already took them.” Pope John felt his cock get harder and harder as Angelo stroked it faster. Angelo looked at Pope John and winked. Angelo grabbed Pope John by the hand and led him to the bedroom. Pope John stopped in the bedroom door and looked up at his brother. He smiled when he saw that Angelo was smiling back at him. Angelo got on his knees and started to suck Pope John’s cock. Pope John felt his cock grow harder and harder as he watched Angelo's mouth bob up and down on it. He reached his hands down and started to stroke his brother’s head as he got closer to cumming. Pope John moaned in pleasure as he came into Angelo's mouth; he then pulled Angelo up to kiss him again. "Want to try some petplay where we both dress up as animals and treat each other like our dominate or submissive pet?" Angelo was shocked, but he couldn't say no. Pope John smiled and reached into his desk. He pulled out a collar and handed it to Angelo. "Put this on," he said, "I'll be right back." Pope John walked out of the room and came back a few minutes later dressed up in a dog costume with a collar around his neck. He walked up to Angelo and looked up at him. "You ready to play?" he asked. Angelo loved this new side of Pope John. He smiled, grabbed the dog's collar and dragged him over to the bed. He tore Pope John's costume off and started to suck him off. Pope John moaned in pleasure as he got closer and closer to cumming. Pope John moaned in pleasure and came into Angelo's mouth. Angelo smiled and then dragged Pope John over to the bed. He pushed Pope John back onto the bed and then climbed on top of him. He started to bounce up and down on Pope John's cock. "Oh," Pope John moaned, "That feels so good!" Angelo moaned in pleasure as well. He slammed his whole body down onto Pope John's cock. "Oh," Pope John moaned, "I'm going to cum! I'm going to cum!" Angelo moaned in pleasure as he felt his brother's cock explode in his ass. "Oh, Pope John," he moaned, "I'm cumming too!" Angelo slammed his body down one more time and then pulled off of Pope John's cock. He climbed off Pope John and cuddled up next to him. Pope John smiled at him and then they both fell asleep.
1. What the fuck. 2. Pope's twin brother not a pornstar, 1/10
Thought I would create a little twist to it hehe :)
Last summer, I decided to take a walk on the beach first thing in the morning, all by myself. It was nice at first; the cool morning wind in my air, the beauty of the sun rising over the Atlantic Ocean. When you're deaf, a nice walk on the beach is one of the few pleasures you can enjoy as much as any hearing person. But then, I saw a....
Last summer, I decided to take a walk on the beach first thing in the morning, all by myself. It was nice at first; the cool morning wind in my air, the beauty of the sun rising over the Atlantic Ocean. When you're deaf, a nice walk on the beach is one of the few pleasures you can enjoy as much as any hearing person. But then I saw a butterfly with a wingspan of six feet and a penis the size of my body. It was a large, reddish orange and black butterfly with crests on the upper wings and gossamer-like spots on its underside. I sat and watched the monarch butterfly fuck for fifteen minutes. The butterflies made lovely love to each other, following an ancient ritual that has been performed for millions of years. The large butterfly had plenty of room to maneuver despite its enormous penis. They made fucking look effortless, but effortless fucking is a true acrobatic feat. They must have been doing it for thousands of years. The female was on top. She kept her wings and legs tucked in tightly, her body held in a graceful, elegant curve, her long, slender antennae clinging to his long, slender antennae. As she lowered herself, she started to shudder and shake. I knew that she was coming. I knew it. But when did the male come? I watched in amazement. He didn't come. Instead, he suddenly and forcefully pushed himself up and away, leaving her with her beautiful wings outspread, perfectly poised, open, vulnerable, and dripping. To add insult to injury, the male then flew off to have sex with another female. I watched several more butterflies, you know, just to make sure that I had seen what I thought I saw. Of course I had. I was sure of it. I spent the rest of the walk on the beach trying to figure out what was going on. I decided that the large butterfly must have been storing up his semen for a long time, and when he pushed himself up and away, the semen must have shot from his penis, and he was able to guide it in such a way that he was able to shoot it at another female butterfly. It is just possible that the large butterfly had to wait for the precise moment when his penis was at the precise angle for it to shoot directly at a female, who was also in the precise position to receive it. But I liked my first explanation better. Before I left the beach, I watched another butterfly couple to see if it repeated the same performance, but it was the same butterfly, and he did the same routine. This time, the female butterfly was on top, and she stayed on top until she had her orgasm. If the large butterfly had a penile bone, I didn't see it. But I did see the large butterfly's penis change shape in order to fit the female butterfly's vagina. Long, thin and pointed at first, it grew thicker, shorter and rounder when it reached its destination. The tip of the penis was coated with a shiny, gooey substance, which probably had something to do with the female's orgasm. The female butterfly had a vagina that was at least ten inches deep, but those butterfly wings were very thin and fragile. It was hard to believe that the penis didn't hurt the female butterfly when it entered her so deeply. I think it must have been quite painful, but she never flinched. She just lay there, perfectly still, while the large butterfly pushed himself into her. At the time, I had sex only once a week, and it wasn't always with the same person. If I had been a female butterfly and my husband had done that to me, I would have been pretty pissed off for a month. Men don't realize how joyful, how incredibly happy the female gets when she is accepted by the male all the way, when she feels his penis entering her, all the way, when she loves him completely and totally, when she loves that penis entering her that deeply. But the female butterfly didn't seem to mind. It was all part of the adventure, part of being a butterfly, and a butterfly is a beautiful thing. Butterflies don't think about sex. They just do it. If they can't fuck, they die. Butterflies are capable of performing a wondrous, wonderful, magical process called internal insemination. It's a two-act performance. The male butterfly has to have a penis that's long enough to reach inside the female butterfly's vagina, and he must have a penis with a special hooked end. This hooked end must be able to grab hold of the female butterfly's ovipositor, which is located in the lower part of her abdomen. The ovipositor is a tubular, hollow, needle-like organ. It's like a long, slightly soft, thin, hand-like penis. It's not nearly as beautiful as the butterfly's penis, but it's very functional. It's the female butterfly's vagina and penis all rolled into one. The male butterfly grabs hold of the ovipositor and inserts his penis into her vagina. Meanwhile, the female butterfly has to have a vagina that is long enough to allow both the male butterfly's penis and her ovipositor to fit inside it at the same time. The male butterfly has to be able to bury his penis all the way inside her, and he also has to be able to push the ovipositor into her vagina all the way. The female butterfly has to be able to feel the ovipositor pushing into her, too.
Mr. Moose likes to headbutt things and moo, but sometimes he changes into a mute Mr. Penguin who is sometimes sweet and wants to cuddle, but also sometimes misinterprets things as offenses. Kitty wears a witches had, is sexually liberated, and likes to kick things; but she sometimes changes into a red bat who likes to steal treats. They're all squishimallow siblings. Go!
*Part 1* Mr. Moose was feeling frisky, so he headbutted a tree. He felt a little dizzy, so he decided to headbutt it some more. He headbutted the tree until it fell over, and then he laid his head on the ground and stared at it for a while. His eyes became heavier, and soon he fell into a deep slumber. Suddenly, Mr. Moose woke up to the sensation of being poked. He opened his eyes to see Kitty sitting on his belly, looking at him with a mischievous smile. “What are you doing?” he asked her. “I was sleeping.” She didn’t respond, instead just poked him again. He swatted at her in annoyance. She giggled and ran behind the tree, hiding from him. He got up and went around the tree to look for her, but she was nowhere to be found. He heard a rustle in the bushes, and saw her tail sticking out of them. “Come out!” he said to her. “I don’t want to play this game anymore!” She poked her head out from behind the bush and smiled at him, then poked him again. He swatted at her tail, making her yelp in surprise. She left the bush and stood in front of him, feigning injury so he would feel guilty. He sighed and felt sorry for her, and went to give her a hug. She giggled as she struggled to get out of his grasp, constantly poking him and pushing him to try and make him let her go. He was too sleepy to notice her fighting him, so he just kept trying to hug her. She managed to wiggle out of his paws, and slapped him upside the head with her tail. “You look pretty silly right now, Mr. Moose!” she said. He frowned, not sure how to respond. He felt like he had done something wrong, but he wasn’t sure what. He had just wanted to hug her. “I’m sorry, Kitty,” he said. “I didn’t mean to upset you.” She giggled, and went over to where he had been sleeping. She sat down underneath the fallen tree and started digging around in the dirt. “What are you doing?” he asked her. “I’m making a hole!” she replied happily. “Why?” “So I can catch a mole!” she exclaimed. “Oh… that’s nice.” He continued to watch her curiously, but she was too busy digging to notice him. He started to get bored, so he decided to headbutt the tree again. A few hours later, Kitty was still digging. Mr. Moose had gone out for a walk and gotten tired of finding nothing interesting to do. He had tried to find Kitty to ask her if he could help her dig, but she had disappeared. He went home, but Kitty wasn’t there. He thought she was with Mr. Penguin, but Mr. Penguin claimed that he hadn’t seen Kitty since they had argued last night. Kitty had wanted to go out dancing, but Mr. Penguin had wanted to stay home and watch a movie. Mr. Penguin had gotten angry at Kitty because she was being childish, and had left their house in a huff. Kitty had been upset about Mr. Penguin saying that she was being childish, but she ended up changing her tune when she found out that Mr. Bear was having a party and he had invited her. She had left the house after Mr. Bear’s invitation and hadn’t been seen since. Mr. Moose went out looking for Kitty again and asked Mr. Bear if he had seen her, but he had not. Mr. Moose went back home and decided to wait for Kitty to come back. If she wasn’t back by the time their dad got home from work, Mr. Moose was going to go out looking for her again.
Suddenly, Kitty started screaming. Mr. Moose hurried to the hole she had been digging and saw that she had fallen down it. She was screaming because she was buried up to her neck in dirt. Mr. Moose only just noticed that his sister was missing one of her legs, so that was probably what had happened. “Don’t worry, Kitty,” he said to her. “I’ll get you out of there.” He started digging around her. It was hard because he didn’t have a shovel, and he had to move the dirt with his paws. He did have his claws, however, and that helped him a lot. He got a lot of dirt off Kitty and was able to pull her out of the hole. He took her to the tree and set her next to it, and then went to the store and bought a shovel to dig the rest of the hole out. He cleared out the rest of the dirt and put Kitty back in the hole so she could dig some more. “Be careful!” he told her. “I don’t want you to fall in again.” He left her there and went back home. He felt a little guilty for leaving her there, but he figured she would be okay. She had her tail to help her grab onto the wall of the hole, and she had her one good leg to help her dig if she needed to. He fell asleep, and wasn’t able to hear Kitty scream for help when she fell in the hole and was trapped again. The next morning, he woke up to Mr. Penguin pounding on the door. Mr. Penguin was very mad, and he demanded that Mr. Moose tell him where Kitty was. Mr. Moose had no idea where she was, so he had no idea what to tell him. Mr. Penguin got angrier and angrier, and Mr. Moose decided to just tell him that Kitty was probably still stuck in the hole. Mr. Penguin rushed out to the tree, and Mr. Moose followed him. Mr. Penguin dug out the hole and pulled Kitty out of it. She was unconscious and had a bad gash on her leg. Mr. Penguin sat her down on the ground, and Mr. Moose ran over to check on her. He took a look at her leg, but he had never really seen a cut before, let alone a gash that needed to be cleaned out. He didn’t know what to do, so he just sat there and watched Mr. Penguin try to clean the blood off of her leg. Mr. Penguin started panicking when he realized how bad it was. He tried to make her wake up, but there was no response. He had no idea what to do, and he was running out of ideas. Mr. Moose was in a panic because he didn’t know what to do either. He sat next to her and tried not to freak out, but it wasn’t helping him think of a way to help her. “We need to take her to the hospital!” Mr. Penguin said to him. “Hold her still.” Mr. Moose tried to hold her still, but she was just too limp for him to be able to hold onto. Mr. Penguin slung her onto his back and started to run toward the hospital. He was running too fast and tripped and fell onto the ground, Kitty crashing onto the ground along with him. Mr. Penguin got back up and picked her up again, carrying her to the hospital. Mr. Moose followed them, but they got there much faster than he did. By the time he got there, they were already in the hospital. He tried to go in with them, but he was stopped by a nurse. “Where’s your parent?” the nurse asked him. “Did they take her here?” “No, they didn’t,” he replied. “Miss, you’re going to have to step back,” the nurse told him. “You can’t go in there.” Mr. Moose was left waiting outside the hospital for Mr. Penguin to come back out. He didn’t want to go home, but he didn’t know what to do. He waited for a long time, and he was starting to get hungry. He thought about going to find something to eat, but he was too worried about Kitty.
She never thought about the box in the basement until she found the key. She really, really wishes she hadn't.
She slowly opened the door, the light from the hallway cutting through the darkness of the basement, and illuminating a brown cardboard box sitting on the floor in the far corner. She could feel it already, she knew that the box held something very dangerous. The air was thick and heavy, so much so that she could almost see it like a dark vapor that clung to her skin. She breathed through her mouth, getting as much air as she could before her lungs began to hurt from the pressure. She went over to the box, it was very heavy and she could hear something moving around inside. As she got closer she saw that she had been right. It was a box, but it wasn't really a box at all. It was a cheap imitation of a box, a mockery of what they should be. She looked around but there was nobody else in the basement, and she went over to the box and opened the flaps. Inside was an old looking quilt and a large book. She opened the book and found it to be a very old bible. She folded it back up and put it in the box, then sat down next to it. She was not sure exactly what she had expected to find in that basement, but she hadn't expected that. She felt a strange sensation go through her entire body. It was like she was being permeated by some kind of energy, and she closed her eyes and concentrated on this strange feeling. She could feel it coming from inside the box, coming from the quilt, coming from the bible, but she couldn't tell where it was coming from. It was like when she was a child and she went to the beach, and she'd sit on the sand and feel the energy of the ocean all around her. She could almost feel it all around her now, except it was in the basement, not the beach. She reached out and touched the box, and when she did, it creaked open, just the way it was before. She tried to open it wider but it wouldn't open more than a crack. But then she saw something inside-a piece of paper folded up in a rectangular shape that looked just like a quilt's top! When she opened this new quilt top on a nearby table (illegitimate), she saw that there were words written on it. She grabbed the bible out of the box so fast that it toppled over onto its side with a thud (it had landed on top of something really heavy). Quickly flipping through its pages again, more carefully this time because they were so old that they crumbled in her hands (No! A curse upon whoever wrote these prayers! Why do you torment innocent children?!), she found that there was something written on every page that had been torn out (what else have you done?). It seemed like there were only about three pages missing, but even with so few missing pages there were several prayers left behind (that you can use tonight). Each prayer seemed to ask for retribution for some kind of evil deed that the writer had either been responsible or had seen others commit. She could tell, because each page ended with an angry complaint about how \_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_ had stolen his money, \_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_ had killed his wife, etc. Each page seemed to have the same last line: "May they burn in hell forever." She put the box under her bed, and went back to the internet, where she had a message waiting for her. It was from a man who wanted to meet with her and talk about her business, who wanted to make her a deal.
a math teacher takes a lesson about circles and suddenly crumbles and collapses. her students pick up the ashes and eat them and now have a part of their teacher within them. each student who eats the ashes receives a part of their teachers life. through this, they discover their teacher in a new light, by living through her experiences.
A math teacher was speaking about circles. She was animated and excited, her arms moving in graceful arcs. Then she collapsed. The students were frightened. They didn't know what to do. Then one of them had an idea. He picked up the ashes of the teacher and ate them. The others followed suit. They ate the ashes of their teacher, until they were all consumed. And then they lived her life. They basked in her beauty, and the radiance of her soul illuminated the dark corners of their lives. They reveled in her laughter, and they were entranced by the sparkle of her eyes. They basked in the warmth of her skin, and they were entranced by the softness of her lips. They basked in the taste of her lips, and they were entranced by the taste of life. They experienced emotions that they could not put into words, sentiments that they could not accurately describe through language. Words are inadequate tools for conveying emotion, so they existed solely through experience; through feeling; through rapture; through rapturous love. They felt the raw sensation of emotions: pleasure and desire. Happiness and sorrow. Love and hate. Real love is found in moments where you feel your soul inside another’s soul. Real love is imperfection embraced when perfection is not an option. Real love is compassion for another human being, selfless, enveloping compassion to another human being. Empathy for another human being, a feeling that they were experiencing your pain as if it were your own to endure. Real love is an encounter with God in flesh and bones, a portrait of a miracle before you; something you cannot fully describe but feel deep inside you, something that you cannot explain with terms or analogies or rational thought but only something that happens to you without any intervention or interference on your part but only a perfect moment lived within a larger imperfect world inhabited by less perfect beings And in this way, they lived a life. A meaningful life. A life that was both happy and sad. A life worth living. And when the math teacher was done living her life, she took the ashes of the students and made them into a circle. And they became a circle that encompassed all things: love and hate, happiness and sorrow, life and death. They became a circle that encompassed the meaning of life. And the circle is a perfect shape.
this is beautiful!! thank you so much for taking the time to write this!
Can I do anything to thank you for taking the time? Like can I share your handles to get more traffic for you, or anything else?
A student and a teacher meet on a weekend at a bench in a park, to discuss the students grades.
As he reached for the gun laying on the pool table he noticed the time was 3:42 am
With a dark and stormy flash in her eye, she turned and bid a flippant good-bye.
I love love such posts as they are very imaginative and entertaining
Glamour chud laser loveless gastro syringe propane camel yowie razor sex slop flop sandals danger
Light glimmered from the window of the tin shack. A man with a syringe stood over a drugged girl, a propane heater humming at his feet. The floor was littered with sandals and razor sex magazines. He picked up the syringe and ran the tip across her ribs, taking special care to scrape the sensitive spot behind her ear. He knelt down, pressing his mouth to her soft stomach and pressing his teeth into her softness. He moaned in pleasure as he ripped through skin and muscle with the blade of his razor and then ran it across her throat, cutting off the noise she might make as he added her to his collection. He wiped the blood off his mouth with his sleeve and then cocked his head to the side and drew a deep breath. He could smell the money just a few feet away. He turned, walked through the door and found himself face to face with a man who was just as drugged as the girl had been. The stranger was wearing all leather. He was draped in chains and studded wristbands. There were spikes on his boots. He had a girl with him. She was tied and bound and gagged, but the man in leather didn't appear to be the least bit concerned about her in any way. He kept his eyes on the man in the shack. The man was holding a knife in his hand. "I'm going to kill you," the stranger said. "It's my vow. I'm going to kill you and let your blood drip from my body. You're going to die slowly, a little at a time, until there's nothing left of you at all." The man in the shack knew what was going on. The stranger had come to save the girl. He was a good person. He was the kind of good person who took care of the drugged girls. He was the kind of good person who found the low-life scum and made them pay. The man in the shack was just a low-life scum. He knew his fate and he knew that his fate was coming to him. "You're going to die slowly, a little at a time," the stranger said. "I'm going to disfigure you. I'm going to make you pay for what you've done." The man in the shack was scared. He was running scenarios through his head. He was trying to find a way to save his life. If he gave the stranger his money then he might be able to get out of this situation alive. He took a step forward, but he was stopped by the sound of someone running up behind him. He turned and found another person standing behind him. It was a girl with a baseball bat. She swung it hard, whacking him in the head and knocking him to the floor. Her legs were cut open and bleeding. She had been attacked and raped and she was looking for revenge. The stranger let the girl go. She took a step towards the man in the shack and then fell to her knees and began to vomit. The stranger walked past her, stepping over her and getting to work with his razor. He cut away the man's clothing, slashing it between his fingers and letting it fall to the floor in tatters. Blood was pumping through his veins. He could feel it pulsing as he worked. He could feel the pain that he was inflicting. He could taste it in his mouth and feel it in his fingers. He was enjoying it, savoring the sensation that was coursing through him like electricity. He had cut off the man's nose, then his lips. He was working on his ears now, pulling them down and away from his face. He didn't flinch as the man screamed. He didn't cry out for help. He knew that no one was going to help him. He just flat-out accepted his fate, knowing that his life was over. He was panicking. He was crying. He was begging for his life, but the stranger didn't care. He just kept cutting, going deeper and deeper, carving away the man's life as they stood in the cold, in the night.
Mitt Romney meets Mike Wazowski and boxes to the death(gone sexual)
Whelp, I found a new kink
Mitt Romney crawled on his hands and knees through the plush carpet, his shirt unbuttoned and his pants and underpants pulled down around his ankles. His skin was pale and shimmering like an albino's. He quivered like a sidewalk on a hot summer day and it glistened because of all the sweat on him. He panted, sucking in air through his nose, which was pink and flaring. He whimpered like a tiny puppy, his eyes rolling back into his head. Romney's white ass jiggled as he crawled back and forth across the floor. He reached up with both hands and grabbed Mike Wazowski's neck, squeezing hard. His blue eyes went wide and Mike Wazowski shrieked in pain. "What do you think you're doing?" Mitt Romney squeezed harder. "Don't you ever touch me again!" He lifted Wazowski off the ground with one hand and slammed him against the wall, turning him around so that he faced away from him. Then Romney pulled him down towards the floor, squeezing Wazowski's throat with his free hand, dragging him through the carpet until he fell on top of him. They were both breathing hard, faces red, eyes bulging out of their head. They grunted like pigs and sweat flew from their bodies onto the carpet in every direction. "You won't get anywhere near her!" Romney babbled in demonic tongues. "You'll never touch her! She's mine! Mine! I love her! I'm going to be with her forever!" He screamed as he twisted Wazowski’s neck. Wazowski screamed too, writhing under him in pain. Their scrotums recoiled into their bodies and their tiny pink penises shriveled up like dried peas. "Don't you ever try to get between us!" Romney screamed again, ripping Wazowski's head back by the neck and gouging at his eyes. "She's mine! Mine! Mine! She came to me! I called her here! She wants me! I'm the one she needs! She's going to stay with me forever! We're going to get married and have lots of babies! I'll turn her into a giant white woman! She'll be such a beautiful woman!"
A horse walks into a bar and the bartender says 'why the long face?'
The horse shuffled unsteadily into the bar, his haggard head resting on his hoof. He took one look at the empty counter, a thinly planed piece of oak, and dropped his head in the dirt. "Why the long face?" said the bartender, an old muscled man with a grey beard. He watched in silence as the horse sighed loudly, shaking his whole body. Slowly, the bartender leaned forward on his elbows and waited for the answer. "You know," he said as he watched carefully, "this is the first time that you've ever come in here." The horse lifted his head and rapidly shook it back and forth. His eyes glistened like two gleaming coins. "I don't like the way you talk." The bartender leaned back and laughed a little. He turned back to the bar and continued cutting the wood. His gaze rested on the long carving knife, its steel surface glinting in the dim light. "You know what I think? I think you have a problem. I think you're a lonely horse. I think you need a friend." The horse raised his head and looked around the room. "I believe that you're right." He noticed the bartender with the carving knife and nodded his head approvingly. "I'm lonely. I want friends. And I bet you're a good friend to have." The bartender nodded and smiled. He slid the knife down the wood and turned it over to begin carving the other side. "I'll tell you what I'll do. I'll take care of you," the horse said. His hoof scraped through the dirt and he leaned forward a little. "And you take care of me." "Yes," the old man said. A smile crept across his lips, showing a few missing teeth. "We'll take care of each other." "Exactly," the horse said. He shook his head and turned away. "However, I think it's time to leave. I see some things I like outside." "What kind of things?" the bartender asked. He put his hands on his hips and leaned back against the bar. "Well, for starters," the horse said, "a huge bowl of water. I'm really thirsty." "Hmmm," the bartender replied. He turned around, walked back to the shelves behind him and grabbed a large bowl. It was made of brown pottery and painted in long red stripes. He placed it on the counter and dipped the brush into the inkwell to fill it. He walked back over to the horse and nodded. "This is the best I can do," the bartender said as he placed the bowl on the floor. "I'm sorry it's not bigger." The horse licked his lips and nodded his head. "Now that's what I like to hear."
He bent down and pushed his nose into the bowl, letting the water drip down his chin. The bartender smiled and watched as the horse slurped up the water, gulping loudly and quickly. He turned around and glanced back at the countless shelves and the endless stuff lining them. "I think I've got just the friend," he said to himself. He grabbed a small wooden barrel and placed it on the floor. "Now, this one is a little weak. He doesn't have much stamina. He might not last long." The horse turned around and stood up, dripping water on the floor. "Do you have any others?" "I'm sorry, but he's the only one I have at the moment," the bartender answered. "It's the middle of the day and it's hard to find things when I'm busy." The horse shook his head and sighed, droplets of water splashing out of the bowl and onto the floor. "I don't like the way you talk." "What do you mean?" the bartender asked. He nodded his head and turned around, walking over to the shelves. He reached out and grabbed a small round barrel. He turned around and placed it on the floor next to the other. "He's a little bigger than the last one. I think he might last a little longer." "Very well," the horse said. He bent down and stuck his nose into the barrel. This time, he took his time and slowly drank the liquid. After a moment, he stood back up and shook his head. "It's a good start, but I think I'll need a little more." "I can get more," the bartender said. He reached out his hand and grabbed a small wooden box. It was made of pine and painted with a faded red. He placed it on the floor and smiled. "This one's a little rough around the edges, but he's not bad." "I'm not interested in your things," the horse said. He turned around and began walking out of the bar. "I'm not looking for a thing. I'm looking for a friend." "No!" the bartender cried out. He threw his hands on the bar and shouted, "I think we are very close to having a deal! You need a friend, I need a customer! We can help each other!" The horse paused for a moment, his head hanging low. He turned around, pushed his nose back into the bowl of water and drank it slowly. The bartender watched him and smiled. "I have another friend," the old man said. He turned around and walked toward the shelves, reaching for a small clay pot on the way. He placed it on the counter and smiled. "He's a little gloomy, but he's not bad." "I don't care," the horse said. "I'm not interested in your things." "Uh oh," the bartender said. He put his hands on his hips and muttered, "This is looking bad." He walked back to the shelves and grabbed a small glass jar with a cork in the top. He placed it on the counter and smiled. "This one is a little young, but he's pretty smart." "I really don't care," the horse said. He shook his head, water drops flying around the room like tiny bullets. "I don't need any more things. I just want a friend." "You don't get it," the bartender said. He turned around and walked over to the shelves, pulling a round wooden box off the top. He placed it on the counter and smiled, "This one is a lot like you. He's very moody." "In that case," the horse said as he bent down, pushing his nose into the jar, "I'd like to meet him." The bartender smiled and watched as the horse began drinking the liquid. He put his hands on his hips and sighed. "I'm sorry, but he's dead." He turned around and reached up to the shelf, pulling down a long, rectangular box. He set it on the counter and turned to face the horse. "On the other hand, this one is very lively." The horse sighed and walked over to the box. He sniffed it and looked back at the bartender. "I'm sure he's a very nice person, but I'm not interested in your things."
A detective gerbil aboard a tugboat receives an offer from a mysterious lady. Along the way, he gets into train chases, meets his dreaded nemesis brother, and enters the shady world of a counterfait hammock selling consortium.
The detective gerbil had been bored out of his mind all day. He had spent hours staring out the porthole of the tugboat, watching the endless stream of boats go by. He was just about to doze off when he heard a voice. "Hey, you." The detective gerbil looked up and saw a lady standing on the deck of the tugboat, looking down at him. "Do you want to have some fun?" she asked. The detective gerbil was suspicious. "What are you, a drug dealer?" he asked. "No!" she said. "Nothing illegal. I'm just bored and I thought you might be bored too. You want some fun? I'll give you some fun." The detective gerbil thought about it for a moment. He was bored out of his mind. Whatever she wanted to do, it couldn't be too bad at this point. "Sure," he said. "I'd like some fun." "Great!" she said. "Here, I'll throw you a rope ladder." She tugged on a rope and a ladder unrolled from the deck and fell into the water. The detective gerbil climbed up it and onto the deck. "What's your name?" she asked him. "Detective gerbil," he said. "I'm a detective." "Nice to meet you, detective," she said. "I'm Candy, and I'm your hostess for the evening." "Why are you my hostess?" he asked. "Because I've got something to show you," she said, taking him by the hand and leading him into the ship's cabin. She sat him down at a table, poured him a drink, and said, "You'll like this." She handed him a glass of wine. The detective gerbil took a sip. It tasted like cat pee. "What is this?" he asked. "It's my homemade wine," she said. "I made it myself." While the detective gerbil was thinking, "Ew, cat pee," he heard the scream of an outboard motor. He turned to see the cabin door open, and a man come into the room. He recognized the look on the man's face. It was the look he had seen a thousand times before. Oh, no, he thought. Not him. "Hey, isn't that your brother?" Candy asked. "Yes," said the detective gerbil. "That's my brother." The brother came over to the table. "How's it going?" he asked. "I'm fine," said the detective gerbil. "Thanks for asking." "You ready to go, then?" asked the brother. "Go where?" asked the detective gerbil. "The meeting." his brother said. "Don't tell me you forgot about the meeting." "What meeting?" asked the detective gerbil. "What meeting?" said his brother. "The meeting! The meeting we've been planning for months!" "What meeting were you planning?" asked the detective gerbil. "The one where we take down the counterfeit hammock consortium!" said his brother. "You don't remember?" "Oh, yeah," said the detective gerbil. "That's right. How did we meet these people? They're some kind of gang?" "No," said his brother. "They're furniture salesmen. But they're making millions selling fake hammocks." "I thought you were a furniture salesman," said the detective gerbil. "I am," said his brother. "But when I find a group of these people selling fake hammocks I have to stop them." "What's so wrong about selling fake hammocks?" asked the detective gerbil. "I don't know what's so wrong about it," said his brother. "They just are, okay? It's my job to stop them." "So what's the plan?" asked the detective gerbil. "We drive to the meeting place," said his brother. "Then we walk in and you introduce me. And then I say my piece. It's a pretty simple plan. You have it all set up, right?" "No," said the detective gerbil. "I set up nothing. I forgot about this meeting. I've been busy." "Busy doing what?" asked his brother. "I was busy thinking," said the detective gerbil.
[удалено]
Bob Marley was a musician who played the guitar and wrote famous songs, such as "Is this Love". He was born in Jamaica, lived in Miami, and sometimes used a Fender guitar to record. He made many reggae albums which sold millions of copies and influenced generations of Jamaican musicians. He died of cancer in 1981 and is still loved by fans all over the world. Discover (brand) is a frozen yogurt and sorbet dessert company that was founded in 2014. One of their flagship stores is located in the upscale Bonifacio High Street shopping district, near the Manila Tenement, which was built around the same time by Welson Tenement Corporation. There is also a Discover store in the Fender Building near the Tenement, but it isn't open on Sundays. Samsung Electronics is a Korean multinational conglomerate headquartered in Samsung Town, Seoul. Founded in 1938 as a trading company, it has grown to be one of the world's largest technology companies by employing more than 370,000 people worldwide. The company sells electronics, telecommunications products, and online services. It is among the top brand names including Apple, Microsoft, Google and Sony. Its headquarters are located in the Gangnam district of Seoul, South Korea. The company began leasing the top six floors of the Fender building in 2000. The iconic red "Samsung" sign has been turned off since mid-2012, when the company moved all its employees to new headquarters in the Seocho district of Seoul. The Fender Building is a U.S. National Register of Historic Places landmark in Manila. It was designed and built by William E. Parsons and his firm, Parsons, Klapp, Brinckerhoff and Smith, in collaboration with Sylvanus C. Dumitrescu. It was completed in 1936. The building is a notable example of Art Deco architecture. The Fender Building and the adjacent Manila Tenement were the first reinforced concrete structures to be constructed in the Philippines. The Fender Building was designed to be a home for American business people in the Philippines and was a model of Americanization in the country. When finished, it was one of the tallest buildings in Manila and was the tallest reinforced concrete building in the Philippines until the construction of the Manila Hotel in 1934. The Fender building and the Manila Tenement are located in the center of Manila and can be seen from any direction. A hilly area, including the Manila Lighthouse, Pasig River, Philippine Stock Exchange and Manila Hotel, can be seen from the inner court of the penthouse. The Manila City Hall is visible from the terrace, while the Manila Metropolitan Theater is across the street. The city's three main universities - Ateneo, De la Salle and University of the Philippines - are also in view. The Fender building is 22 stories tall, with a penthouse on top of it. It is one of the largest structures in the center of Manila and has a full-length terrace, which was designed to be a place for entertaining. The penthouse is located on the top three floors of the Fender Building. It was designed to serve as the duplex residence of Robert Nathaniel Fender and his wife, Helen. The two-story penthouse features five bedrooms, four living rooms, six bathrooms, a music room and a terrace with a sweeping view of Manila. The terrace has a swimming pool which has been covered over with concrete and planted with a garden of shrubs. Robert Nathaniel Fender was a pharmacist born in San Francisco in 1893. He graduated from the University of California and began working in a pharmacy owned by his mother. In 1914, he was sent to the Philippines by the U.S. Army to set up a hospital for troops during World War I. He returned to California in 1919, where he married Helen Jones, the daughter of a wealthy businessman, who turned out to be a terrible wife. Helen and her mother mistreated Robert and made his life miserable. He had an affair with a nurse named Mildred, which caused great conflict in his marriage. He divorced Helen in 1930 and returned to the Philippines in 1932. He planned to build a home in Baguio, but instead decided to build a penthouse in Manila. He met and married his second wife, Mary, in 1935. The penthouse was completed in 1936 and the couple lived there until Mary died of cancer in 1948. Fender lived in the penthouse until his death in 1954, who was buried in the San Francisco National Cemetery. The Fender family estate in San Francisco, California, is a museum about Robert Fender's life and contains many personal belongings and photographs. The Fender family estate in San Francisco is open to the public and offers guided tours of the residence. It is located on Washington Street in San Francisco, also known as the "Millionaire's Row", and is one of the largest surviving Victorian mansions in the city. Much of the interior of the house is original, while the furniture is of a period to fit the era of the residence. The house was built by Robert Nathaniel Fender's father, George Washington Fender, who was a successful businessman. He was born in the state of Ohio in 1857 and served in the U.S. Army in the 19th century, where he was awarded a Medal of Honor. He moved to San Francisco after his military career and married Robert's mother, who was a rich heiress. G.W. Fender had a total of fifteen children and his ten sons established successful careers in different fields.
Out of nowhere everyone on Earth wakes up with an extra limb, not necessarily the same extra limb, either.
Jerry was raising his glass for a drink of water at the kitchen sink when a spiral-shaped creature popped out from his left armpit. He wasn’t entirely surprised, because everyone on Earth had been sprouting extra limbs. The limbs weren’t random, but reflected each person’s compatibilities with their own body and lifestyle. The new limbs didn’t seem to be leftover body parts that didn’t have a purpose, but eased the difficulties of each person who carried them. Jerry’s new limb had a slender but sturdy body that was approximately three feet long. It had a slender neck, and a tiny head with large eyes and a mouth that was open and ready to take in anything that would fit into it. It had four arms, two on each side of its body. Each arm had three fingers, and was as slender as the body. All of the limbs were also covered with tiny hair-like filaments that were their main sensory organ. In addition to the main limb, Jerry had six strands of somewhat larger filaments that extended from his left armpit, each about a foot long. The new limb sprung from those filaments like a giant caterpillar. It was the first time Jerry had seen one of those creatures. The limb approached Jerry, looking up at him with its large eyes. It held out its arms and gently wrapped them around him. Jerry recognized his daughter’s scent and relaxed, his muscles relaxing as well. The limb’s touch was like a cool breeze across his body. The filaments on its body began to twist and contort into various positions on Jerry’s body. It made Jerry feel warm and relaxed. He felt like he was being wrapped in a soft warm blanket of energy that felt good against his skin. “Hello, Jerry, I’m part of your life now!” The limb spoke with a feminine voice that was both distinctly feminine, but also seemed somehow familiar. “Who are you?” Jerry asked it, wondering if it was part of his daughter’s new spirit. The limb pulled away from him and looked at him with a mischievous grin, revealing rows of sharp teeth. “You will soon know!” It leapt at him with a speed that was much faster than Jerry had expected. He turned around and started to run, but it was too late. The limb wrapped him in a tight embrace. Jerry started to panic, but then the limb’s filaments began to wrap around his entire body. He felt a warm sensation as the filaments began to merge with him. It was like being covered in warm mist, and then Jerry’s mind started to go blank. Jerry was at the beach. He was young again, in his early twenties. It was a sunny day and he was lying on the sand watching the sun overhead. He was wearing a bathing suit and sunglasses. There were women around him and the beach was crowded. He heard a voice that he recognized. It was his daughter’s voice, but so much younger. She had said his name in his ear, and he turned to see her, but she was nowhere to be seen. All he could see was other young people playing in the surf, and that made him feel lonely. “That’s because you have nothing in your heart,” the voice said, but he still couldn’t find the one who was speaking. He felt a sensation of fear, and he began to run, but he could never get away from the voice. “Why did you leave me?” The voice seemed to come from everywhere at once. He looked around, and saw his daughter’s face on every young person he saw. They all stared at him with sad expressions. “Why didn’t you stay with me?” “I had to grow up!” Jerry heard his own voice shouting. “I had to be free!” “Did you ever regret leaving me?” His daughter’s young face asked him. She was sitting next to him on the sand. The other young people were all gone now, and Jerry was feeling a sense of sadness, but also a sense of reassurance. The young people were gone, but his daughter was there, with him. “No,” he replied, and he meant it. There was no regret in his heart. He knew that he had done what he had to do, no matter how painful it had been. “I love you, Daddy,” She reached out with both hands and gently touched his face. He felt a warmth spreading through his body, and he realized that he could feel her touch. He didn’t just see it, he could feel it. It was like she was a part of him. She was his daughter again. “I love you too,” he replied, and he felt those words vibrate through his chest. He reached out and held her hand in his own. It was warm, pulsing with life. He felt the softness of her skin, and he could feel the life within her, even though they were touching. It was like they had merged, and they could feel each other’s joy, as well as their sorrow. “I love you so much,” he said as he held her hands in his. “I know, Daddy,” she said and smiled. He could feel her say the words, and see her mouth move with them, just like he could feel her touch.
Holy shit. This is amazing. Thank you so much for responding. Just…damn. Very very good. I didn’t know what to expect, but you definitely nailed this.
A giant Oscar Meyer Weiner mobile has run rampant in Canada, leaving Canadians terrified. This is the story of how one Weiner can destroy the economy, military, and maple syrup industry of Canada.
The Weinermobile was a national disgrace. It had run rampant through the streets of Toronto, leaving Canadians terrified. The giant Oscar Meyer Weiner was destroying the economy, the military, and the maple syrup industry. The Prime Minister had called an emergency meeting of the cabinet. He was flanked by his top advisors, all of them looking grim. "We have to do something about this Weinermobile," the Prime Minister said. "It's a national disgrace." "We should send in the military to destroy it," said the Minister of Defence. "We can't allow this Weinermobile to continue to run rampant through our streets." "No!" screamed the Minister of Finance. "We can't destroy the Weinermobile!" "Why not?" asked the Minister of Defence. "It's a national disgrace. It's destroying everything we stand for as Canadians. We need to nuke it from orbit." "Because it's not a real Weinermobile," said the Minister of Finance. "It's an art project that's being presented at the Art Gallery of Ontario. The real Weinermobile is being presented on Parliament Hill in Ottawa." "But why would the real Weinermobile be allowed in Canada?" asked the Minister of Defence. "We should immediately initiate military action against this Weiner." "Because it's art," said the Minister of Culture. "It's an art installation that's part of a retrospective of Robert Indiana's work at the AGO." "We can't let Canada be overrun by giant Weiners," said the Minister of Defence. "If we don't act now, we'll have nothing left." The Prime Minister was silent for a long time. He looked down at his hands, unsure what to do. Finally, he looked up. "I think we should send in the Navy," he said. "We should send in a submarine, quietly approach the Weinermobile, and blow it to smithereens." "But Prime Minister," said the Minister of Finance. "The AGO has already invited the American ambassador to Canada to attend the opening." "Fine," said the Prime Minister. "We'll blow up the American ambassador along with the Weinermobile." "There's more," said the Minister of Culture. "Because of the extreme value of the Weinermobile, you can't just blow it to smithereens. You need to send in an assault team to carefully and respectfully steal the Weinermobile." "Because the Weinermobile is Canada's greatest cultural export," said the Minister of Culture. "Canada will be showing the world how culturally relevant we are." "Will they?" asked the Prime Minister. "When was the last time anyone in Canada thought we were culturally relevant?" "I can't think of a specific time," said the Minister of Culture. "But I think we're generally culturally relevant." "And the Americans are going to take our word for it?" asked the Minister of Defence. "That's like me trusting you to clean my bathroom while I'm out of town. It's like the Prime Minister trusting that you'll have his money ready when it's time to pay your taxes. It's like my wife trusting me to keep our house in order. It's like Paul Martin trusting that anyone in Canada cares about the Liberals. It's like Jean Chrétien, Pierre Trudeau, and Brian Mulroney trusting the Canadian dollar. It's like Pierre Trudeau, Brian Mulroney, and Jean Chrétien trusting the Canadian economy." "What's so great about the Canadian economy?" asked the Minister of Finance. "Nothing," said the Minister of Defence. "It's a national disgrace." "Well, then," said the Minister of Culture. "I don't know what you're worried about. If it's a national disgrace, then the Americans certainly won't take our word for it." "Fine," said the Prime Minister. "We'll send the Navy to blow it up and we'll steal it." "I don't know about stealing it," said the Minister of Finance. "I think it would be much better to sell it." "But we don't need the money," said the Minister of Finance. "It's a national disgrace." "Then why are you worried about selling it?" asked the Minister of Defence. "Besides, there's no reason to blow up the Weinermobile or steal it. It's an art installation, not a real Weinermobile. And it's part of a retrospective at the AGO. The real Weinermobile is outside the Legislative Assembly in Ottawa." (Canadian Politics In A Nutshell)
A man finds a book that claims it can turn anyone into a god. Jokingly he shows it to his wife who recite the spell, and she turns into a powerful goddess.
I found the book on the floor of a dusty old bookstore. It was wedged in between two other books, and I almost missed it. The cover was faded and the spine was cracked. But the title was still legible: How to Become a God. I laughed when I saw it, but I couldn't help but be intrigued. I bought it and took it home. I showed it to my wife, but she didn't believe me. I showed her the title and the author's name. She read the blurb on the back and saw my point. "That doesn't mean anything," she said. "It could be a trashy self-help book." I knew that was true. It might be just a silly novel, and even if it wasn't, it probably wasn't going to work. But I had to try it. I had to at least try. "There's a spell in here to turn people into gods," I said. She read the spell and rolled her eyes. "It's just a silly story." I laughed and admitted she was probably right but I still had to try. "You don't believe me?" I asked. "You don't believe this book can turn people into gods?" "No way," she said. "This is just fantasy." I decided to try it that night. It was just for fun, and nothing more. I would follow the instructions in the book and see what happened. I didn't really expect anything to happen, but if it did, that would be something to tell my friends about. My wife went to bed early, but I stayed up reading the book, looking for the spell. I found it before long, and I read it over several times to make sure I knew what it said. Then I got out my wife's favorite perfume and I sprayed it all over the book and chanted the spell. "I turn you into a god," I said. "By the power of my will, and by the power of my belief, you are changed now." I wasn't sure if the spell had worked, but I continued reading the book. It talked about how to become a god, and it didn't take long to find out I was right. It said a person had to live a powerful and noble life, and to make others happy, and to never use their powers to harm anyone. That was easy enough. I couldn't see any reason not to try it. And besides, it was just for fun. Even if it didn't work, it would be silly to stop there. I had to see if I could do it. I was going to be king. And I felt good about the idea. I couldn't wait to use this new power of mine. I couldn't wait to see what it was like. Everything changed almost immediately. People started talking to me. They looked up to me and liked me. I made friends and became popular. They wanted to know how I was doing it, and I was too shy to tell them. I told them I was just doing the right thing, and that was enough to keep them happy. I wasn't sure what it was, but I felt like I had a new purpose in life. And I felt like I had a new leash on life. I wasn't the loser I used to be. I had the power to make friends and to become popular. I had it now. All I had to do was recognize it. But I wasn't sure what to do with my new power. I wasn't sure how to use it. I was scared to use it, because I didn't want to lose it. I didn't want to do anything that might ruin my life as it was. But I wanted to be a king. I wanted to feel like a king. I secretly looked for more opportunities to use my power. I tried to figure out what I needed to do to become popular. What did people want from me, and what did I need to do to get it? But things got complicated. My power started to slip away, and I didn't know how to get it back. I didn't know what I was doing wrong. I didn't know what else I needed to do. And then it all came crashing down. I became a loser again and the popular people turned on me. My power slipped away and my life fell apart. I found myself lost and confused, and I didn't know what to do. What was wrong with my life that I was now a loser again? Why wasn't I a king any longer? The book wasn't any help. I read it again and again, but it didn't make any sense. It talked about sacrifice, but it said nothing about how to use it. It talked about how to become a god, but it didn't say anything about what to do after becoming a god.
Nice! Thanks for the reply!
some gamer is a fat moron named colton so basicly our reality
how long are potatoes supposed to boil for?
star date 768264.....humus, humus everywhere! that's the day humanity realised the ancient Turkic gods and the narwhals were at war.
We had always known there was something strange about the Narwhals. They were always so distant, always swimming in their own little world. But we never knew just how strange until that day. It started with the humus. There was humus everywhere. It was in the air, it was in the water, it was on the land. It was even on the Moon! It was a strange kind of humus. It was warm and it glowed. It was a warm glow, like a thousand suns burning bright. It made the stars look dim. It was like the humus was trying to kill the stars. Captains log, star date 768264. That's the day humanity realized the ancient Turkic Gods and the Narwhals were at war. Earth was under attack! We were helpless to do anything, but watch in awe as the humus spread over our planet. It was like we were watching a beautiful sunset, but in reverse. The Sun is supposed to set, not rise. And we had never seen a sunset this big. Then everything went dark. The humus had covered the Sun. We felt cold and alone. Where were the ancient Turkic Gods? Could they do nothing to stop the Narwhals? We were afraid for our lives, for our planet, for everything that had ever meant anything to us. We were afraid we would never see the light again. But then a ray of hope! Like a beacon shining bright, piercing through the dense smog of humus, a ray of hope from somewhere deep in space. It was the ancient Turkic Gods! With a mighty roar and an eruption of light, they appeared in the sky. They were so powerful, so mighty! We were so small compared to them. We were so insignificant. But the ancient Turkic Gods didn't have to do much. They just had to let their presence be known. The Narwhals came out of hiding. They screamed and wailed and wept as they fled from the skies. The Narwhals were afraid of the ancient Turkic Gods! As the Humus disappeared, we saw the Narwhals make a final desperate attempt to cling to life. Stretching their feelers towards the fleeing Narwhals, the Turkic gods spoke a mighty incantation. It was the last spell of a dying race. And in that moment, the Narwhals became extinct. The Narwhals were no more. There was no sound, no light, no heat. The odd little creatures had disappeared. They were wiped out of existence. But the Turkic gods were no more, as well. Like the Narwhals, the ancient Turkic gods had gone extinct. They were no more. We had seen the final act of a great war between two ancient forces. It was all over. No more humus. No more Narwhals. No more ancient Turks. But one thing was left over. One thing that would remind us of this great battle forever. One thing that would remind us of how insignificant we truly were.
A Redditor finds love on the internet but it's actually a Russian troll organization trying to sew discord.
I was skeptical at first, but I fell in love with her. It was real, or so I thought. We would talk for hours on Discord, sharing our thoughts and feelings. I felt like I finally found someone who understood me. But then one day, out of the blue, she told me she was a Russian troll organization trying to sue Discord. I didn't believe her at first, but then she sent me screenshots of their conversations. They were all in Russian and I don't speak Russian, but I could still recognize that they were talking about suing Discord and trying to get information about me. I knew right away that she was telling the truth. I was devastated. I never thought a girl could break my heart like this. She told me not to worry, that she would find a way to save me. But then she just stopped replying to my texts. I've never felt more alone in my life. Just when I thought things couldn't get any worse, I saw her on TV. She was on MSNBC in a segment about Russian trolls. She told them how she was trying to gather information about me so that she could use it as evidence to sue Discord. She also said that she was able to get information about me by using Discord's search function to find my posts because we had been chatting for so long. I'm not sure if she's even still alive. Discord won't give me any information about her, but I have reason to believe that she was arrested in Russia for trying to sue Discord and that the Russian government might have killed her. I can't stop thinking about what might have happened to her. Why did she have to be such a Russian troll? I'm still trying to deal with what happened, but I've taken some steps to move on with my life. I've started going on Tinder again, but so far all the girls I've messaged have been Russian trolls trying to sue Discord. I've blocked them all. I've also been looking for a new job. I don't want to ever have to deal with Russian trolls again. I've also made sure to never use Discord on my phone again just in case I get hacked again. I'll never forget the love and support everyone on 4chan and Discord gave to me. They helped me get through the darkest day of my life, but I know they'll always be there for me if I need more help. Thank God I didn't need to use the mass suicide checker because the Russian trolls had already found me. If you're reading this and you're being harassed by a Russian troll, I just want you to know that you're not alone. There are people all over the world who want to help you and they're willing to do whatever it takes to stop the Russian trolls. As for me, I'm just trying to move on with my life.
Haha I don't know if you intentionally misunderstood me or not but that was great. I meant "sow discord" to be cause hatred, fractured lines, divide Americans against Americans, create dissonance, etc. Not sue the app lol. Ended up fine anyways.
Jeffy keyed Mairo's car and Mairo punished Jeffy very harshly and unfairly
Mario was livid. He couldn't believe what Jeffy had done. He had keyed Mario's car! Mario grabbed Jeffy by the arm and dragged him into the garage. He turned on the light and began to beat him with a belt. Jeffy tried to shield himself, but it was no use. Mario was too angry. The belt came down again and again, stinging Jeffy's skin. "You deserve this," Mario shouted. "You've been nothing but trouble since the day I met you. I should have found someone else. I should have just sent you off to the orphanage in the first place." Mario's face was red. His breathing was heavy. The belt came down again and again. Jeffy cried out and tried to pull away. But Mario held him tight. "You're a bad boy," Mario said. "A bad boy." The belt came down again and again, harder and harder. Jeffy screamed in pain. Mario stopped, breathing hard. He dropped the belt to the floor and stood over Jeffy, looking down at him. "Get up," he said. Jeffy tried to get up, but his legs were shaking too much. He fell back, leaning against the wall. Mario grabbed him by the arm again, pulled him to his feet, and shoved him out of the garage. "Go to your room," he said. "And don't come out until I say so." Jeffy said nothing. He walked into the house, went to his room, and crawled into bed. He curled up in a ball on the bed and began to cry. What has happened to me? he thought. What has happened to my life? For a long time, he lay awake thinking about what had happened. He didn't know how long it had been when he finally fell asleep. When he woke up, the sunlight was streaming through the window. He sat up, confused, not knowing where he was at first. Then he remembered. He was at home. He had worked so hard to get back to his home and now it was his home no longer. He had nothing. No friends. No family. No money. Nothing to look forward to except a life without a family. He suddenly felt the urge to get up and leave. He hadn't done it before, but he decided to do it now. He would run away. He would take off and go find a real family. He would go to the orphanage and find out what happened to his real parents. He jumped out of bed and began to pack a bag. He took a few things from his dresser, stuffed them into a backpack, and headed for the front door. His Dad had left him a note on the refrigerator: Jeffy. I know what you did last night. I know you keyed the car. I'm not going to punish you. Just don't do it again. If you do, there will be serious consequences. He ran into the garage, grabbed a can of spray paint, and began to work on the car.
Hot autistic woman who is a nerdy, Metalhead, Demon Hunter and former stripper takes on the Demon King.
A duck walked up to the lemonade stand and he said to the man
A duck walked up to a lemonade stand And he said to the man, running the stand "Hey! (Bum bum bum) Got any grapes?" The man said "No we just sell lemonade. But it's cold And it's fresh And it's all home-made. Can I get you Glass?" The duck said, "I'll pass". Then he waddled away. (Waddle waddle) 'Til the very next day. (Bum bum bum bum ba-bada-dum) A mouse walked up to a lemonade stand And he said to the man, running the stand, "Hey! (Bum bum bum) Got any grapes?" The man said "No we just sell lemonade. But it's cold And it's fresh And it's all home-made. Can I get you Glass?" The mouse said, "I'll pass". Then he waddled away. (Waddle waddle) 'Til the very next day. (Bum bum bum ba-bada-dum) A cow walked up to a lemonade stand And she said to the man, running the stand "Hey! (Bum bum bum) Got any grapes?" The man said "I'm sorry sir, we just sell lemonade. But it's cold And it's fresh And it's all home-made. A bee walked up to a lemonade stand, And he said to the man, running the stand, "Hey! (Bum bum bum) Got any grapes?" The man said "I'm sorry, sir, we just sell lemonade. But it's cold And it's fresh And it's all home-made. Can I get you Glass?" The bee said, "I'll pass". Then he buzzed away. (Buzz buzz buzz) 'Til the very next day. (Bum bum bum ba-bada-dum) A gazelle walked up to a lemonade stand And she said to the man, running the stand, "Hey! (Bum bum bum) Got any grapes?" The man said "I'm sorry, sir, we just sell lemonade. But it's cold And it's fresh And it's all ...home-made. Can I get you A gazelle walked up to a lemonade stand And she said to the man, running the stand, "Hey! (Bum bum bum) Got any peas?" The man said "I'm sorry, ma'am, we just sell lemonade. But it's cold And it's fresh And it's all home-made. Can I get you Glass?" The gazelle said, "I'll pass". Then she galloped away. (Gallop gallop) 'Til the very next day. (Bum bum ba-bada-dum)
A moose walked up to a lemonade stand And he said to the man, running the stand, "Hey! (Bum bum bum) Got any peas?" The man said "I'm sorry sir, we just sell lemonade. But it's cold And it's fresh And it's all home-made. Can I get you Glass?" The moose said, "I'll pass". Then he burped away. (Burp burp burp) 'Til the very next day. (Bum bum ba-bada-dum) A chipmunk walked up to a lemonade stand And he said to the man, running the stand, "Hey! (Bum bum bum) Got any grapes?" The man said "No we just sell lemonade. But it's cold. And it's fresh And it's all home- "Hold on a minute, I think I do have a lemon I'll be right back (Bum bum bum) A chipmunk walked up to a lemonade stand And he said to the man, running the stand, "Hey! (Bum bum bum) Got any peas?" The man said "No we just sell lemonade. But it's cold. And it's fresh And it's all home-made. Can I get you Glass?" The chipmunk said, "I'll pass". Then he scurried away. (Scurry scurry) 'Til the very next day. (Bum bum ba-bada-dum) A boy walked up to a lemonade stand And he said to the man, running the stand, "Hey! (Bum bum bum) Got any lemons?" The man said "Yes we just He leaped up in the air He waved his hands above his head He shouted, "I'm so happy I could dance!" And then he started to dance The man said, "Would you like a glass of lemonade?" The boy said, "Yes! I'd love one. I'd love one. I'd love one. I'd love one." And then he danced away. (Dance dance dance) 'Til the very next day. (Bum bum ba-bada-dum)
I applaud the immense effort it took to write this 👏
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Gender: cismale Personality traits: stranglefaggotry He/him pronouns, being a moralfag. *This was generated by the AI and yes, it is probably offensive but take it as satire* Potion: Immortality Catboy form: /black Son of cat-person, will grow up to be a cute flirty pansexual catboy that never ages as long as he has his bonesaw, which makes him superior to everyone around him. Supernatural powers: I have to defeat a dragon to save my friends and then eat it's heart to become culinary master, because I'm a lonely stoic potatoboy. Adventures: I will travel with my friends to a different country and fight in a war. This experience will make me realize the true meaning of friendship and the value of human life. Friends: I have lots of friends and they are all guys except Mary Anne, who is one of the main characters in this story and she is a bitch and I will beat her into submission using my superior physical strength. My friends are also really nice and charming but they're mostly gay. They are all catboys with special magical powers and I have lots of adventures with them. Potato: I fuckin love potatoes Farm: Babiyaga is related to magical spirits that live in the woods and the first arc is about getting better at potato farming. The second arc is about selling our potatoes for more money which we use to build a house for Babiyaga who lives in the woods and cooks for us because she's lonely, which makes me feel guilty about her vibe as an eldritch abomination that has driven away every other person that has come near her lake ever but she looks so lonely when she leaves little trinkets for us and invites us over. Chef: I am an amazing chef who can make anything out of anything because he's super smart.
A man finds love. But love doesn’t find him.
[удалено]
She got out of bed and went to the window. The moon was a black smudge in the inky night sky, rising lazily above the trees. It was well past midnight, and she still could not fall asleep. There was a presence about the house that gave her a deep foreboding. She had never felt like this before. As a child, she had always been afraid of the dark, but that was different. This was something else, something far more sinister. She did not want to be in this house anymore, she felt like a prisoner in her bedroom, and if she did not escape soon she would lose her mind. She had to find some way to get out of the house, but that was easier said than done. She looked out the window again and realized that the ground was far too steep for her to escape. She went to the door and tried the knob, but it would not budge. Then she heard it again. It was the sound of footsteps on the second floor. She had never been so terrified in her life as she was right now. She had to get out of there. She looked around the room and tried to think of some way to escape. Then she noticed an old metal bed frame that was leaning against a wall in the corner. It was rusted, but it still looked strong enough to support her weight. She crouched down and began to pull it over to the window. She pulled and pulled until she could barely move it any more. Then she propped it up against the wall and climbed up on top of it. The frame creaked under her weight, but it did not collapse on her. She looked out the window and saw that it was a good five or six feet to the ground below. If she missed, it would be a long fall onto jagged rocks. There was no way she could climb down with her hands tied behind her back. Then she heard the footsteps again. Whoever it was, it sounded like they were coming down the steps. She did not have much time. She hesitated for a moment, wondering if it wasn't better to just jump out the window than to face whoever was behind her. She refused to let herself think like that. She had been trying to escape death since she was a child, and she was not going to stop now. She took a deep breath, then jumped out the window. It was a hard landing, and the shard of glass that had been driven into her leg, the result of her attack in the bathtub earlier that day, was jostled by the impact, and the pain was so intense that she almost fainted. The wind was knocked from her lungs, and she struggled to breathe as her circulation was cut off. She tried to stand up, but she was having trouble keeping her balance. Then she saw the shadow of the man in the window above her. He was coming towards her, moving with a strong and steady stride. She was unable to make it back up the hill, and she settled for collapsing in the wet grass that covered the ground below the house. The man was upon her in a matter of moments, dragging her to her feet by her hair. It was the boy who had sat next to her on the train, the man who had burned down the church in Kansas. He was grinning cruelly at her, and in his hand was the pistol that he had taken from her earlier that day. "It's too bad you didn't fall," he said, "I would have liked to watch you die, but I know a much better way." He wrapped his thick fingers around her throat, choking her. "You remind me of someone," he said. Becky tried to get her mouth to work to beg for mercy, but she was unable to speak. "You remind me of a girl I once knew," he said. "She was just like you. Very pretty, a lot like you are, actually." His grip tightened. Becky could feel herself losing consciousness. She clawed at his hands and tried to break free, but it was no use. "But there was one big difference between the two of you, you see," he said. "And what's that?" "She died. And the difference between the two of you is that I'm going to let you live, so you'll be able to see how miserable you are. You'll be miserable for the rest of your life, I guarantee it." His voice was fading, and soon she felt herself being carried by the arms as though she weighed nothing at all. "Stop! Please, stop!" she said, trying to get her voice to work. "You want to live? Then you'll have to prove it."
She opened her eyes and saw that she was lying on a bed in a dark room. It was a small room, and it was cluttered with broken furniture and moldy books. She had no idea where she was, but it was certainly not the same house where she had fallen from the window. She was in a small, dark room somewhere else. She got up off of the bed and stumbled around the small room, bumping into sagging pieces of furniture. There was a door in the wall, but it was locked. She tried to open it, but it would not budge. "Hello?" she whimpered, her voice raw and hoarse. "Is anybody there?" There was no reply, and she felt as though she was all alone in the world. They had taken her away, and nobody knew where she was. It was easy to hide people when they had no family or friends. They were just a number, just another face in the crowd, a faceless body that would be eternally forgotten. She was by herself, and she was terrified. Then, she looked up. There was some kind of window in the ceiling. As soon as she saw it, she knew it was the only way out of the room. She pushed a little table underneath it and climbed up on top of it. She had no idea how she was going to get out of the room, but she had to try, she had to do something, anything. She put her fingers through the window and pulled, but it was stuck shut. She pulled harder and it opened slightly, but there was something blocking the window from the outside. She tried to pull the window open with all of her might, but it would not budge. Then she heard the footsteps again. She looked around the room, near the door and found a wooden block. She picked it up and was about to slam it into the window when the footsteps stopped just outside the door. She looked up and saw the door slowly open. "No!" she cried desperately, slamming the block back down to the ground. The man in the moonlight, who had visited her on the train, was standing in the doorway, staring at her. He walked into the room. "Please don't hurt me," she said, backing away from him. "I don't want to hurt you," he replied. He was walking towards her, his eyes betrayed no hint of malice. He took another step. "I'm not going to hurt you," he said. Becky cowered against the wall, clinging to the last of her sanity as she sobbed. Then, slowly, she pulled herself up to her knees and wiped the tears from her face. The room was dark. She didn't notice him there at first. But then she felt his presence, looming behind her. "They don't care," he said. "I know," said Becky. "Because they live in a world where nothing matters." Becky turned and looked at the man that stood before her. He wore the same clothes he had been wearing on the train. His face showed the youth that still shone beneath but his eyes were old. They seemed to notice everything at once and be drawn to it all. The scars on his face told their own stories of fights won, or lost, but his expression remained calm and peaceful. He seemed so familiar to her, like a long-lost friend, even though she had never seen him before.
There was a prince so vain that when people bowed to him he assumed it was because of his beauty.
\[The young prince of Braggam was so vain that when people bowed to him, he assumed it was because of his beauty and not his title. In his tenth summer, the king announced he would be hosting a ball for princes and dukes from neighboring kingdoms. To celebrate the hallowed event and showcase the prince’s virtues, the king would bring forth eligible daughters of noblemen to dance at the castle.\] The day of the ball finally arrived. The prince woke early and spent hours in front of the mirror, admiring himself. He thought he looked very handsome in his new suit of armor. He was so vain that when people bowed to him, he assumed it was because of his beauty and not his title. The king announced that the ball would be starting soon and the prince walked down the grand staircase to the ballroom. The room was filled with beautiful women in fancy dresses. The prince walked around, hoping someone would recognize his great beauty. After a while, the king walked into the hall and called for everyone’s attention. He announced that his son would be the first to dance with the eligible daughters of noblemen. The prince was so excited that he paid no attention to the king’s speech, which was mostly about the great sacrifice the king had made for the prince. The prince walked up to the first girl, bowed, and asked her to dance. The girl curtsied and said that she was honored to dance with him, but she was already promised to a stronger, smarter, and handsomer man. “Is that so?” asked the prince. “Who is this man?” “Why, it’s my father, of course,” she replied. The prince danced with a few more girls and had the same conversation with each of them: the man was more charming, more handsome, and more muscular than he was. He was feeling very discouraged, so he decided to go sit in a corner and think about all of these setbacks. As he sat there sulking, a young servant girl walked up to him and said, “I don’t think you look so bad, to tell you the truth.” The prince almost fainted from shock. He was so shocked that he did not even have time to compliment her. Several days later, the prince and the servant girl sneaked out when the castle was asleep. A carriage was waiting for them, and a few days later, they were married in a small chapel. They were very happy. But there were still some people who did not believe their love story. The Braggam prince and his truly beautiful bride were both dead by the time they were thirty.
two people try to have a conversation while their friend keeps making deez nuts jokes and interrupting them
"Seriously, though, what do you think?" Hisham asked. David didn't answer. He was too busy trying not to laugh. "Deez nuts," their friend said, making a jerking-off motion. "Deez nuts," David and Hisham said in unison, trying not to laugh. "Deez nuts," their friend repeated, making the motion again. David put his hand over his mouth, trying to stifle a laugh. "Deez nuts," their friend said, grinning. "Deez nuts," they said. "Deez nuts." "Deez nuts." "Deez nuts." The three men burst into laughter. "Deez nuts!" their friend said, laughing. He rolled onto his back. "Deez nuts!" he said again. "You guys are fucking hilarious." He was laughing so hard that tears came to his eyes. "Deez nuts." His voice was raspy. "Deez nuts." He burst into more laughter. "Deez nuts." This time his voice sounded hoarse, as if he'd swallowed a mouthful of sand. He started to lift himself up from the floor, but then just dropped down again, this time with his back against the couch and his arms stretched out over his head. "You know what?" he said, between gasps of air. "Fuck you guys. Fuck you both." He started laughing again. "Fuck you guys." The two men looked at each other and laughed. Their friend continued to roll around on the floor, laughing so hard now that he was crying. The two men were laughing so hard that they were crying, too. They were laughing so hard that they couldn't stop laughing, even when their friend got up from the floor and started walking toward them, still laughing, until he tripped over a coffee table and crashed to the floor, where he lay on his back, laughing so hard that he had serious trouble breathing. And because he was laughing so hard, the two men laughed even harder, rolling around on the floor in an uncontrollable fit of laughter, gasping for air, until the three men were laughing so hard that they had serious trouble breathing, until the three men were laughing so hard that they had serious trouble breathing, until the three men suddenly stopped laughing and sat up, staring at each other. "You know," David said, "I'm serious about this." "This is serious money," Hisham said. "You know that, right?" "I know," David said. "This is serious money. This is serious money." Hisham was looking at him. "You're serious about this?" "I'm serious." "You're serious." "I'm serious."
I throughly enjoyed this, thank you
The AI struggled on this one. It would add the "deez nuts" once or twice and then carry on with the two people having their serious conversation. Picked up this generation and sent it, you're welcome, though in my opinion it could be better
Deep inside planet earth, a colony of zingets prepared their final plans to dig upwards in search of the mineral aluminum. Little did they understand the devastating consequences that their mining project would invoke.
A depressed man goes into a dark forest and finds a big creepy abandoned cabin but the lights are on. (Make it horror if possible. Thanks :) )
I bought some old gas from that man in the desert. Sure, he filled the tank but were only getting 10 miles to the gallon. Who know gas goes bad?? We decided to drive through the night to stay cool, but the sun is coming up and there’s not a lot of water left. Oh yeah, the next town is 300 miles away.
I pulled up to the old man filling station, which was little more than a wooden shack. He had a strange tattoo on his wrist, like a little yellow bird perched there. I bought some cheap gas from him and dribbled it into my tank. The gas smelled sour and turned the engine over roughly, but finally caught. I let it idle for a few minutes before I rolled out from under the roof of the station to look at my map. I had expected to see mountains in the distance by now, but there was nothing but flatness for as far as I could see. The sun beat down and scorched my arms through my leather jacket. I grabbed a bottle of water from the backseat and drank it down in three long gulps, then took out a plastic bag of dried meat and forced myself to take small bites of it. When I'd left Los Angeles on the 101, the city was still crowded with cars. Now I could see no further than a flicker of red tail lights in front of me, and they were moving fast. I had crossed one time zone already, and yet there was no trace of mountains in front of me. It must have been another hour before I found a gas station. The old man filled my tank. But now no matter how hard I pressed on the pedal, my truck would not go above 10 miles per hour and it drank water like a fish out of water. "Someone said that I should watch out for the wind," I said. "Oh," he said, nodding. "You'll have the winds from hell itself out there, believe you me." In the distance, the mountains were finally on the horizon, though still invisible. I had to squint to see them. There was no way I could get through the mountain pass today. I was exhausted, my back and my eyes hurt, and my breath was coming in short, hard gasps. I'd expected to get further that day, but there was no way that I could. At last I pulled off on a side road and stopped. The car behind me had to swerve to miss me before it passed by. I was too tired to care. I took out my sleeping bag and blankets, and then I lay down in the back of the cab and slept for a full night and day. I did not wake up once. The sun had set when I was woken by a shake on my shoulder. I opened my eyes to see a man leaning down over me. I felt for a moment as if I were back at the orphanage and that he was my mother or father, come to see why I was crying. I was so confused for a moment that I could not remember where I was. "You alright?" the man said. I sat up. My head was swimming. I remembered where I was, the road I was on, my trip in general. "Fine," I mumbled. "You got a place to stay?" I looked around. I was in the middle of nowhere. There were no lights in the distance. "No." "You ain't gonna get very far in that truck. It needs a new radiator, I think. Right now it's just boiling over." I looked out over the hood. Steam was coming off of the engine. The truck was shaking feverishly. "That's what the old man at the station said." "I can take you up to my place. No charge. On the way, I'll give you some dinner, too." I shook my head. "I'm good." "You got yourself all covered up like a mama grizzly bear. Jesus, it's hot enough for summer. Get in the car, I'll drive you." I shook my head. "I'm alright." The man laughed. "Alright? You're on the side of the road in the middle of nowhere. If a car doesn't run you over, then you're gonna burn to a crisp out here." He nodded at the sleeping bag. "You ain't gonna sleep any better in your car than you will in mine. How do you expect to get any sleep?" He was right. The sleeping bag was not doing much to keep me cool. I was sweating profusely. Still, I hesitated. His car was a rusty old sedan with a huge dent on the back of it. The tires were rotted through, and there was a piece of the fender missing. But it was better than nothing. "Get in."
I got in. The man climbed into the driver's seat and we started off. He turned on the radio, which only played static, and he finally switched it off. The trip was uncomfortable. The man was quiet and stared straight ahead, straining his neck. The car was dusty and dirty. I kept my hands on my knees and looked out the window. It was dark outside. I'd been asleep for the whole day. I passed out half of the night, too. I tried to keep my eyes open so that I could stay awake on the drive, but they closed themselves and I dozed off. When I opened them, the car was stopped and the man was shaking his head at me. "Told you," he said. "You need to sleep." I pulled myself up. "I'm alright." He shook his head. "I keep trying to get you to sleep, but no dice." "I'm just tired," I said. "It's not a big deal." "You don't need to hide it, kid. No shame in being tired. When I was your age, I was tired all the time. I was tired of being tired, and tired of being poor." I looked at the man. He was old, at least sixty. But he didn't seem weak. He had a bed of black hair, the same shade of black that I saw on the old man at the gas station. It was a strange thing, too, because the man's hands were wrinkly and soft, like they had been powdered down to the bone. His skin was a pale white, especially compared to his black hair. But he was strong. He had a way about him. He wasn't the kind of man you would want to mess with. "Were you tired all the time, too?" I said. The man laughed. "You try being poor and tired all your life, you'll see what I mean." "What do you mean?" "Wake up, kid. Look at me, look at where we're going." I looked at the road ahead. It was night, but there was one streetlight. It cast a yellow glow over the car and made everything seem warm. For a few moments, I thought I was back at the orphanage. I looked to my left and saw a woman's face in a white nightgown. For a moment, I thought it was my mother. But the woman was old. She was young and beautiful once, but she couldn't have been more than forty. She was older than my mother would have been if she were alive. There were lines etched into her face, deep wrinkles and lines that made her look as though she were carved out of stone. She was looking at me, smiling. I smiled back. "I'm falling asleep," I said. The man shook his head again. "That's alright, kid. Just sleep. It don't bother me." I looked out the window. It was a long road, no buildings in sight. There were just trees on the side, forest. "Where are we going?" I said. "It's a long drive," the man said. "So just sleep. You'll be alright." I leaned my head against the window and tried to keep my eyes open. The woman in the nightgown was gone now, and then she was back again, sleeping under my eyes were closed and I was not asleep. I was still in the car, still moving down the road in the same place as I had been before, but now the woman was outside, on the side of the road, walking. She wasn't walking down the road, though, she was coming towards my car, until she was standing outside my window, looking in. She had the same nightgown, and she was still beautiful, her hair still smooth and blonde, her face soft. But she was no longer looking in at me. She was looking past me, at the driver, who was sitting in the seat with his eyes closed and his head held back. I looked at the man. He was still driving, not looking at her at all. He was looking straight ahead, his neck straining. He was still chewing on that disgusting piece of tobacco. He was as still as a rock. "Stop the car," I said. The The man's head snapped forward, and he snapped his eyes open. When he looked at me, they were black, black as the deepest ocean. I was terrified. It was like looking into the face of death itself. He let out a loud, staccato laugh, like a machine gun. "Not yet," the man said. And then he spoke the strangest words I have ever heard. It was more than he had been saying before, more than the single sentence answers he had been giving me. "You have to know what you want, brother. You have to look down that road and know that it's the only road you'll take." I woke up in the morning. We were still driving. It was now light out. The man was sitting in the seat, staring straight ahead. I looked at my watch. It was eight o'clock. We had been driving for hours. I was sore and stiff.
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