make that one of the two ancient mechanisms. Like Ying and Yang. They stabilise the core of the earth. Each planet has such mechanisms to make sure the planet keeps its angle, orbit, etc. One mechanism is always in the North, the other in the south. When you take the south mechanism and combine in the North at the second mechanism a giant door opens on the floor. Pure darkness, everything frozen and dead. Some skulls and strange sounds. It's the way to the center of the earth. You may know it as Agartha or Hyperborea. Whatever the name, the Greeks did not lie. It does exist.
(Not quite sure how that story would be directed and from whose perspective it would be told, but that would be a banger)
After several days of travel through the pure darkness, although they had lamps, some of the researchers went crazy and stabbed themselves to death. The further it goes, the louder the sounds. Is this hell? If we are going down, how is gravity working here? Is this down or forward? At the end of the tunnel there is light. Big contrast to the pure darkness. A huge man greets them. Easily the height of 4 meters. His legs - thick as a tree. He made the sounds. His singing did. The voice deep and yet calming.
(I wish a similar story existed. Building upon Hyperborea or Agartha)
Burkina Ouagadougou burst through the door. "At last!" she screeched. "I've found you, dreaded neckbeard!"
The large, nerdy man sat in a chair, staring at a computer terminal on a filthy desk, its surface overflowing with garbage. He slowly turned around to behold the interloper.
"Oh, hi, Burki," he drawled. "It's an honor to meet you. I *loved* your last show!"
"That's just *it*!" she thundered. "That was my *last* show! I'm unemployed now!"
The neckbeard reared back. "Really? That's awful. What happened?"
"*You* happened!" she boomed. "You and your nerd tech replaced all of us with computer-generated holograms! Now *they* strut down the catwalk!"
He shrugged. "Sorry, can't be helped. Your bosses wanted to cut costs, and I'm the sort of person that can do that for them."
"I can't fight my bosses," she admitted. "They're too powerful. You'll have to do."
"Sure, why not," he groaned. "I spent my childhood getting picked on, and nothing changes in adulthood."
"I–" she began, then she hung her head. "I'm sorry. I don't know what else to do."
"There must be *something* else you could do for a living with your talents!" he asserted.
"Like what?" she whined.
He looked her up and down. "I have a few ideas," he leered.
Her eyes narrowed. "I'll *bet* you do, you sleaze!" she spat. She put her hands on her hips. "At least modeling had a teaspoon of dignity."
"And you got paid awfully well for doing practically nothing!" he chimed.
"Exactly," she huffed. "*Now* how am I supposed to pay for the lifestyle to which I've become accustomed?"
"What's so expensive about it?" he asked.
"The cocaine!" she blared. "How do you think I stay so thin?"
"Maybe you could try eating less, and exercising," he suggested.
"Oh yeah?" she sputtered. "How's that going for *you*?"
"I'm not obsessed with my appearance," he revealed. "That's *your* conceit."
She was silent for a moment. "It's more than that," she hinted.
"Oh?" he prompted. "Like what?"
She let out a long sigh. "*Fine*. I'll tell you. You know how they call us 'supermodels'? It's not for nothing. In my off time, I fight crime. I'm also known as the Black Tarantula."
He perked up. "Wow! I'm impressed! You really *are* a force for good!"
Her shoulders slumped. "And now I can't afford to travel to all the places where crime needs to be fought. Being a supermodel was the perfect cover."
He shrugged. "Sorry, can't be helped. The boss wanted to cut costs, and I delivered that for him."
Her face curled into an angry sneer. "It'll be the last thing you ever do."
She raised her arm; a black tarantula gripped the top of her hand. With her fingers, she highlighted her overly made-up eye, revealing a large deposit of eyeshadow in the corner.
His eyes widened. "Is that the Eye of Osiris?"
"Yes," she hissed. "And it'll be the last thing you see."
A furious storm of lightning shot from her right eye; it enveloped him and his desk, and burned for several seconds. Finally, the fury died down, and she look at her handiwork. But he was still sitting there, filthy desk and all.
"*What* the –" she seethed.
"Ah ah AH!" he mocked, waggling his finger. "Not so fast!"
Her mouth hung open. "How did you survive Osiris' Revenge...?"
"Because I'm not really here!" he revealed proudly. "Try moving your hand through me!"
"No," she whimpered softly, "it's not possible." She tried to touch him, but her hand simply passed through; his image distorted slightly for a moment.
"You see?" he triumphed. "I'm a hologram too!"
"I'll..." she blubbered. "I'll find you."
"How?" he sneered. "You don't have the tech skills to track me down! Your powers are worthless here!"
She pouted. "Maybe it's best my career is over."
"Now, now," he soothed. "Don't take it like that." He sat up in his chair. "How would you like a sidekick in the fight against crime? I could be your highly able backoffice! What do you say?"
He smirked confidently. "I've read every superhero comic book there is. I'm trained, and at your disposal!" He winked at her. "Just as long as you throw me a bone every once in a while."
She stared at him, her mouth agape, unsure how to respond.
OP posted a stupid image. He chuckled to himself, "I am so funny and creative".
Nobody cared, and he would have been better off not bothering. OP was a loser.
A woman looks at a camera and a man presses a button to take a picture of the woman.
a rich British woman in Africa funding the (re)search for an ancient treasure.
None of you unimaginative clods belong on IQfy Begone with your lameness.
She let out a long sigh. "*Fine*. I'll tell you. You know how they call us 'supermodels'? It's not for nothing. In my off time, I fight crime. I'm also known as the Black Tarantula."
He perked up. "Wow! I'm impressed! You really *are* a force for good!"
Her shoulders slumped. "And now I can't afford to travel to all the places where crime needs to be fought. Being a supermodel was the perfect cover."
He shrugged. "Sorry, can't be helped. The boss wanted to cut costs, and I delivered that for him."
Her face curled into an angry sneer. "It'll be the last thing you ever do."
She raised her arm; a black tarantula gripped the top of her hand. With her fingers, she highlighted her overly made-up eye, revealing a large deposit of eyeshadow in the corner.
His eyes widened. "Is that the Eye of Osiris?"
"Yes," she hissed. "And it'll be the last thing you see."
A furious storm of lightning shot from her right eye; it enveloped him and his desk, and burned for several seconds. Finally, the fury died down, and she look at her handiwork. But he was still sitting there, filthy desk and all.
"*What* the –" she seethed.
"Ah ah AH!" he mocked, waggling his finger. "Not so fast!"
Her mouth hung open. "How did you survive Osiris' Revenge...?"
"Because I'm not really here!" he revealed proudly. "Try moving your hand through me!"
"No," she whimpered softly, "it's not possible." She tried to touch him, but her hand simply passed through; his image distorted slightly for a moment.
"You see?" he triumphed. "I'm a hologram too!"
"I'll..." she blubbered. "I'll find you."
"How?" he sneered. "You don't have the tech skills to track me down! Your powers are worthless here!"
She pouted. "Maybe it's best my career is over."
"Now, now," he soothed. "Don't take it like that." He sat up in his chair. "How would you like a sidekick in the fight against crime? I could be your highly able backoffice! What do you say?"
He smirked confidently. "I've read every superhero comic book there is. I'm trained, and at your disposal!" He winked at her. "Just as long as you throw me a bone every once in a while."
She stared at him, her mouth agape, unsure how to respond.
[...]
[...]
[...]
None of you unimaginative clods belong on IQfy Begone with your lameness.
make that one of the two ancient mechanisms. Like Ying and Yang. They stabilise the core of the earth. Each planet has such mechanisms to make sure the planet keeps its angle, orbit, etc. One mechanism is always in the North, the other in the south. When you take the south mechanism and combine in the North at the second mechanism a giant door opens on the floor. Pure darkness, everything frozen and dead. Some skulls and strange sounds. It's the way to the center of the earth. You may know it as Agartha or Hyperborea. Whatever the name, the Greeks did not lie. It does exist.
(Not quite sure how that story would be directed and from whose perspective it would be told, but that would be a banger)
After several days of travel through the pure darkness, although they had lamps, some of the researchers went crazy and stabbed themselves to death. The further it goes, the louder the sounds. Is this hell? If we are going down, how is gravity working here? Is this down or forward? At the end of the tunnel there is light. Big contrast to the pure darkness. A huge man greets them. Easily the height of 4 meters. His legs - thick as a tree. He made the sounds. His singing did. The voice deep and yet calming.
(I wish a similar story existed. Building upon Hyperborea or Agartha)
Dante was forced to his knees by the two amazons on either side.
"We found him trying to enter the dungeon my lady. We believed he was attempting to rescue the prisoner," one said.
He looked up at the woman and swallowed. The queen of spiders. Red hair hair fell down her back, and her blue eyed stare gave off an air of amusement, as if he had just saved her from an afternoon of boredom. She wore no top, and was only covered by a blue see through loin cloth. If the rumors about her were to be believed, it would've been better had he fallen to his death climbing the palace walls.
"Pray tell, what exactly is your business here?" she asked coldly as a spider the size of a teacup crawled up her arm.
At first he was frozen, his throat seemed to be stopped up as if by a rag. He looked down at his hands and clenched them, remembering his promise. Finding a small amount of resolve he looked straight into her eyes.
"She's my sister."
"Is that so?" she said back. "She's very pretty. Too pretty."
She stood, her breasts shaking as she walked towards him.
"You know the law about being more beautiful than your own queen."
He bent his head. "I'm not sure she is your highness."
"Oh? Let's see if we can't make you admit that with a little more conviction."
Dante was forced to his knees by the two amazons on either side.
"We found him trying to enter the dungeon my lady. We believed he was attempting to rescue the prisoner," one said.
He looked up at the woman and swallowed. The queen of spiders. Red hair hair fell down her back, and her blue eyed stare gave off an air of amusement, as if he had just saved her from an afternoon of boredom. She wore no top, and was only covered by a blue see through loin cloth. If the rumors about her were to be believed, it would've been better had he fallen to his death climbing the palace walls.
"Pray tell, what exactly is your business here?" she asked coldly as a spider the size of a teacup crawled up her arm.
At first he was frozen, his throat seemed to be stopped up as if by a rag. He looked down at his hands and clenched them, remembering his promise. Finding a small amount of resolve he looked straight into her eyes.
"She's my sister."
"Is that so?" she said back. "She's very pretty. Too pretty."
She stood, her breasts shaking as she walked towards him.
"You know the law about being more beautiful than your own queen."
He bent his head. "I'm not sure she is your highness."
"Oh? Let's see if we can't make you admit that with a little more conviction."
Her feminine penis flopped around in the wind as she posed for another selfie. As she snapped it she noticed the huge spider on her arm and froze in terror.
"Do you want to be famous?" asked the spider.
Her mind flew away into fantasies about fancy blimps and expensive chairs made of silk and caviar.
"I do want to be famous" she answered, almost forgetting that she was speaking to a spider.
The spider replied "all I want you to do is ruin something beautiful and I will give you fame." before vanishing.
The troony did something stupid, got sort of famous for it but didn't enjoy it. The moral of the story is about family.
"Our newest exhibit has an unusual history," the wax museum curator announced to the small crowd of fat tourists.
"Unlike most of our items, this was a custom request, made to order for a private donor. Allegedly, his first wife died under mysterious circumstances."
One particularly homely boy in the group picked his nose while focusing intently on his phone, which loudly whizzed and dinged and rang with sounds from some unknown game.
"Yes," the curator continued unperturbed, "its quite curious."
"The donor was an amateur Archaeologist, fascinated with relics of the past. A total eccentric; the kind of eccentrism that would be labeled delusional in a man less wealthy."
Two of the tourists, a middle aged asian couple, stood less than six inches from the curator, taking pictures of his face.
"He was always travelling; South America, Asia, the Middle East. His goal was unclear, it seems everyone who spoke with him had a different idea of what exactly drove the man. But there was a common theme: he always seemed to be searching for some supernatural element; chasing rumors of a mummy's curse in Egypt, or tales of a Chupacabra in Latin America. He met his wife on one such expedition; she was originally a researcher hired for one of his quests."
"Tarntulas could be here" she thought, "I've never been in this spiderverse before. There could be tarntulas anywhere." The cool wind felt good against her bare chest. "I HATE tarntulas" she thought. Sweet Dreams are Made of These reverberated her entire black void, making it pulsate even as the $9 wine circulated through her weak feminine veins and washed away her (merited) fear of spiders after dark. "With a mouth, you can blow anyone" she said to herself, out loud.
I was at one of these aforementioned 'big deal' parties with Jay. The more of these I went to, the more I realised that the bigness of the deal according to Jay was proportional to how many drugs were in his system and how horny he was. Still, I wasn't in the habit of turning the bastard down, and since the place was nearby, I said "Sure." Jay was very fricking happy he'd "turned me back around from that b***h." To this day, I have no idea what the hell Jay's problem was with her. As far as I know, they've never even spoken.
I was also on the rebound in a bad way. I'll admit now that at first I was under the delusion that Jess would come running back into my arms any day now. Now, though, I figured that she was gone for good. I had tried for about two days to make myself hate her so I wouldn't miss her as much, but Jesus, like that'd ever work. Now there was just this sense of overwhelming absence haunting me. Jay's party seemed like an alright way to frick and drink myself away from it.
Entering it, though, my mind changed almost immediately. I came up with a billion different reasons - I didn't really recognise anyone, this music is awful, I can feel a headache coming on - to abort and go straight home. Actually, just entering the place, I felt lonely as frick, and I turned to my left to say as much to my buddy, but he was already in game mode. I thought of Jess, and all that 'betraying the memory of our love' stuff, but then I thought about how she'd fricked me over and left me without even talking to me, just leaving a shitty note on the bedstand, like that was all I deserved. It all really started to piss me off, and I decided I wouldn't be ruled by her b***hy whims any longer.
Taking my partner's cue, I looked around the room and straight away I saw who I was interested in. It was this blonde girl, standing by some kind of glass box. She was holding her hands behind her back and looking into the middle distance in a very girlish, very sort of kitten on the catwalk way, and I'll admit that stuff really gets me. I meandered, very casually, over. Meanwhile, Jay had set his eyes on some black girl and he practically sprinted over on all fours like a hyena. As it happened, though, just as I was within reach of this girl, I was intercepted. I had missed a face in the crowd and I ended up in a brief conversation with this Silicon Valley prick I had met a couple months ago. I kind of cut him off, but I didn't feel too bad about it. He really was a terrible prick. The last time I had met him, he started the conversation by telling me about all the people he had fired by Tuesday of that week. The more drunk he got, the more he started talking about the Romans.
Finally, I reached this girl. I must have given myself away, because she kind of glanced up, smiled all glassy and said: "Sorry... I'm only here for a friend. Actually, I'm just leaving." Okay, bullshit, she'd been standing by that glass thing for about five minutes now, but I didn't give up. "C'mon, you can stay a little longer, right?" (My weakness with girls is that I can't come back if I start on the wrong foot.) She looked down at her hand then, and she said to herself, "Well, what do you think?" And then she raised it up right to my face... and on it, was this massive, hairy, ugly, frick-off spider. I kind of yelped, and I thought she made as if she'd fling it at me. All the while, she was smiling and giggling to herself.
I walked right out of the place, then and there. I think Jay called to me as I left, but I wasn't in the mood to stay for another second. I swear to God, I feel like I'm cursed.
Mrs Spider wrists had finally finished her masturbation session for the day, she reclined on her bean bag chair filled with spider eggs and rolled a cigarette with tobacco she had grown herself, in her vegana.
Mrs Spider wrists vegana, like most veganas was actually a large agrarian commune filled with anti government types and a couple of mk ultra cast off hippies who farmed organic tobacco for their enormous queen. Mrs Spider wrists is, by the way, about 200 feet tall and lives in the marianas trench, the dry part.
She woke up at noon, and lit another cigarette thinking out loud "today is the day, today I will finally be the change I want to see in the world,"
that's when she began sharpening her axe...
OP posted a stupid image. He chuckled to himself, "I am so funny and creative".
Nobody cared, and he would have been better off not bothering. OP was a loser.
A woman looks at a camera and a man presses a button to take a picture of the woman.
a rich British woman in Africa funding the (re)search for an ancient treasure.
make that one of the two ancient mechanisms. Like Ying and Yang. They stabilise the core of the earth. Each planet has such mechanisms to make sure the planet keeps its angle, orbit, etc. One mechanism is always in the North, the other in the south. When you take the south mechanism and combine in the North at the second mechanism a giant door opens on the floor. Pure darkness, everything frozen and dead. Some skulls and strange sounds. It's the way to the center of the earth. You may know it as Agartha or Hyperborea. Whatever the name, the Greeks did not lie. It does exist.
(Not quite sure how that story would be directed and from whose perspective it would be told, but that would be a banger)
After several days of travel through the pure darkness, although they had lamps, some of the researchers went crazy and stabbed themselves to death. The further it goes, the louder the sounds. Is this hell? If we are going down, how is gravity working here? Is this down or forward? At the end of the tunnel there is light. Big contrast to the pure darkness. A huge man greets them. Easily the height of 4 meters. His legs - thick as a tree. He made the sounds. His singing did. The voice deep and yet calming.
(I wish a similar story existed. Building upon Hyperborea or Agartha)
Burkina Ouagadougou burst through the door. "At last!" she screeched. "I've found you, dreaded neckbeard!"
The large, nerdy man sat in a chair, staring at a computer terminal on a filthy desk, its surface overflowing with garbage. He slowly turned around to behold the interloper.
"Oh, hi, Burki," he drawled. "It's an honor to meet you. I *loved* your last show!"
"That's just *it*!" she thundered. "That was my *last* show! I'm unemployed now!"
The neckbeard reared back. "Really? That's awful. What happened?"
"*You* happened!" she boomed. "You and your nerd tech replaced all of us with computer-generated holograms! Now *they* strut down the catwalk!"
He shrugged. "Sorry, can't be helped. Your bosses wanted to cut costs, and I'm the sort of person that can do that for them."
"I can't fight my bosses," she admitted. "They're too powerful. You'll have to do."
"Sure, why not," he groaned. "I spent my childhood getting picked on, and nothing changes in adulthood."
"I–" she began, then she hung her head. "I'm sorry. I don't know what else to do."
"There must be *something* else you could do for a living with your talents!" he asserted.
"Like what?" she whined.
He looked her up and down. "I have a few ideas," he leered.
Her eyes narrowed. "I'll *bet* you do, you sleaze!" she spat. She put her hands on her hips. "At least modeling had a teaspoon of dignity."
"And you got paid awfully well for doing practically nothing!" he chimed.
"Exactly," she huffed. "*Now* how am I supposed to pay for the lifestyle to which I've become accustomed?"
"What's so expensive about it?" he asked.
"The cocaine!" she blared. "How do you think I stay so thin?"
"Maybe you could try eating less, and exercising," he suggested.
"Oh yeah?" she sputtered. "How's that going for *you*?"
"I'm not obsessed with my appearance," he revealed. "That's *your* conceit."
She was silent for a moment. "It's more than that," she hinted.
"Oh?" he prompted. "Like what?"
She let out a long sigh. "*Fine*. I'll tell you. You know how they call us 'supermodels'? It's not for nothing. In my off time, I fight crime. I'm also known as the Black Tarantula."
He perked up. "Wow! I'm impressed! You really *are* a force for good!"
Her shoulders slumped. "And now I can't afford to travel to all the places where crime needs to be fought. Being a supermodel was the perfect cover."
He shrugged. "Sorry, can't be helped. The boss wanted to cut costs, and I delivered that for him."
Her face curled into an angry sneer. "It'll be the last thing you ever do."
She raised her arm; a black tarantula gripped the top of her hand. With her fingers, she highlighted her overly made-up eye, revealing a large deposit of eyeshadow in the corner.
His eyes widened. "Is that the Eye of Osiris?"
"Yes," she hissed. "And it'll be the last thing you see."
A furious storm of lightning shot from her right eye; it enveloped him and his desk, and burned for several seconds. Finally, the fury died down, and she look at her handiwork. But he was still sitting there, filthy desk and all.
"*What* the –" she seethed.
"Ah ah AH!" he mocked, waggling his finger. "Not so fast!"
Her mouth hung open. "How did you survive Osiris' Revenge...?"
"Because I'm not really here!" he revealed proudly. "Try moving your hand through me!"
"No," she whimpered softly, "it's not possible." She tried to touch him, but her hand simply passed through; his image distorted slightly for a moment.
"You see?" he triumphed. "I'm a hologram too!"
"I'll..." she blubbered. "I'll find you."
"How?" he sneered. "You don't have the tech skills to track me down! Your powers are worthless here!"
She pouted. "Maybe it's best my career is over."
"Now, now," he soothed. "Don't take it like that." He sat up in his chair. "How would you like a sidekick in the fight against crime? I could be your highly able backoffice! What do you say?"
He smirked confidently. "I've read every superhero comic book there is. I'm trained, and at your disposal!" He winked at her. "Just as long as you throw me a bone every once in a while."
She stared at him, her mouth agape, unsure how to respond.
None of you unimaginative clods belong on IQfy Begone with your lameness.
AI or moronic
Then post something better, seething coward.
Dante was forced to his knees by the two amazons on either side.
"We found him trying to enter the dungeon my lady. We believed he was attempting to rescue the prisoner," one said.
He looked up at the woman and swallowed. The queen of spiders. Red hair hair fell down her back, and her blue eyed stare gave off an air of amusement, as if he had just saved her from an afternoon of boredom. She wore no top, and was only covered by a blue see through loin cloth. If the rumors about her were to be believed, it would've been better had he fallen to his death climbing the palace walls.
"Pray tell, what exactly is your business here?" she asked coldly as a spider the size of a teacup crawled up her arm.
At first he was frozen, his throat seemed to be stopped up as if by a rag. He looked down at his hands and clenched them, remembering his promise. Finding a small amount of resolve he looked straight into her eyes.
"She's my sister."
"Is that so?" she said back. "She's very pretty. Too pretty."
She stood, her breasts shaking as she walked towards him.
"You know the law about being more beautiful than your own queen."
He bent his head. "I'm not sure she is your highness."
"Oh? Let's see if we can't make you admit that with a little more conviction."
Her feminine penis flopped around in the wind as she posed for another selfie. As she snapped it she noticed the huge spider on her arm and froze in terror.
"Do you want to be famous?" asked the spider.
Her mind flew away into fantasies about fancy blimps and expensive chairs made of silk and caviar.
"I do want to be famous" she answered, almost forgetting that she was speaking to a spider.
The spider replied "all I want you to do is ruin something beautiful and I will give you fame." before vanishing.
The troony did something stupid, got sort of famous for it but didn't enjoy it. The moral of the story is about family.
He was a boy
She was a girl
Can I make it any more obvious?
He was a punk
She did ballet
What more can I say?
"Our newest exhibit has an unusual history," the wax museum curator announced to the small crowd of fat tourists.
"Unlike most of our items, this was a custom request, made to order for a private donor. Allegedly, his first wife died under mysterious circumstances."
One particularly homely boy in the group picked his nose while focusing intently on his phone, which loudly whizzed and dinged and rang with sounds from some unknown game.
"Yes," the curator continued unperturbed, "its quite curious."
"The donor was an amateur Archaeologist, fascinated with relics of the past. A total eccentric; the kind of eccentrism that would be labeled delusional in a man less wealthy."
Two of the tourists, a middle aged asian couple, stood less than six inches from the curator, taking pictures of his face.
"He was always travelling; South America, Asia, the Middle East. His goal was unclear, it seems everyone who spoke with him had a different idea of what exactly drove the man. But there was a common theme: he always seemed to be searching for some supernatural element; chasing rumors of a mummy's curse in Egypt, or tales of a Chupacabra in Latin America. He met his wife on one such expedition; she was originally a researcher hired for one of his quests."
I got a new tarantula, because my husband knows I like spiders. I decided to take a picture with my new friend/present.
THE END
"Tarntulas could be here" she thought, "I've never been in this spiderverse before. There could be tarntulas anywhere." The cool wind felt good against her bare chest. "I HATE tarntulas" she thought. Sweet Dreams are Made of These reverberated her entire black void, making it pulsate even as the $9 wine circulated through her weak feminine veins and washed away her (merited) fear of spiders after dark. "With a mouth, you can blow anyone" she said to herself, out loud.
I was at one of these aforementioned 'big deal' parties with Jay. The more of these I went to, the more I realised that the bigness of the deal according to Jay was proportional to how many drugs were in his system and how horny he was. Still, I wasn't in the habit of turning the bastard down, and since the place was nearby, I said "Sure." Jay was very fricking happy he'd "turned me back around from that b***h." To this day, I have no idea what the hell Jay's problem was with her. As far as I know, they've never even spoken.
I was also on the rebound in a bad way. I'll admit now that at first I was under the delusion that Jess would come running back into my arms any day now. Now, though, I figured that she was gone for good. I had tried for about two days to make myself hate her so I wouldn't miss her as much, but Jesus, like that'd ever work. Now there was just this sense of overwhelming absence haunting me. Jay's party seemed like an alright way to frick and drink myself away from it.
Entering it, though, my mind changed almost immediately. I came up with a billion different reasons - I didn't really recognise anyone, this music is awful, I can feel a headache coming on - to abort and go straight home. Actually, just entering the place, I felt lonely as frick, and I turned to my left to say as much to my buddy, but he was already in game mode. I thought of Jess, and all that 'betraying the memory of our love' stuff, but then I thought about how she'd fricked me over and left me without even talking to me, just leaving a shitty note on the bedstand, like that was all I deserved. It all really started to piss me off, and I decided I wouldn't be ruled by her b***hy whims any longer.
(1/2)
Taking my partner's cue, I looked around the room and straight away I saw who I was interested in. It was this blonde girl, standing by some kind of glass box. She was holding her hands behind her back and looking into the middle distance in a very girlish, very sort of kitten on the catwalk way, and I'll admit that stuff really gets me. I meandered, very casually, over. Meanwhile, Jay had set his eyes on some black girl and he practically sprinted over on all fours like a hyena. As it happened, though, just as I was within reach of this girl, I was intercepted. I had missed a face in the crowd and I ended up in a brief conversation with this Silicon Valley prick I had met a couple months ago. I kind of cut him off, but I didn't feel too bad about it. He really was a terrible prick. The last time I had met him, he started the conversation by telling me about all the people he had fired by Tuesday of that week. The more drunk he got, the more he started talking about the Romans.
Finally, I reached this girl. I must have given myself away, because she kind of glanced up, smiled all glassy and said: "Sorry... I'm only here for a friend. Actually, I'm just leaving." Okay, bullshit, she'd been standing by that glass thing for about five minutes now, but I didn't give up. "C'mon, you can stay a little longer, right?" (My weakness with girls is that I can't come back if I start on the wrong foot.) She looked down at her hand then, and she said to herself, "Well, what do you think?" And then she raised it up right to my face... and on it, was this massive, hairy, ugly, frick-off spider. I kind of yelped, and I thought she made as if she'd fling it at me. All the while, she was smiling and giggling to herself.
I walked right out of the place, then and there. I think Jay called to me as I left, but I wasn't in the mood to stay for another second. I swear to God, I feel like I'm cursed.
(2/2)
Mrs Spider wrists had finally finished her masturbation session for the day, she reclined on her bean bag chair filled with spider eggs and rolled a cigarette with tobacco she had grown herself, in her vegana.
Mrs Spider wrists vegana, like most veganas was actually a large agrarian commune filled with anti government types and a couple of mk ultra cast off hippies who farmed organic tobacco for their enormous queen. Mrs Spider wrists is, by the way, about 200 feet tall and lives in the marianas trench, the dry part.
She woke up at noon, and lit another cigarette thinking out loud "today is the day, today I will finally be the change I want to see in the world,"
that's when she began sharpening her axe...