|# ¿ Jan 8, 2019 17:11|
|# ¿ Dec 7, 2022 13:55|
Word count: I dunno, somewhere around 800. I'm late.
Dan sighed inwardly as a naked Brad clapped rocks in his front yard. “Almost made it through life without seeing a FUPA,” he muttered, moving away from the window.
Dan strained against the door until it opened enough to allow a Brad sized person through. “Christ on a kite, man! Stop banging those rocks and get your rear end in here before anything else sees you.”
Brad did not stop banging his rocks. He ran to Dan with a panicked look on his face. His body was glistening with sweat and his cheeks were ruddy. He stumbled inside and braced himself against the bannister, struggling to catch his breath. Dan grunted, putting the weight of his entire body into closing the door until it latched shut with a satisfying thunk. His ears popped with the sudden pressure.
Dan worked his jaw for a moment. “Can you talk?”
Brad shook his head, his jowls wobbling.
“What the gently caress…” Dan muttered under his breath. He stormed to his calendar and studied the dates. “It’s mating season. What the gently caress… Where were you caught? The park?”
Brad shook his head no.
“Good thinking coming here. It’s like the wild west inside that store.” He turned to face Brad, a sudden panic clawing up his chest with a realization. He shoved it down, needing to think clearly. He spoke slowly, scared of the answer. “Was Naomi with you?”
Brad blinked rapidly, not wanting to cry in front of Dan and nodded sharply
The they stood unmoving, an uncomfortable silence yawning between the friends.
Dan cleared his throat and dropped his gaze, the pit in his stomach growing heavier with an extra dose of shame added to the mix. “Brad, I can’t go out there. I uh-,” he cleared his throat again. “I still have my son’s neck guard you can use and you can borrow a shotgun with extra shells.” He trailed off when his eyes met Brad’s.
Brad, still unable to speak, stood up straighter. There was no blame or hostility in his eyes. To knowingly go outside when the wolves were hunting was nearly the same as putting a gun in your own mouth and pulling the trigger. Brad nodded and mouthed, “Okay.”
Brad was so scared he felt physically ill. He was sweating like it was the middle of summer even though it was only mid January. His hands shook uncontrollably so he straightened his index finger to the side of the shotgun so he wouldn’t accidentally blow a hole in his foot.
He kept moving forward. His bowels were ice and every alarm bell in his head told him to run and be a coward like Dan, but against his character he slowly followed the knocked over items, deep into Voidmart™, towards the wolves’ den. Naomi could already be dead, but he knew he would end up playing Russian Roulette if he didn’t at the very least try to save his wife.
He heard a soft click of claw against floor.
Brad spun, the shotgun raised, fear all but replaced with adrenaline. Out of the corner of his eye, gray fur blurred passed his periphery. The shotgun exploded and the deep boom echoed in the store. He missed. Four shots left. A woman screamed nearby in surprise. Naomi.
Something hard slammed into the back of Brad’s knee and he went down, catching himself before falling on his face. He quickly rolled to sit on his rear end and brought the gun up. From the side, a large wolf with gleaming teeth lunged at Brad and it by instinct he brought the stock of the weapon straight into the wolf’s nose.
It bought Brad only a few moments, so he leaned back to aim the gun, but the wolf slid under the muzzle as the second shot exploded in a mess of gunpowder and noise. Claws sank into Brad’s chest as it scrambled up his body and suddenly the wolf’s glowing eyes locked on to his.
The wolf clamped its jaws into the leather and steel of Brad’s neck guard.
Desperate to survive, Brad enclosed his arms around the wolf’s neck and with the knowledge that this could very well be his final act, squeezed with the strength of a 500lbs. man. The wolf growled and jerked against his grip. Brad felt hot blood running across his chest. Still he held on.
A gunshot rang out and blood splashed against his face. The wolf’s struggle became less frantic and Brad heard a wet wheeze come from its throat. Dan’s boot shoved the dying wolf off of Brad’s bloody chest. His face came into view, deep bloodied scratches across his nose, but smiling. Naomi’s tear streaked face came flying into view and peppered his face with sobbing kisses.
“Let’s get the gently caress out of here,” Dan said.
“Help me up,” Brad croaked, happy he was able to speak again.
|# ¿ Jan 14, 2019 13:23|
Better DQ than failing. Anyone want some unruly kids?
|# ¿ Jan 14, 2019 13:35|
is this just fight week, no prompts? i guess someone better fight me then
loving put them up you piece of cabbage
Give me two weeks to submit!
|# ¿ Jan 15, 2019 21:43|
poo poo sons. Thanks for the solid crits!
|# ¿ Jan 17, 2019 12:13|
BRAWL SUBMISSION BIOTCHES
Love of Our Lifetimes
“I looked at Kelly Miller’s face. Covered with spiders. Laughing like an idiot. She didn’t care that one of those bugs could crawl into her mouth. Hell, she didn’t even care that we were inside a car plummeting off the side of a cliff. She was living in the moment, with me.
“Some context for those who weren’t there for our engagement party. You see, Kelly Miller, the prankster that she is, cut the brake lines and somehow replaced the airbags with a pound of live, angry spiders I’ve ever seen,” Cameron chuckled wistfully. “Black Widows. I think at least twenty of them bit me before the car exploded at the bottom of the ravine.”
The crowd murmured with polite laughter.
“I couldn’t let that stroke of brilliance go by without trying to top it, so later that year we went skydiving. The look on your face when kitchen utensils came spilling out of your pack, Kelly Miller, was prime.” Cameron sighed theatrically and turned to smile at Kelly who also had a bright smile across her face. “I wish you were there to see my face when I realized you stuffed my parachute with more poisonous spiders. Brown Recluse. I was dead before I hit the ground. The clone facility told me there were proximity mines all over the landing zone so it took them a few days to recover all the body parts. Prime!”
The crowd laughed and golf clapped politely.
Cameron continued when the crowd quieted down. “That’s what I love about you Kelly Miller. You think ahead, you’re thorough and you pay attention to detail. But most importantly, you’re extremely rich, just like me.”
Kelly smiled warmly and fanned her eyes, blinking back tears. “He’s right,” she mouthed to the watching audience.
“I want to thank everyone here for allowing the two of us to pamper all of you. I know it’s hard being relatively poor and I’m honored we were able to save you from that drudgery, if at least for only a month.” Cameron raised his glass and everyone in attendance did the same. “To us. May we live forever!”
Everyone sipped from their champagne flutes.
Kelly burst into sudden laughter, flecks of bloody spittle staining the priceless linen on loan from the Louvre. Cameron giggled like a child holding on to the funniest secret.
“What kind of wine is this?” Kelly gurgled, blood foaming up out of her mouth.
Cameron hid his smile behind his hands, his shoulders shaking with glee. “It’s all liquid cyanide!”
The crowd collectively cried out in horror and spat out their drinks. One guest slapped the drink out of his wife’s hand. Another guest vomited and sobbed loudly.
Kelly slapped the table. “Prime!” she shouted. Her head lolled forward and her mouth hung agape. A line of bloody drool dripped from her mouth. Dead. Many wedding guests are instantly on their feet, shouting incoherently and pointing at the newly made corpse.
Cameron stood up with hands in a placating gesture. “Alright everyone, relax. I know no one else in here can afford clones. Your drinks are fine,” he said dismissively. He snapped his fingers and held hand out in wait. A server came and handed Cameron a knife in an ornate sheath. He slid the knife out, a priceless artifact dating back to the Roman Empire and tossed the scabbard past the server’s hands.
“Time to cut the cake and keep this party going,” Cameron said. With practiced efficiency, he slid the knife into the six foot cake; and like squeezing an overripe fruit, angry Brazilian Wandering spiders exploded out in a brown quivering mass and swarmed him.
The wedding hall erupted in panic. Chairs and tables are overturned in the rush to escape the venomous horde. The cries of children cut through the cacophony. The elderly were shoved to the floor as a means to slow down the sea of chittering creatures.
Cameron, ignoring the pandemonium happening all around him, guffawed, looking down through swollen eyelids at his painfully erect penis. “Kelly Miller. Always paying attention to the details.” The muscles in his legs gave out and he collapsed to the floor, crushing some spiders into a priceless rug from the Ming Dynasty. “drat do I love that woman.”
Mercedes fucked around with this message at 19:35 on Feb 1, 2019
|# ¿ Jan 25, 2019 20:18|
Just an FYI I have no idea why the heck my spacing between paragraphs are so wonky. I just copy/paste straight from google doc and it looks normal there.
gently caress you.
|# ¿ Jan 25, 2019 20:21|
Surreptitious Blowout Fungal Butt Brawl
Oh poo poo where's my loving popcorn
|# ¿ Jan 28, 2019 19:11|
It's loving Antarctica up here in Michigan you fucks! JOLLY ME GODDAMNIT!
|# ¿ Jan 29, 2019 22:53|
Derp, you only have a few hours left. Don't be leaving us hanging.
|# ¿ Jan 31, 2019 01:17|
Derp's final words. Wasted my time.
|# ¿ Jan 31, 2019 12:25|
Hold up the judging for a moment I got a callout.
Well done, you piece of poo poo. I'm proud of you.
|# ¿ Feb 4, 2019 18:10|
My deepest apologies for my pathetic failure. Maybe I'll return someday, but if td can't inspire me to write I don't know what will. Good luck, and God speed
I'm okay with giving you an extra week if mojo is okay with the extension.
|# ¿ Feb 6, 2019 12:32|
Wait what. loving cyber punk? Count me in you gently caress heads
|# ¿ Feb 14, 2019 19:48|
What in tarnation kind of contraption do you use to keep time, TD Spouse?
|# ¿ Feb 14, 2019 19:52|
Prime crit sebmojo
|# ¿ Feb 15, 2019 16:42|
I haven't in`d in awhile. Give me the good poo poo.
|# ¿ May 29, 2019 18:21|
A strong, calloused hand gripped my leatherbound handle and my knight unsheathed me into the blinding sunlight with thrilling speed. My steel sang and I barely held back a shiver of pleasure as I bit through the humid air. I collided with a dirty sword, sparks flying everywhere as I severed that bitch in twain. With a masterful twirl, my hot knight slid me forward and docked me into a scared little soldier boy. He was so warm and inviting, I couldn’t hold it in anymore. “gently caress yea big daddy, shove me in again, don’t stop!” I moaned, really digging his moves.
My sexy beast of a knight stopped and looked at me, baffled. In that moment of distraction he was cut down and I tumbled to the ground.
“You’re probably wondering to yourself, ‘What kind of noise is that? What the hell is going on?’ Well first off, rude. I’ve practiced that noise forever and it’s rad. Second, if you’re expecting an exposition dump, you better back the-”
A booted foot caught the tip of my blade as it ran past and left a few toes behind as a souvenir. The knight went down screaming. I shivered pleasurably as that sweet human juice got my own juices going.
Later, after I composed myself, I focused my attention back to the bottom half of the human I bisected. “Sorry for the interruption,” I resumed. “Listen man, I don’t know what I’m doing wrong. In Magic Sword School I was always taught that if I were to be myself, one day some Noble Warrior - I capitalized that if you didn’t catch my inflection - will be drawn to my power and we’ll be a famous duo!
“Well, it’s all bullshit. The first dude who found me was closely inspecting my sweet blade when he tripped and he took me in the mouth. Like all of me. Down to the hilt. loving gnarly.
“I really thought I had something with this second guy. I apparently distracted him by speaking for the first time and now he’s all full of holes,” I said.
Moments passed in silence as I stared at the human legs.
“You’re a good listener. I know we’ll be long friends.”
~One hour later~
“I HATE YOU, YOU HEADLESS MEAT MUPPET! I hope when you’re in hell they put you with people who chew with their mouths open and with people whose superpower is swamp rear end!”
~One more hour later~
Footsteps! “Please help me stranger! I’ve been stuck here for at least seven thousand hundred years!” I shouted. They paused for a long moment, as if deciding if it was safe, then finally made their way in my direction.
A young boy knelt near what was obviously a dead dude. “Are you badly injured? Can you walk?”
“No, I’m not injured. I’m a sword though, so I don’t have any legs. Yet.” I looked at my ex-best friend with scorn. “Your sister is a whore,” I rasped at him.
The boy swung his gaze in my direction and frowned, the grime on his face making him look much uglier than he was. Probably.
“Over here my dude,” I said.
The boy moved his lips as if to say something, paused and then said, “You’re a sword? He crouched down right next to me. “And you can talk?”
“I’m actually the sword to your left,” I said, “and yes! I can talk. I’m a magic sword.”
He reached forward to pick me up, then pulled back right before. “Magic? What kind of magic?”
“I do real cool poo poo, kid! Like Hero stuff. I bet I can probably make the pubes on your face into a real beard.”
The kid lifted me up and his eyes went wide with surprise when my magic exploded through his body. “Holy poo poo, you’re a magic sword!” He grinned. “Every magic sword needs a name.”
“I actually already have a name. It’s Steve.”
The boy looked at me incredulously. “That’s a dumb name for a sword!”
“What about ‘Four Horsemen’ or ‘ Excalibur’?” He asked, deep off in his own world.
“The Fuckbringer! Perfect!” he said. Then turned to go and went absolutely still. “Oh poo poo, oh poo poo…” he chanted in a terrified whisper.
I looked at the large group of armed men with horse drawn carts making their way toward us. “What are they?”
“I’m dead. They kill scavengers like me,” he said.
I looked again. “What? Those bitches? There’s like no more than three bitches there.”
The boy looked sharply at me. “You can’t count? What kind of magic sword are you?”
I felt the coming battle and my naked steel hardened. “I’m the type of magic sword who doesn’t need loving numbers. We can take them as long as you trust in me.”
The boy opened his mouth to protest, but I cut him off.
“Today, you are no longer a boy,” I said. Magic throbbed from me into his body and a two foot beard sprung from his face. His arms, chest, and balls were covered with a thick impenetrable forest of hair and his muscles swelled as if his sole purpose in life was to chop down trees all the live-long day. “What’s your name?” I asked.
“Killian,” he said, with a much deeper and richer voice. He looked down noticed his massive erection.
“You feel that Killian? That a bit of me inside of you. We’re gonna gently caress those guys until no one can walk.” I pulsed more magic into Killian and his eyes focused on the men with a bloodlust. “It’s gonna be a bukkake of blood, I can feel it in my stones. You ready for this Killian?”
In response, Killian roared and charged the group of knights with the speed of a racing horse.
I tested out my new name in a battlecry, “I AM THE FUCKBRINGER!”
It’s growing on me.
|# ¿ Jun 3, 2019 03:06|
Mercedes fucked around with this message at 15:28 on Jun 3, 2019
|# ¿ Jun 3, 2019 14:15|
Omfg, you still have the fresh print of a mushroom stamp on your forehead.
|# ¿ Jun 16, 2019 02:51|
The Father of Exorcism
Word Count: 1544 spooky words
“Harold, please put the gun down,” Marche asked with a hand out in a placating gesture. “I only came here to help.”
Harold, who had just learned how to walk, toddled precariously at Marche while holding a massive Desert Eagle pistol in his adorable baby hands. When the year old infant spoke, he remarkably sounded like Samuel L Jackson, except angrier. “Lie to me again, motherfucker!” He shouted, turning the gun sideways. “Padre, you ain’t going nowhere, you basic bitch.”
Marche tried looking as defenseless as possible with his shoulders hunched and his gaze averted. If I get out of this, God, I swear I’ll go to confession and become a new man, he thought to himself.
“I think it’s time you say hello to your God, you loving worm,” Harold hissed. He pulled the trigger.
+ 12 hours earlier +
Marche slam dunked the baby into some holy water to the smiles of parents and onlookers. He yanked the baby out from the water and with a practiced motion, tossed her to his nun assistant. He crossed himself and then held his arms outstretched, bathing in the adoration meant for the Almighty.
Later, while munching Body of Christ™ wafers and watching ‘Father Ted’ in his study, there was a light knock on his door. “Come in!” he said around a mouth full of holy treats.
A man and a woman, visibly ground down by the yolk of parenthood timidly entered the room and stood by the door; too scared to do anything of their own volition.
Marche gave them a look that said, “Please take a seat over in the two comfortable chairs I have right there for this exact purpose.”
The couple returned a look that said, “Holy poo poo! We’re scared out of our flippin’ minds and we no longer know how to respond in social situations!”
The dad had a look that said, “I think I soiled myself on the drive over here.” Upon closer inspection, Marche found that the dad, indeed, had a drying stain over his crotch.
Marche broke the silence with a question. “What brings you here tonight?”
The mom burst into tears and the dad clutched her tightly to him, both needing each other’s proximity for comfort. “Our son is possessed by the devil,” the dad said.
“Deus meus,” Marche whispered loud enough so the couple heard. He felt dropping a few latin phrases here and there lent to an air of legitimacy. “What have you seen that makes you think possession?”
“He,” the dad started and then hardened his face. “He called my wife a ‘Filthy, oval office-munching, scissoring whore’, among other things I don’t want to repeat.”
Marche paused, his eyebrows creasing as he processed this information. “I don’t think possession would be what I would go with here. Teenagers can say some pretty hurtful things to their parents. I remember when I was a youngster-”
“Our son is only a one year old!” the mom blurted out before devolving into body shaking sobs. “My baby is possessed by a monster!” She wailed into her husband’s shoulder.
“Oh poo poo,” Marche said before he could stop himself.
+ 11 hours later +
Marche stood outside a ranch style home with the two sniffling parents at approximately one in the morning. He frowned deeply, wondering why he let it get to this point. When the front door swung open by itself, he decided then and there that this job can go gently caress itself and Cynthia and whatever her husband’s name is, can go make another baby. He turned around to leave and found himself looking at a very tastefully decorated living room.
Marche had replayed horror scenarios in his head quite often. He loved a good horror flick. He would roll his eyes when characters would do something incredily stupid that would get them killed. He knew he would know better than some dumb teenager in a movie.
It scared him nearly shitless that he couldn’t think. There was a heavy weight of panic pressing down on his bowels and icy tendrils clawing out into his extremities.
Then Marche saw movement from the edges of his periphery.
Marche finally snapped into motion, spurred by the possibility of being confronted with a literal monster. He reached under his clergy shirt he shopped lifted from a halloween store and pulled out his Desert Eagle from a holster across the small of his back. When he raised the gun to his sights, he froze.
The most adorable little baby boy was toddling through the living room. Peach fuzz for hair, the bluest eyes he’s ever seen and just the cutest smile. Marshe felt like his heart was gonna melt. He dropped everything and went to pick the baby up. He held him close and crooned at him with some nursery songs he partially remembered. He nuzzled the baby and gave him eskimo kisses and then the baby slapped Marche across the mouth like a bitch.
Marche saw stars as he stumbled backward trying to stay upright. He shook the fog from his head and saw the baby standing there clenching his wittle baby fists as if he were itching for a fight.
“You come into my gotdamn house and disrespect me by carrying a piece on you?” Baby Howard asked moving toward the gun Marche did not exactly remember placing on the ground.
Marche punted the little fucker as if he were aiming for a distance record. Without looking to see what sort of damage he inflicted, he turned and bolted for the door. It wouldn’t budge. It was as if the door was actually a life-like painting and the handle was a solid piece of wood. Panic threatened to strangle his thoughts. He turned and scrambled down a hallway, not knowing where it would lead him.
“Son of a cock!” Howard bellowed from the living room. “I just wanted to play and you loving boot me across the motherfucking room!” The baby grumbled something else, but Marche couldn’t hear him over the sound of his own breathing.
“Get back here, you piece of poo poo!”
Marche heard the sounds of bare infant feet pitter-pattering behind him. He banged his hip against the corner of the kitchen island and just barely caught himself against the lip. The sudden pain brought a sharp focus and he scanned the room. Without a second thought he snatched the biggest knife from the knife block and ran toward the backdoor. He slammed the knife handle into the window once with the strength of a man bolstered by desperation. His hand went numb and he almost dropped the knife from the bone jarring force. The glass might as well have been solid steel.
Howard was in the kitchen with him. Marche spun around, keeping the knife hidden behind him.
The baby stepped out from behind the kitchen island with the gun pointed at Marche’s chest.
+ M O R T I S +
Howard pulled on the trigger. Marche turned his head to the side and closed his eyes and waited for death.
Marche cracked open an eye and saw Howard struggling with the trigger. Seeing his only opening, Marche leaned into a dash, but before he could land his second step, Howard flew up. With a flash of ember coals for eyes, an intangible power arrested Marche’s momentum. He slowed to a stop just a foot away from the hovering infant.
He felt it this time. An invading thought sifting gently through his brain, a compulsion to love this adorable infant. Before it could fully take hold of his mind, Marche shifted his grip on the knife and the blade whistled through the air. The knife slid into the hovering baby with no resistance, the skin parting like rotting fruit.
Marche heard Harold in his head. “You stupid motherfucker. I just wanted to play,” The pitch and tone of his voice lowered, as if Harold was gargling rocks. “I see you have made your decision and seeing how it’s a stupid rear end decision, it’s t-”
Marche had no witty retort about bad guys and their monologues. He yanked the knife out and plunged it back into the demon’s head.
And Marche found himself in a child’s room. Standing in front of a crib. Body damp with sweat. Blood dripping from shaking fingers. A knife sticking out of a mutilated infant corpse. He heard sirens in the distance. The sound of a woman wailing just outside the window. Cynthia was her name, he numbly recalled.
He tried to remember the events of the day, but as he focused on them, his memories shifted. He met the parents, but there was no husband. Just a single mother. She didn’t come to his office, he saw her alone with a crying baby in the congression. He followed her, no, stalked her home. The dam holding back the true events of the night ruptured and everything came to him unbidden.
He didn’t want them. He shuddered. This isn’t real, he wanted to shout. I’m not crazy!
It didn’t matter what he thought in the end.
+ V E R U M +
It was 3 am when Marche’s cell opened. Inmates hate child killers.
|# ¿ Jun 30, 2019 14:38|
Waiting for judgement like
|# ¿ Jul 3, 2019 02:20|
If you write as fast as you judge, SA might not be around for you to post your story
|# ¿ Jul 3, 2019 16:51|
ALL THE BIGGEST NUMBERS
|# ¿ Jul 22, 2019 22:57|
God’s Chosen Vessel
|# ¿ Aug 26, 2019 21:49|
*does a line of cocaINe*
|# ¿ Oct 22, 2019 18:53|
Always Read the Contract
Senior Barista at the Golden Bean
“I want to speak to your manager.”
It was said during a lull in the cacophony of milk steamers, bean grinders and other coffee making apparatuses. Like a bell chime in a quiet cemetery, the uttered phrase rang out through the Golden Bean and the army of baristas stopped as suddenly as a skydiver with a faulty parachute.
All the worker heads snapped in a disconcerting unison to glare at the person who threw the proverbial wrench in the guts of their well oiled machine. A woman with an asymmetrical bob, her blonde hair immaculately brushing the underside of her jaw. Her chin tilted up, ever so slightly with a posture that exhumed self-importance. A customer.
“As you wish,” said the cashier. She remembered to smile. She turned her head to the side and with an inhuman volume, bellowed, “Summon the Senior Barista!”
Down by the cookies; with a sudden violence, a group of workers dragged a teenaged employee to the floor. He was too new to understand that the “Employee of the Day” shirt he proudly wore was actually given to the worst performing employee. He realized this once his coworkers were brutally eviscerating and pulling out his entrails.
His screaming was the tipping point in which all conversation in the Golden Bean died away.
The workers arranged the viscera around the chosen one until he was encircled in gore. The baristas banged on their workstations in unerring rhythm. The employee of the month smoked and sizzled, his screaming devolving into a gurgling struggle to breath.
The workers chanted. “Senior Ba̕r͟is͢t͠a̧! Ś̥͍͇͓͕e͇n̮͚̮̻̖͓̟i͈ơ̗̼͔̯̝̥r̛̗ ̨̦̹B̵̮̭̭͍͍͎̦a̙͔̥̝͓͚͔r̛̝͇̦̝i̩̺̤̳̯͙s̶t̖̻͞a̛̻!͔̤ S̷̴̨̤͉͖̟̼̪̖̫͕̣͎̥̳̼͖è̙͙̱̪́͘͝ͅͅn̶̵̮̤̥̫̺̼̤̳͞ì̸̯̗̭̺̱o̼͕̙̪̙̼̹̫̘̫̝͚͖͍̥̬̗̩͢͝͡r̢͓̭̬͇̰̫̟̺͚͓͎̤̯̭͜ ̸̡̡̰̯̦B͏̶̡̲͉̩̖̤͉̞͖͓̹̭͚̝̖̦̫͝ą̷̪̜̦̘̠̥͢ͅr͕͎̙͕͕̠̦̝̙̲̱̕̕͡ͅi̷̪̱̖͉̝̙̣͈̫͓͚̘̹͙͇͝s̶̨͖̱̤̜̜̮̪̬̹̻͙͕̙̥t̡̛̫̻̦̕͞à͇͚͖͖̰̫̲͢ͅͅ!̶̧͉͍͓͙̥͙̝̜̙̳͙̭͘͢”
The employee of the month finally stopped breathing.
Like curtains on a stage, the smoke parted revealing a black inky stain floating in the air. It sucked in light and color from its surroundings and caused migraines if one looked directly into the darkness for too long. Out of the jagged wound, out stepped a woman with skin so papery white, blood vessels stood out as if they were painted on her. Her black hair was pulled up in a neat bun and her eyes gleamed like glass with pin point red irises. She walked up to the counter, tik tik tik tik leaving a trail of bloody high heeled footprints behind her.
Her smile was too wide, threatening to split her face in two. She had far too many teeth, pearly white and needle point. “Hello,” she said, her voice throaty and husky as if she sang jazz music in smoky bars as a moonlight gig, “Thank you for visiting the Golden Bean. I am Kana, the Senior Barista. The ‘Manager’. How may Voidmart assist you?”
The customer gathered herself up as if a great insult had been levied against her. She flushed with anger. “You-” she stammered, unable to get the words out.
“Was there something wrong with your order, miss?” Kana said, trying to be helpful.
The customer took a deep, theatrical breathe in order to compose herself. “First and foremost,” she stopped to look at Kana’s nametag and then purposely mispronounced it, “Kana, your employees got some blood on my one of a kind baby llama skin designer purse. That stain is not going to come out, Kana. I should demand that you pay for the damages, but,” the customer looked Kana up and down with a sneer on her lips, “it doesn’t look like you would be able to afford it.
“Anyway, that idiot over there made my order wrong,” she said pointing in the general direction of the workers with a lazy finger. “I ordered an organic farm raised soy Void vegan latte. Two pumps vanilla, half pump caramel, quarter pump liquid cocaine, a dusting of gold and the essence of a virgin sacrifice.” She knocked over the coffee with a backhand. “You morons added too much caramel. Make it again.”
That loving does it, The angry thought shot through her consciousness unbidden. I have had it with these loving ‘Karens’ and that loving hair and their stupid faces and, and, and...I am all powerful! I am done with this poo poo!
Kana summoned massive amounts of power from the Void. The true Void. With a deep breath, the tendrils of energy, invisible to most mortals, gathered around her. That delicious potential for outright annihilation of this stupid species right at her fingertips. With her will she reached for it. It drew tantalizing close. She took it in.
And the power is lamely rebuffed away from her body.
The customer snapped her gum and with the attitude of a valley girl teenager, shifted her head toward her shoulder and raised an eyebrow. “Earth to Kana. You gonna make that coffee?”
The contract, Kana thought. Only two million years left. That’ll teach me to underestimate mortals. The smile never left Kana’s face. That facade was her shield. She could never let these humans know how much they got under her skin. Kill them with kindness.
Kana nodded to the customer. “Yes, your coffee, madame. I will personally make it for you so you can be rest assured it will be perfectly done to your high standards.”
“High stand- Bitch, did you just call me high maintenance?! Do you know who I am? I can get your rear end fired.”
Kana froze. The skin around her mouth creaked as her smile got wider. The contract stated she had to serve for six million years with perfect service within her capabilities. The language was vague concerning if she was fired even if she gave it her all.
A loophole. Somewhere Kana felt an army of lawyer buttholes clenching. Her freedom lay with this blight on humanity.
“I don’t know who you are,” Kana said and saw the fire ignite behind the customer’s eyes. She kept going, “I’m sorry I displeased you. I am at your mercy.”
The customer reached over the counter and poked Kana in the chest. “You best bet your rear end I’m gonna have your job by the end of the day!”
Kana’s teeth elongated with excitement. “Thank you for shopping at Voidmart, where we would kill to have your business. Have a great day!”
|# ¿ Oct 28, 2019 01:35|
THUNDER DOME CCCLXXVIII
What went wrong?
It’s about loving time you ingrates recognized me for my genius! I don’t have a great speech or prompt post all typed out for you so you’re gonna get something nice and simple with a twist of the ol’ Merc. It’s gonna be fun, so don’t gently caress it with bad words. Give me good words.
This week, you sweet mammah jammas are gonna write 1,000 words on a time something went horribly, what-the-fuckery wrong. And when you sign up I’m gonna give you the reason. You get an extra 200 words if you use any one of my recurring characters I’ve written about because 1 gently caress you, I’m the judge, 2 There’s gonna be a lot of judge pandering and I encourage it, and 3, Refer to 1.
You know the regular poo poo. No erotica and uh the other bad stuff I can’t remember at this moment. Sign ups by Friday midnight EST. Post your poo poo by Sunday midnight EST.
My Fever Dreamers:
Tibalt an untimely erection
SlipUp Glass looked like an open door
Carl Killer Miller Why is this bad/bag so light?
Flesnolk Love at second sight
asap-salafi Racist cats
Anomalous Amalgam Motherfucking math
Thranguy Too long toenails
Weltlich Trusting a fart
Barnaby Profane Sebastian is out of tune
steeltoedsneakers Porn was left up on your cellphone
sebmojo Too much love between two men
Sitting Here That crow has a full set of teeth
Mercedes fucked around with this message at 03:04 on Oct 30, 2019
|# ¿ Oct 29, 2019 19:54|
Sure, okay, in.
An untimely erection
|# ¿ Oct 29, 2019 20:10|
Glass looked like an open door
|# ¿ Oct 29, 2019 20:25|
Yeah, ok. In.
"Why is this bag so light?"
Love at second sight
I'll do the thing. In
Mercedes fucked around with this message at 21:51 on Oct 29, 2019
|# ¿ Oct 29, 2019 21:01|
Too long toenails
Trusting a fart
|# ¿ Oct 29, 2019 21:53|
gently caress yeah, in hard for Merc Week. Flash me a recurring character, I'm fixin' to pander.
Sebastian is out of tune
|# ¿ Oct 29, 2019 22:16|
Porn was left up on your cellphone
In, how can I not be
Too much love between two men <3
|# ¿ Oct 29, 2019 23:01|
oh hell why not, in
That crow has a full set of teeth
|# ¿ Oct 29, 2019 23:33|
In to judge.
Glad to have you mang
|# ¿ Oct 29, 2019 23:41|
OK. Yes. Merc. I will do this. In.
A sudden and violent bout of laziness
|# ¿ Oct 30, 2019 09:34|
The Detroit Lions won the Superbowl the same year the Detroit Tigers won the World Series
|# ¿ Oct 30, 2019 17:58|
Sign ups closed
Mercedes fucked around with this message at 16:30 on Nov 2, 2019
|# ¿ Nov 2, 2019 00:10|
|# ¿ Dec 7, 2022 13:55|
Storytime is over
|# ¿ Nov 4, 2019 10:31|