THE PLAYERS:
Glenn
Nick
 

"Fuck fuckity fuck fuck fuck bitch,"
I said, laughing gleefully at my dead
Paul. Then I realized it was Paul and cried for an infinitely long time. After that,
I screwed him. Which makes me a necrophiliac who can use big words like necrophiliac and
gazongadibigongbijiacishistic.
I love that second one. Seriously, I'm not really a
stupid whore. I'm more of a necrophiliac. Wait, didn't I say that already?
So anyway, I had just arrived at the mall to shop for some merchandise when
Paul accosted me, quite unexpectedly;
I had assumed he was still dead, but he always
looked on the bright side of death (whistle whistle). And by that, I mean he really
liked that song. I started to cry as I thought about it. But they were not bittersweet
tears. Well, yes they were. As I sat, and
thought of Paul, I started to become
soft. And also hard... very, very hard and w-- er-hem, let's not discuss that.
So, back to the soft, my heart was tender as I thought fondly about my now-dead
genatalia. I hated myself, for I would
never have the same pleasure again. I wanted to die,
but then realized that since I didn't believe in the afterlife, I'd just be dead
without him instead of alive without him. So I didn't want to die. I wanted cheetos.
Then I realized that cheetos really
suck, and that made me nostalgically sad.
So i went back to the computer store. "Excuse me, sir, but I'm interested in purchasing
a computer for myself." "Alright, what options are ya lookin' for?" the clerk said, snapping
his switchknife open. "Do you want to
die?" I left quickly, leaping gaily out the
wall. Well, through the door, which was embedded in the wall. Then I ran out to the
street and was blindsided by a van, meaning I didn't look both ways and the van
driver was smoking crack. You might ask
"How did this happen?" I didn't know. So
I made something up. "I am blind and a scoundrel stole my cane and my wallet."
"Then why do you have a wallet in your pocket?" "I just bought it at the mall."
That was when I realized: the driver was
Paul, back from the dead! I reached for him and he
disappeared. Damn my rampant hallucinatory fits! I swore. Or perhaps that, too,
was a hallucination. I swore again. This time, I knew the curse was real -- it felt
warm and comfortable in my hand -- we both
were finally home. For the first time in years, I
was blind. And then I realized that I couldn't possibly be home because the
sound of burning wood, sirens, water spraying, and firemen shouting -- oh dear.
I stared at the hole in the ground where had been
Paul. I couldn't keep control anymore. I cried.
Oh, the cry that I cried. It was a joyful cry, and as I cried, I swore to myself.
I swore that I would never mention, think about, notice, or fuck Paul again.
Which was easy, because I had seen him die
three times to date. I made the vow anyway
and swore up on it -- once, twice, thrice, once each for those three times to
date. Then I jumped off the bridge and played to my watery... hospital bed.
It was my fault really. I made the bed
watery. What can I say? Not fucking much.
Therefore, I bought a whore. A stupid whore. A stupid whore names Julianne.
"You stupid whore!" I screamed at her. She didn't respond, except to
bring her bullwhip to bear on my
spine. "You've been bad," she hissed. My
Mom had apparently been eaten by a snake, or vice versa. That
would explain the hissing -- or so I thought. But then I found out that
the world was imploding. I didn't
think it likely. "Why?" I asked. I wanted to know.
That would explain why I asked. "The rationale behind the likelihood
is none of your concern," was the only reply I recieved.
I wasn't happy with his answer. I
wanted to murder him, but he resembled
me. So I killed myself instead. He laughed. But my ghost haunted
him for the rest of my life. The End.