Good Bye

Frost tinted the windows of the desolate house. A now broken home. Once occupied by a loving family, but now only by diseased rats and bitterness. Such is what happens in life, once you stray away from the warm, glowing embrace of the familiar. It didn't have to be this way. It really didn't. But you kept on pushing on the glass. You knew it was going to break eventually, didn't you? Of course you did. Yet you kept pushing. Then it breaks and cuts up your hands, and you're left with no one to blame but yourself. But of course you won't blame yourself. Who would? No, it's a survival instinct. Instead, you swung your bloody hands, covered in the shards of your failure, and you struck at the one's that you held most dear. Your father. Your husband. Your children. Your brother. And now you're truly left all alone. Alone in the now broken home, with frost tinted windows. Alone with no one but the diseased rats who sip the drops of your blood, and the bitterness that oozes out of the dead happiness you murdered. I would have mentioned you earlier, when I mentioned the rodents. But, you see, you don't deserve the acknowledgement of existence. To me, to your family, to everyone including yourself, you are nothing.

So stop feeling sorry for yourself and make me a sandwich.

Dictator

You know, it's been quite a while since I've done an actual blog. Most of my time these days have been too preoccupied writing stories with no actual goal or plot in mind. Now as fun as that may be... Well.. I guess I'm just too boring for myself to actually stay interested in one thing for more than a day.

But to stay with the topic of my growing insanity, lets talk about something off the wall. My good friend, just the other day, called me a dictator (for reasons that can't actually remember...). And that got me thinking. "Heh, a dick tater." Like a potato mixed with a mating peripheral. Now as gross and disturbing as that may sound, there was also a side, which finally got a kick in the gonads. I DO care.

But there once was a time, in the far off, distant past. A time where i actually made an effort not to care. But i do care now. And it's taken me this particular moment right now to admit it. I actually care.

About what?

About a lot of things.

Like what people think. I've always tried to make that conscious effort to say to myself that i don't care. But the truth is, i do. I do care. The level of caring depends on who or what. But it's still there.

In fact I care so much, it can make me do crazy things!

KU-RAZY things.

Like write on this stupid blog.

I know that no one's gonna read it, but in case anyone does. And i happen to know them. I'm going to make a half arsed apology right now, on this very post.

Yeah nah, I'm not really.

UNTIL NEXT TIME!

CHAPTER TWO: CAPITAL CITY

MEANWHILE, IN THE FAR OFF LAND OF RAINBOWS, FLOOR SCRUBBER GINA WAS WASHING THE WINDOWS. A VERY NAUGHTY THING TO DO. SINCE SHE IS A FLOOR SCRUBBER. BUT THAT'S THE KIND OF PERSON GINA WAS.
A REBEL.
NO BODY KNEW MUCH ABOUT HER, OTHER THAN THE FACT THAT SHE PAINTED CEILINGS FOR LARGE GOVERNMENT OFFICES. SHE'S BEEN TO THE WHITE HOUSE, HITLERS BATHROOM AND EVEN A ROOM WHICH STALIN WAS PLAYING SNOOKER IN.
SHE WAS AN ENIGMA.
BUT ASIDE FROM THE FACT THAT SHE LIKED TO SCRUB FLOORS AND WASH PEOPLES CATS, SHE WAS A RELATIVELY NORMAL GIRL. QUIET. KEPT TO HERSELF. HAD A WOODEN LEG.

BUT TODAY WAS A SPECIAL DAY FOR GINA THE FLOOR SCRUBBING TREE-BORG. SHE JUST SO HAPPENED TO BE TRAVELING, AT A CONSTANT SPEED OF 6000000KM/H TO ANOTHER PLANET. LUCKY HER.
A NEW GOVERNMENT WAS SET UP ON THE FAR OFF PLANET OF FOVRENTIA.
AND IT WAS HER SOLE DUTY TO PAINT THEIR GARDEN. WHY A GARDEN? BECAUSE SHE IS A REBEL.

THE MAYOR LOOKED SOMEWHAT LIKE A PLATYPUS WHO WAS TAKEN A BEATING TO BY A BASEBALL BAT. (WHAT APPEARED TO BE) IT'S EYE WAS DROOPING OUT OF A SOCKET ON IT'S FOREHEAD. MAYOR SIR LORD MR SAINT REGINOLD LOOKED DOWN AT YOUNG GINA WITH SUSPICION.
"WHY ARE YOU PAINTING MY PRIZED GRAPE TREES?" CRIED THE FREAK.
GINA STARED AT HIM BLANKLY. DEEPLY. INTO HIS VERY SOUL. AND FROM THAT EXACT MOMENT. I KNEW. THAT SOMETHING TERRIBLE WAS GOING TO HAPPEN. AND I JUST HAD TO STOP THEM.

Chapter One: Assisted Suicide

I stumbled out of the small crater left behind from my entrance. “Very Terminator” I thought as the rain viciously pelted the ground below me. I could see steam rise up from my feet. Unfortunately my body was too numb to notice how hot the tarmac was. As I smelt something burning I looked down and realized my feet were crisping.

Shit.

Leaping off the road with my charcoaled toes a car zoomed past, splashing me. Great! The pungent odor of flesh filled the streets. Appealing as that was to my nostrils, my feet quickly regenerated their natural feet-ness. So far every-thing's going according to plan.

Now then. Time to kill myself!

As luck would have it I happened to be right across the street from my old apartment condo. The complex glistened in the dark blue, night sky. A pale green moon lay behind it in the background. A little different from what I remembered. There was an old sports center next to the building with a shoddy fence in-between them. Back in the day I used to jump it all the time when I forgot my key card to get in. As I went to scale the rotting brown fence, one of the security guards from the sport center saw me! He yelled an awkward “Oiiwegah!?” which sent a lethal attack dog at me with full might. Just what I was hoping for.

I used the canine as leverage when it charged into the fence. It let off a low whimper mixed with a fart as it bumped it's head. I think I used to know this dog. The guard, dumbfounded by my amazing feat didn't bother to look for me on the other side. He wasn't paid to protect next door anyway.

Inside I had to trek a measly 24 story's worth of stairs.

No Problem.

The time was about 11PM right now. Knowing the Rivett family, everyone would be asleep. Well, everyone but me.

I waltzed in through the front door using my aged house key. It was good to be home. The large chandelier above the dining table looked like it was levitating in the light of the ominous green moon. It was all so peaceful. Except for that little buzzing noise I heard down the hall. As I got closer to my old room, the noise become sound, and that sound turned into music. Really, really loud music. God, was I really that obnoxious?

I quietly peered through my bedroom door, and saw myself. Fifteen. Skinny. Acne-ridden. On the computer, probably on some social networking site talking to a girl he knows he'll never have. The perfect package really. I didn't have to worry about making too much noise though. The music booming out of my speakers was actually making the entire room tremble. Not really feeling like a paradoxical conversation with myself, I swiftly snapped my own neck.

“Easy.”

Friends

You call me Arsehole.

I call you Prick.

I'm a Bastard.

But you're a Dick.

It's a vicious cycle,

But it's never the same.

A huge contradiction,

But we'll never feel shame.

You can call me Arsehole.

But you're still a Prick.

I'm a selfish Bastard.

But You, my Friend, are a Dick.

Dude..... I'm gonna miss you.

Not a story about a clown

Run! Run! As fast as you can! Don't look now, it's a really fat man!
He charges down the street, with tears on his feet. As he yells:
"I'd rather eat a sock with mayo, then a cauldron with Jello!"
So he charges down the street, with an inelegant might.
When suddenly, comes a rancid looking thing, for a fight.

"Well hello there my good fellow" says the disorderly young cello.
"I believe I heard you say, you don't like Jello?"

But the fat man just could not hear. As he bleated, kicked and jeared.
And away went the disorderly young cello. With an earful, of  Othello. 
Yes the very play from Shakespeare himself.
Of which the fat man, knew squelch.
But none the less he used it good, and he used it well!
Until the poor little cello, was like an old man. All wrinkly, do tell.

This fat man was now going nuts, nothing could stop his incongruous guts.
Poring out the street, like a wave of pink.
Except it crushed everything and kinda went "squink"
This rather large man just began to grow and grow.
Until a little girl popped up, dressed like a crow.

"ka kaw" quoth-ed the girl. And "ka kaw" she did right.
But that just wasn't enough, to halt this fat mans plight.
The almost gelatinous substance, washed over the town.
Thorough and precise, reminiscent of a dirty clown.
(who just so happened to clean with poop.
Yes, a rather messy tale, filled with torture, and goop.)

Could nothing stop this rounder then average joe?
Not a school teacher, a fireman, or even a street vendor, with a strangely shaped toe!?
No one will be safe, once the fat man has expanded.
No one will have cake, until the fat man has been branded
(deceased, or at the very least, been horribly disbanded).

And now I suppose you're wondering what happened,
To this porker of a ham?
Well... He kinda just popped.
and so ends the story.
Of some really fat man.