See, back around ’82, I purchased this rather sizable piece of farmland here on the outskirts of Mendocino County, USA. “Don’t look back,” the fat realtor chuckled, walking away with my signature. I think he was referring to the 19.5 megatons of primordial radioactivity dwelling underneath my property, or perhaps that large, irregular scorpion crawling on my shoulder.

A few notes about radioactive, mutant scorpions:

1. Never, EVER, under ANY circumstance, try to remove a large, radioactive, mutant scorpion by jumping up and down, shrieking, and/or brushing sharply with the back of the hand (known in the Spanish medical community as “defecación en los pantalones,” and in the American psych community as, “wigging the fuck out”). This will definitely startle the creature.
   
2. If you startle a mutant scorpion, chances it will sting you. This is a rather excruciating experience, even by Blackfoot Indian standards.
   
3. If stung, DO NOT, under ANY circumstance, try to remove the mutant scorpion’s venom by method of oral suction. On a similar note, never lick the wound. It is very easy to accidentally swallow remnant poison, and this seems to result in severe complications not originally foreseen by yourself, or any doctor within a 500 mile radius.
   
4. Radioactive, mutant scorpions are actually quite impressionable, and will do most anything if you ask nicely.

Boy, if only that realtor could see me now. He was so…fat. Sweaty, too. Gosh, I hate that man. No matter how cold it was, this obese jellyroll always seemed to have a moist sweatring around the armpit of his sleazy silk shirt. In his office he had a picture of his trip to Vegas: boiling at 120 degrees, he looked like he had just jumped in the ocean. Next to it was a pic of his trip to Alaska: people wrapped in parkas, a blur cast from the shivers of disappointed tourists and a slow shutter speed, yet still, he sweated profusely.

Anyway, where was I? Ah yes, the trouble. Well, it’s not every day that you wake up to find five hundred battle tanks surrounding your property. I mean, come on! That’s like one tank for every 1/32 of a mile! Where the hell am I going to go?! Hahaha. Trust me, I’m not leaving anytime soon! Hahahaha.

Oh, that’s just funny. Funny in a “ha-ha” way, funny. Not like an annoying, ticklish funny, which I also have. There’s…something below me. It’s kind of hot, you know? It’s very…irritating. So, I mean, I hope this helps explain my little “outburst”. Sorry about that. It’s just, I thought me and the Clancy’s were better friends than that. Sure, I never really talked to them, but their property is, like, seven miles away. And I even baked an apple pie for their anniversary once. I guess it’s not every day you see a huge, bulbous mass ooze out of cracked earth and devour a herd of cattle in one sloppy amalgamation of blob and beef, but calling the Army? That’s going a bit too far, I think.

Hrrmm… Those Clancy’s make me so mad! And just thinking about that fat little porkrind realtor makes me even more mad! And this goddamn tickle! It’s driving me crazy! And then these bastards start shooting tank shells at me, and where I come from, that’s not a very nice thing to do. It’s just plain rude. Ughgh…and I’m hungry, too. And when I’m hungry, I get cranky. And…well…yeah.

Then I start making poor decisions.

So you see, it’s not my fault I have to amalgamate you. I really have no choice. Don’t get me wrong – I completely understand what you’re saying. I’m sure, with all the knowledge you’ve more than sufficiently displayed to me, you really do have the means to either reverse my…well, “condition,” or even put me out of my misery. But it’s really no use. Like I said, I get into a lot of trouble, usually on my own accord. Maybe it’s just coincidence. Maybe it’s just me. Heck, I don’t know. All I know is I’m pretty hungry.

Well, you can just leave this brain wave-to-text thingy here. It’s kinda neat. Maybe I’ll write the great American novel while I’m out here. Or a poem. I like poetry.

Anyhow, the tentacles do burn, so I apologize in advance. I’m going to just put you in this little, digestive mucous sac here… Oh, don’t be afraid. Most drown in about five to ten minutes.

Thanks for coming down here, though. That took a lot of balls.

'twas pure fiction, no?
i think i've heard a story like this before, though.

Apperently it was better shit than you thought.

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"The only reason for time is so that everything doesn't happen at once."
-- Buckaroo Banzai

Nevertheless it isn't quite what real "stream of consciousness" technique is like. But fun to read, anyway.

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Je t'aime - est-ce que ca te regarde?

quote:

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Originally posted by whiskey@throttle:
i can see through time.

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Can you see through clothes too? If you can I want whatever you're on.

Edit:Had to make a quick change befor the grammer police beat the shit out of me.
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"The only reason for time is so that everything doesn't happen at once."
-- Buckaroo Banzai

This message has been edited by L33T_h4x0r_d00d on September 28, 2001 at 01:45 PM

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simultaneity is not absolute. So just because you think i'm wrong, from my frame of reference i'm right!

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"Marla said that she might die at any moment, and the only tragedy is that she didn't"--fight club
please feel free to ignore anything i happen to incoherently utter, because, yes, i am a pompus ass.

quote:

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Originally posted by L33T_h4x0r_d00d:
Can you see through clothes too? If you can I want whatever you're on.

Edit:Had to make a quick change befor the grammer police beat the shit out of me.

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You spelled "grammer" and "befor" wrong faggot!! I'm coming to beat the shit out of you right now!!!

This message has been edited by whiskey@throttle on September 29, 2001 at 02:31 AM