Oh god don't read this

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Oh god don't read this

Post by Sweet on Sun Jan 15, 2012 2:08 am

So I was walking down the street with a banana suit on, just staring at people like I’m a fucking stoner cause that’s just how I roll, and this unicorn chick walks up with her big ass tits hanging out and is like, “You. Wanna get some coffee?” Now don’t get me wrong, I’m a straight ass frog, but DAMN I ain’t about to take advantage of some drugged up whore who lost her shirt skinny dipping with some lucky fucking teenager. So I said, “Naw, I’m not in the mood for a blowjob right now.” Which was seriously a fucking lie, but I had places to be. So she shrugs and walks off. Not even five minutes later I see that same bitch dancing the rest of her clothes off on a tree in Central Park with a bunch of five year old little coconuts crowding around her and not a clue what she’s doing, and I’m like, “DAMN bitch knows how to dance.” Soon enough these pig cops come snorting around and shoo all the little kids away, giving a bag of weed to any of the coconuts who stuck around. They turn to the unicorn and are like, “Now sister, we’re going to hafta take you in.” And she gives them the ugliest horse pouty face and is like, “Why?” and they say, “Cause I got strawberry condoms, lube, and a fetish for handcuffs.” And so she gets down on her knees and holds out her hooves and they handcuff her. And I swear, for fifteen solid minutes they take turns getting the skin on their dicks sucked right off. Well by now I’d already gotten a boner, so I just sat their awkwardly with my coffee since I couldn’t just stand up in front of the whole place. I mean, spare the children, PLEASE. So after five minutes, this gay ass fucking teenager with long lesbo hair and way too much Axe scratches his nipples and is like, “Here’s the check, sir,” and I don’t wanna be mean, but that girly ass ain’t getting laid for a good thirty years. So I said, “Well here’s a twenty, go get a haircut.” Then I walked out of that shop like a fucking boss. By now there was a crowd of badgers grouped around her unicorn and her circumsized coppies and were cheering her on. Being a nice froggy, I got on my red and black butterfly and revved it like a fucking bitch being eaten out by Eminem. Of course everyone looks because they ain’t got no life, so I flip all them bitches off. The cops get a little pissed, but luckily they can’t do shit cause they’re too busy shooting into the bitch’s mouth with a constipated look like they’ve never gotten laid in their life. Right about now it’s starting to look like the fine beginnings of a mass orgy, so I take off and head towards my brother’s house, who’s having a party. When I get there, he’s got a beer cup sliced clean through his horn and one eye turning midnight purple. He says, “Dude, you missed a fucking epic example of why no one messes with Santa.” So of course I gotta tell his drugged up ass that Santa doesn’t exist, but he’s already tonguing some blonde cat by the stairs so I grab the nearest ape and say my best pick up line. Of course telling her I have a gun and a van doesn’t go too well, so I pull out my chloroform before she can’t turn away and it knocks out the lightheaded bitch in about five seconds. Before I know it, I’ve got a fucking pussy to mess with for the next three hours. Bitch was going to wake up sore all over. So I’m having a nice time but like an hour later she comes to and is like, “Get the fuck off me you toad!” And I’m like, “Shit, I ain’t no toad, but you’re the ugliest fucking ape I’ve ever seen. Must’ve been the beer.” Of course I was lying. That bitch was gorgeous and I had NOTHING to drink. I pick up my banana suit and scratch my nuts, waiting for her to scat when I noticed my suit has some fucking random’s puke all over it. Wiping it on the bitches discarded dress, I throw a twenty on the bed to make her feel like a whore. “And I didn’t use a condom,” I yell at her, slamming the door and stuffing the cum filled strawberry bitch in my back pocket. “And I’ve got herpes, you fucking PRICK!” she yells. “Well damn,” I mutter. “Gotta share the love.” So I pulled out a handful of roofies from my banana pocket and drop the whole damn thing in the punch bowl. Five minutes later every bitch in the party drops down to the floor like Kanye’s reputation and guys are having free for all orgies on the stairs. I pick up a couple honey’s and get it on in my bro’s bedroom. Of course he ain’t gunna appreciate the new sticky white paint all over his room, but by then I was sure that about half the ladies getting laid tonight would be getting herpes, so I felt quite proud of myself. After another hour of success, I head home, when all of the sudden this fucking creep comes out of the bushes and tries to bite me. Now, I love a little kinkiness, but one, this was a guy, two, there was something not quite right about him, three, I usually do my shit in a bedroom, and four, I didn’t feel like experimenting tonight. He tries chomping on my leg, so I figure this guy either had a fucking wild, drugged up fetish, or he was a zombie. So I say, “Dude. Lots of drunk ass chicks over there who wouldn’t mind being bitten all up and down their bodies.” He gets this hungry look in his eyes, so now I’m pretty sure he’s a zombie, but I’ve done so much tonight and I just wanted to get home and jack off. Don’t get me wrong, I’m not one for being responsible for the end of humanity and the world as we know it, but I’ve been waiting for the fucking zombie apocalypse since I got a gun. I drop by a couple stores I know have old people and mess with them a little, getting them out of the store so I could get what I wanted. Which was A LOT of twinkies. And condoms. And porn. When I get home I bar my windows and sit down in my old leather chair, getting a little comfy. I’m checking out the news when the reporter gets fucking DEALT with, and the camera man takes off sprinting. By now I’m laughing my ass off because NOTHING in the world could make me do a news report during a zombie apocalypse, so to finish off the good mood I grab my items and wank it off. My brother calls me up and he’s like, “Shit, man. I think I started the apocalypse.” I nod like I’m paying attention as he goes on a rant, surprised he doesn’t get the clue while I’m grunting. When I’m done I hear him say, “And I didn’t even get fucking laid last night.” Well that just blows my mood out of the sky like Katy Perry’s ET and by now I’m laughing so hard I can’t even breath. “What the fuck, man?” and I say, “It’s a good thing. All them bitches had herpes. Trust me.” Being a frog that knows what he’s doing, my brother doesn’t even question me. He hung up then, so I’m guessing he got dealt with too, or he figured out I wasn’t worth talking to. By now I’m hearing a bunch of banging on my windows and I know yelling at the zombies won’t do shit, so I drag out my subwoofers and point them at the walls. I sit back in my chair and chill out to some Skrillex. Two hours later and 240 songs later, I get my gun and head out to my Camaro and by now it’s fucking dark as Justin Beiber’s pussy, so I put my headlights on fullbeam and blast some bass to make people think there’s a fucking earthquake going on. Now I’m not saying I’m on drugs or anything, but driving around without any cars on the road and banging off zombies heads like a target practice game is the best fun you could ever have. I know my brother’s dead and all – he was never the brightest star on Jersey Shore, but I do know that he owned some of the sickest fetish outfits ever. I go through it and find this fucking amazing Assassin’s Creed outfit, so I get it on and check out the double blades on it. Of course I know this isn’t going to do shit on zombies, but the sound the blades make when they slide out are better than any bass I’ve ever heard. Now having a cape makes me want to hop off a couple of buildings, but I wasn’t high yet, so I climbed back into my Camaro and finished off a couple hundred more zombies. By now the sun is starting to shine, so I start heading back to my house. On my way back I see this young looking birdie just sitting there on the road like her boyfriend just dumped her. As I get closer she stands up and I stop and open the door. “Need some help?” I ask and she says, “Oh yes, please. I’ll give you whatever you want. Money, food, a house..” The bitch looks down and I get an amused smile on my face. “I’ll even let you take me.” I start laughing my ass off, feeling sorry for every fucking virgin who’s going to die today. “Why’re you laughing?” she asks, and I’m like, “You’re a virgin, aren’t you?” When she nods I shut my door and slam the gas pedal. Don’t get me wrong, if it were any other situation I would’ve taken her in, but when you fuck virgins they follow you around for the next two years like you’re a god. Which wouldn’t be too bad, except for the fact that I’d have to FEED her. When I get home I kick the dead bodies away from my house and go inside, heating up a twinkie and turning on the news, not that I wanted to find anything. To my surprise, the shit’s still airing, but these fucking zombies are just having a meat fest out there. A guy comes on the screen with a torn blue suit and looks straight at the camera. Being a person that either laughs or freaks the hell out, I start cracking up again and throw my twinkie at the floor because my stomach starts to hurt. Right about now I’m starting to regret not taking that chick in, because I realize I won’t be getting laid for a long time now. Then I get the fucking best idea ever, so I get back in my car and head out, looking for the hottest chicks out there. Dubstep plus sex equals explosion. I get laid, and I won’t have to feed them. Best idea EVER. Except for nutella porn. That’s quite nice as well…quite, quite nice….
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Re: Oh god don't read this

Post by Regret on Tue Jan 17, 2012 8:17 pm

Stream of consciousness is always interesting to read. However, I have a question. All of your references to animals are confusing. I am uncertain as to whether you are writing some kind of anthropomorphic animal story, whether a surprising number of people are at a fancy dress party (or have a fur fetish), or whether everything is just a metaphor.
Very James Joyce.

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