All my life I hadn't the slightest clue as to what I ever wanted, until, I found it. Out of God's notebook and into my life. And so it was the case when Caitriona entered the play, and our parts intermingled. On a mid day struggle through the streets of London, fighting for the wall as one must do daily, is when we exchanged our lines. It does occur to me that not everyone whom reads this will be aware of what I speak, so let us just say that London is, and has been, an odorous and grotesque place to navigate. Outside the district of Westminster, the city streets were what one might simply describe as...filthy. The wall I refer to is but the very edge of the city street, usually protected by overhanging buildings above, and is by far the safest and most luxurious way to travel in London on foot. But one must earn their place there. As I remember pushing my way past a portly fellow, whom did stumble and plant his foot in a pile of horse manure, I came face to face with a woman so fair she fooled my eyes for a moment into thinking it was night, and that I did gaze upon a full or gibbous moon. I did not quite know what to do. Instinct called for immediate action to secure my path among the wall, but a feeling so strong resonated within me, causing me to freeze like some cornered animal. But this was not fear that struck me down, I don't dare attempt to describe it, and I will simply say that it was divine in nature. She too must have been transfixed by it, as we both lost our place midst the wall, and found ourselves standing still in the center of the putrid filth of the street as the people of London grazed, and pushed by us. I had asked to accompany her to wherever she might be going. She accepted, and all at once I knew that I had found the woman to whom I would marry and sire children with. That was London in 1663. We had married, and I had bought some property close by St.Pauls Cathedral in which to live and do business from. A poor mans cobbler I was, and it was enough for us to survive. We had our first child in the summer of 1664, a boy whom we named after the King, Charles. God had been kind to me, the course he had written for my life was one so live and full of joy, that faith was a simple thing to hold onto. A fool I was to believe my life worthy of such love. Such a fool to think I could proclaim my faith without ever being tested. My arrogance brought down upon London a disease that would kill many the unholy, and the faithless. It was the summer of 1665, when my child would have reached his first year, that both him and my darling wife did show signs of the Black death. Charles was first, and when the bell rang outside our quarantined home and the man screamed for the first time, 'Bring out your dead', I had already been holding my boy in my arms. The sunken sockets of his eyes peering lifelessly up at me, and the struggled, painful breath of his mother had filled my ears. I'm glad at least that she had been taken by delirium at that point, and was not aware of the current goings on. It wasn't long before Caitriona did too succumb to illness. And as the bell rung again, and the voice yelled again, I did again carry the body out onto the cart. They must now have rotted away in those massive pits of death, never to be gazed upon again. Why I was spared the same fate, I do not know, but have speculated endlessly. But if this was to test my faith, my resolve, I surely have failed. I did try, but if it was enough I won't be sure until the deed is done. I never know what I want until I find it. I've grown bitter and faithless. Unholy and corrupt. A year of torment, of death and loss has left me in need of purification. And I have found it. Joshua Cobbler, September 2nd, 1666 The great plague of London would take the lives of an estimated 100,000 people, and would ravage the city for two years. On September 2nd,1666 the great fire of London has started, and would rage inside the city for five days.
November 11th, 2018 marked 100 years since the end of the 'war to end all wars'. These men weren't heroes as we imagine them in our naiveté. I shudder to think that my generation would call most of these men monsters. Boys and men of a different era, thrust into a modern battlefield never before seen on Earth. Where in a single day 60,000 men could be slaughtered in a matter of hours. They were hard men by necessity, they lost their innocence in those trenches. They could laugh at the dead and mow down their enemies. But still their humanity shun through the chaos of war. Still men on both sides tried to come together for peace long before the powers that be decided so. If the war proved anything, it is that men grow tired of war far quicker then they grow tired of peace. One day they will be forgotten, but I hope that day will only be so because it is humanity's last.
I want that sweet smoke to gently glide its way into my lungs, and whisper, it's okay baby, it's A-OK. Take another puff of the only friend you'll ever need. When they all leave you, just remember, I'm only a small price tag away. I'll help you get to where you need to go. I love the way you hold me, ignite me! They all left you baby boy, but here I am with open arms. I'll always take you back, you ain't got to hit the road Jack...come on back.
I used to think that by typing the word 'suicide' into the search browser would have a similar effect as if you looked up how to make a bomb in a movie. I feared that my whole life would be put in jeopardy, a knock at the door one day would start a chain of events that would lead to me being firmly chained to some medical bed in a blindingly white room. When I finally dared to take the chance I was met with what I knew deep down would be there. A top result about suicide prevention, some yahoo answers, Quora, Reddit and the sort forums of people seeking attention. People all trying to persuade the person in their own clever way to not commit the deed. The funniest of them and probably the most effective at the time of reading for me was one where the responder plainly stated " If you fuck up at everything in life, what makes you think you're not going to botch the suicide attempt?". Clever bastard. I even threw my two cents in at one suicidal bastard who later deleted his post. The twist was he was supposed to be dead by the time he deleted it. I was cheated. Attention seeking bastard robbed me of half an hour of my best thought out response to why this bastard should live. In the end I came to wish he actually just killed himself. Not even a response to the dozen or so people who gave him the attention he wanted. I'm guilty of it as well. If this goes live I suppose it means some part of me wants the attention as well. How did I get to this point? I had always been under the impression that I would of been dead by now. The whole reason I joined the military was for a chance to die a 'hero'. It all revolved around death. But I messed my chance up at that, I dishonored my family name in my youthful arrogance and stupidity. It has haunted me ever since. There's nothing that could redeem me. I've spent more time then I had ever spent in previous years thinking about how I would want to die. I wouldn't want anyone to find me ever, and over the past year I've been somewhat obsessed with Bushcraft videos on Youtube. My favorite being Joe Robinet. Exposure in some heavily forested region of my home in Canada. Miles and miles of heavy forest. I think that maybe hitchhiking my way north and just walking into the dense brush one day could be a viable solution to my problem. In my 4 years of military experience I have experienced how cold and miserable a night in late October can be. On one occasion I had almost died! I ended up falling asleep while sitting in an observation post, watching a stretch of road for activity that never came. The next thing I remember was walking in a field, completely unsure of how I had gotten there. It had been a full moon, and our OP was set up on a ridge line, snuggled in some light brush. Luckily the light made it easy to navigate. After a few failed attempts where I had thought I had found my way back I began to panic. I was shaking uncontrollably and hadn't brought much in the way of warmth due to my Master Corporal insisting we travel light because we would be back at the FOB in a few hours. We stayed all night, and all I had was my all season coat. I can't remember how I found my way back but when I did I asked the person who had taken over my position what had happened. Supposedly he arrived to relieve me and found me and another soldier sleeping. He kicked us awake and I simply walked off. He thought I was going to take a piss. That had been half an hour earlier and he thought that I must have returned to the camp a little ways off from the OP. Just like that I could have died, and often I wish that I had. I won't do it for years yet. I'll stick around until my parents die, and if I could be of use to my nieces I will. But knowing that I have a plan in place to end it all brings me so much relief. I had never taken to the idea of hanging, or cutting, and I'm terrified of heights. But exposure is something I have experience of. The cold, I've always found some achievement in enduring it. There's a feeling I get when looking at a winter night sky that feels like I'm home. The dark cold void all around me. I'm sure I'm romanticizing it in my mind, and the memory of freezing my nads off long ago is heavily embellished with what I want the experience to feel like now. But it doesn't really matter, it's helping me get through the days. Maybe one day I'll retire the idea, maybe I'll find some new crutch to keep me upright, a socially acceptable one that doesn't cause people to flip their shit at. Attention seeking over, of the very few who end up reading this I hope in the very least you found some entertainment in my story. And if not I apologize, I know first hand how angering it is to read some ungrateful cunts pity party memo. Have nice day comrades.
Sitting in my own gilded cage, attentive on the footsteps above my head. More attentive then I could reproduce willingly. More an instinctual focus that cannot be manipulated. Muffled voices cause a tensing in my body as I creep along the corridors I've paid to be able to walk around in naked. But instead I do so fully clothed in a protective sheet, careful to avoid the spots which creek and echo my position in the house. That flem scratching at my throat, wisping around as I breath. Torturous flem which requires a loud cough to release, minutes and hours pass as I lightly try to "erhm....eerrhhmm" it from its suffocating place within. I dare not cough and reveal my presence here now, they mustn't know I breath, or cough, or laugh, or live. My furtive place in my home must remain undiscovered. A stalker by necessity I use my open ears to draw a mental schedule of their movements above me. Their comings and goings shape my routine, my ability to live freely. A heavy anxiety washes over me whenever they act spontaneously. Whenever their schedule changes I cower motionless like a rat avoiding detection from a predator. Wasting away hours, going days without food as I remain trapped behind the door of safety that has become my prison. And so it has been for the past 8 days. A constant barrage of footsteps keep me huddled in my small corner like a soldier in a trench waiting out the unending artillery barrage on the Somme. Their muffled voices have become so frequent that I cannot sleep. As if they are whispering in my ears every time I close my eyes. I cannot escape it. The very walls around me seem to be vibrating so slightly from some ethereal force which is intent on haunting me. I've grown to hate the people whom have no face to me. Avoiding them like the plague has left but a hazy representation of what they might be in my mind. Their participation in my torture unquestionably is zero. Yet their influence on me remains such a crushing force. A shadow of fear that blankets my existence. That has turned me into a vampire who both fears the sun and the moon. I shall die here soon, a husk of a body and a haggard face. No food for a week. My body.... No, my decomposing corpse is becoming a half skeletal mass of death. Still I remain silent, still the flem antagonizes me incessantly, but I cannot cough, I cannot reveal myself here. They are home. My own death will betray me, as the stench will reveal my place here. I must live on to avoid detection, but I cannot eat what remains here in my cell. Why won't they leave?!........
Eric took a long drag from his last cigarette, the filter catching the ember and filling his lungs with burnt cotton smoke. “We ready?” he said as he threw the butt to the floor and squashed it with his boot. Marvin stood tall, his arms crossed. He uncrossed them and met Eric's gaze. “As ready as I can be. Dave, you alright to do this?” Marvin asked the hunched over officer off to the side. David was visibly shaking still from his last encounter in the Eastern corridor that lead down to the basement. A group of the dead had almost cornered him on his way back from the armoury. “Let's just get this over with” he replied. The three of them were the only surviving officers in the entire building as far as Eric knew, maybe even in the entire city. There had been more than a dozen of them a few hours ago, but after the mob of undead converged on the station their makeshift barricades didn't hold for long and the dozen or so officers quickly decreased in number. The three of them had hold up inside the East office, barricading the door that lead into the main hall of the R.P.D. They had agreed that the streets had become to overrun with the dead and the only way out now was going to be through the cities sewer system. The R.P.D had a maintenance tunnel that lead to the main sewer line, it was located in the basement inside the k-9 kennel. But with the newly compromised Eastern hallway leading to the basement, there were now at least a ten new residents of the station who hungered for their flesh between the kennel and them. They had enough firepower from what David had managed to scavenge from the armory, but they would have to move quickly. Those things were attracted by sound, and although they weren't that big of a deal in small numbers, when a horde of them gathered there wasn't a chance in hell of fighting through them. “So who gets the big gun?” Eric jested. “I think I can manage it, it'll be a last resort anyways. Takes all of 3 seconds to empty the magazine on full auto.” Marvin replied, picking up the MAC-11 and throwing its small strap around his shoulder. It looked comical seeing such a small weapon being slung over his shoulder like it was a rifle. Eric saw then his AR-15 stowed away in its weapon case in his bedroom closet. Padlocked, on top of a combination lock built into the case. He yearned for it now. “I've got 3 fully loaded mags thanks to Dave's scavenging, but these things eat these 9mm rounds like bean bags.” Eric said. Marvin finished loading the last of the ammunition into his forth magazine. “We got enough if we pick our shots. I know it ain't easy landing headshots but two or three rounds into their skull seems to be the most effective way to get the job done. Besides if we play our cards right we can bypass the lot of them without firing a single round.” Marvin grimaced before continuing. “That'll hopefully leave us enough of a safety net to combat whatever the hells lurking in the sewers..” A look of terror sprung to life on Davids face, a sudden realization sending panic through his mind. “F-fucking hell! That's right, whatever is making this all possible...the dead, the mutations, it's doing it to everything! What the hells' it goona do to the thousands of rats in the sewers?” David gasped for air in his sudden panic. “We're screwed, this ain't happening! How the hell are we going to make it out of here...” he trailed on, lowering his voice until his muttering was only audible to himself. “David, we don't have time for this!” Eric yelled. “Lets everybody calm down!” Marvin interjected. “We've been over this, no helps coming for us. This is our only chance David. Take a few deep breaths and try to come on back to us now. We've made it this far together, we can ma-” Bang, Bang, Bang, Bang As the sound of gunfire rang out, all three officers spun their heads in unison to the direction of the noise. Eric wasn't positive, but he was pretty damn sure that came from inside the station. Above them. “Someone else made it.” Marvin said, breaking the few seconds silence. ”Wasn't to far off.” Eric replied, adrenaline still coursing through his veins. “Other side of the station for sure, if in the station at all.” Marvin replied back. “Well, I guess plans are made to be broken. Looks like we're mounting a rescue mission” Marvin smirked unenthusiastically. “That they are.” Eric muttered. *** Police Chief Brian Irons stood like a statue in the door frame, the light emanating behind him causing him to appear more like a shadow then a man as he stared into the dimly lit waiting room. A small trail of smoke loomed upward from his handgun which hung from his hand by his side. “I never much cared for your lack of professionalism Mrs. Jimenez.” He said, still motionless in the doorway. He was beginning to get aroused as his now former secretary squirmed in pain before him, her lungs unable to let forth anything but gurgled whimpers. The sound of which made him giddy. “Quotas you see, the people that be can't have you . Well..” he giggled “You weren't even on the list.” Brian Irons left the doorway, his snakeskin boots clanking on the wood plank floor as he came to stand over Jannet Jimenez. Her squirming had become weak, the gurgles and spatter of blood receding back into her throat. He met her terrified gaze and held it until the life left her eyes. A shiver of pleasure shot through his spin, causing goosebumps to emerge on his arms. You have no idea, how long I've fantasized about hunting you Janet. How much I've ached to skin your beautiful tanned hide from your corpse. You'll make a fine trophy. A Beautiful one. Brain Irons knelt beside his kill, examining his handiwork. Two shots to many, he had riddled the body with foreign material. It will be painstaking work extracting the small 9mm bullets from her body, and the fabric of her clothing had been embedded as well. But even that he would surely enjoy plucking from her corpse. He couldn't help but squeeze the trigger after he saw her initial reaction. She stood dumbfounded, a surreal look of disbelief plastered to her stupid face as he smiled. Lust took over his senses, all he could think of was all the things he could do to her. Mount her head, skin and tan her hide, taxidermy her entirely? He wanted her. Four shots center mass later, and she was his. He had thought of strangling her,beating her bloody, but he had done that song and dance before. Of all the people Brian Irons had killed, on none of them did he get to use his sidearm for. It wasn't the same firing at those shambling corpses that now riddled his city, and his station. They just stumbled on forward like the lifeless husks they are. There wasn't any emotion to be had in it. And when he was just a patrol officer he never had the pleasure of putting a bullet in one of the many useless thugs of this city. Long ago. But dreams do come true Mr. Police Chief Brian Irons..that they do. The cities burning around you, and you're the only law left in town. He smiled and licked his lips,a sense of immense achievment and satisfaction taking hold as he slung Mrs. Jimenez over his shoulder. “You've gone and ruined my suit Janet” he proclaimed as he licked a smudge of crimson off his tie. “I'll need you to get this cleaned before my meeting tomorrow. The mayor will want to know how I'm handling this crisis! Oh and his daughter, his sweet daughter. I have taken such good care of her Janet, he will need to know!” Brian Irons strode down the hall to his office, a newly crowned king entering
The last dream I had about the Witch was one in which she forced me into a marriage with her. I remember clearly being on the back porch of the first house I called home as a child. Outside of that is a blur of images, I recall her green skin and long warted nose being tamed by her white wedding gown. I remember her flying off cackling and then I remember she was gone. Never to be dreamed of again. I had severe night terrors and sleep walking episodes as a child. Much of it is lost to time, but I get a vague recollection of the Witches influence in my torment. I always had a creeping suspicion that I was forced into a pact with a demon, and that one day she might return. But as of yet she has remained absent. Her memory came back to be in a barrage of images inspired by a random video I had been watching. All at once the flood gates opened and the eerie feeling set in as I recalled the last dream. I can't shake a feeling of dread now that the memory has been recalled.
"WELL WELL WELL, we got a hard hitter here today boys! Calling this or that a cowards walk eh? Oh boy! I outta beat you to your knees and see how well ya stand up, I ain't life son, I'm a heavy hitter! Blunt force trauma inducing machine ya here?" The older man with the heavy black beard striped with white stood and walked closer. "Nuff of your hippy shit boy, you ain't seen life hit you hard you panzy queer. You ain't killed no body boy, you ain't seen the true nature of man!" He changed course, heading towards the liquor mantel perched over the crackling fireplace and poured himself 4 shots worth in a vintage glass which sat dusted on its perch. "Sorry son, I just ain't myself without ol Jack Daniel to bring feeling back." He chugged the glass down, throwing it to the ground sending shattered glass cascading across the entire room. "YEEEHAWWWW! Now that's a mans drink son! Ain't no cowardly faggot like yerself could handle that without looking like a schoolgirl geting buttfucked! Neheh!" His snorting laughter ending in a disgusting cough of flemmy discharge. "Now....boy...we're going to see how much courage you got in that there head of yours when your bodies complaining about this n that. Yeah, you're going be squealing loud boy...but I won't cheat, that ain't make you no coward. When you tell me to stop we'll call you a coward boy...and hell, I may just end you quick like a dying pig..just to be nice like." Wiping his mouth on his checkered wool sleeve he walked over to a red rusted toolbox that seemed to sit unnaturally alone in the corner and pulled what looked like a set of equally rusted pliers from it. "Lets have ourselves a little fun" he muttered to himself.
I take another drag, focusing on the pain in my feet as I stride along the wet concrete. Two blinding beams of light roll by with the thunder, my thumb still pointed to the sky. The wet stink in my clothes perfuming the air, corrupting a trail behind me. Two more beams approaching from behind, illuminating the smoke from my mouth. Another pass, the fish ain't biting tonight. I don't worry, I know the game takes time. Best part of fishing is the anticipation, that nibble that causes that dump of adrenaline to soak into the system. I'm the hook, the thumbs the bait. Smokes down to the filter but I'm still breathing. Something about everything bad that gets me off. Another set of angels takes the bait, a demonic red face smiling at me as I walk to the passenger side window. Yes, yes I will thank you. They even brought the dog.
I've scoured the internet countless times, absorbing the same advice again and again. Whole books have been made just re framing the same basic concepts that lead to a successful life. I know it, you know it but the issue is doing it. But here's the list that I've gathered off the top of my head. 1. Eat right, not perfect Cut out sugars, liquid calories, high carb meals,Eat veges, proteins, micro-nutrient rich foods. You know what's good and bad, start somewhere eat something you know is better then what you normally eat. 2. Exercise Anything DO ANYTHING RIGHT NOW! Jump for a minute, shadow box, push-ups, squats. Don't fall into the trap of thinking you would rather do nothing then something that isn't perfect 3. Plan Sit down and think about what you want in life. Don't sit down for a minute and give up, set a damned timer for 30 minutes YES 30 MINUTES, you waste that time on the internet EVERY DAY doing nothing so don't make the damned excuse. SIT DOWN AND THINK about what you want in life. DO NOT LET OTHERS IDEAS OF A WORTHWHILE LIFE INFLUENCE YOURS! 4.You can't, you can "I can't go to work today...I can't do it" Can you get out of bed? Yes. Can you get a drink of water? Yes. Can you hop in the shower? Yes. Can you put some pants on. Yes. Can you put one sock on, YES. CAN YOU PUT THE OTHER SOCK ON. YES! Shit,shirt, shoes, coat, hat. Yes, yes, yes, yes. Can you get to the front door, YES. Can you open it, yes. Walk outside, get in the car, walk to the bus stop, say hello the neighbor, walk in the office, wait at the red light, make a left turn, make a right turn, stay in the lines, wave at Doug, wave at Sally. YES YES YES YES YES YES YES. You're at work. Break it down and you find that you can do it. Every small task completed is a victory. Instead of thinking what you can't do, ask what YOU CAN DO. 5.Jump in, Nike it The benefits of a cold shower can only be achieved if you brave through the uncomfortable agony of the initial shock. Fear can be a guide on what we have to do. You've written down your plan, now you have to follow through. Jump in to that cold shower, just do it. 6.Rinse and repeat That plan you made is NOT PERFECT, you're going to need to refine and revise it. You need to test it, FAIL at it and rewrite it OVER AND OVER. You made an ass of yourself at the gym, you stuttered and stammered your way through a flirtation attempt. Dust yourself off, review your plan, revise your plan, JUMP IN. 7. Add to your list There are more then seven steps to a successful life. You don't need to know them all from the start, learn as you go and when you find something you think will make your life better, easier, more complete, add it to your list. What a load of crap. $19.99 please! Thanks sucker!HAHAHAHAAHH
I tried to save the world but found that nothing worked, the same old laziness the same old what ifs. I've been alone (for so long) (x3) Waiting for someone to come along to save my sorry skin No one came, no one will and I'm still here all alone, alone, alone. I tried to burn myself I stopped because of the smell The fear that stings in me keeps me from fleeing here. I've been alone for so long Waiting for someone to come along Someone came then ran along. In my reality now, this world isn't in need of saving. This world doesn't exist, outside this flesh prison of sin.
I most likely hate you, and if I don't hate you from our first encounter I will come to hate you very soon after. There are things about you that are generally annoying. There are flaws that you possess that are legitimate reasons for someone to dislike you, perhaps even hate you. But what I hate about you is that fact that you're a human being, the same as me. I know how your mind works because I have the same mind. I was given the same tools as you and I can see past your lies and attempts at disguising your true nature. I believe that many of you have fooled yourself and subscribed to a comforting illusion about life that makes you not see how disgusting of a species you are, but the truth is you are. What makes us even worse is the fact that we have manifested an image of good and evil and continually fall into the category of evil. We believe to know what is good yet proceed to do bad. This is getting to sound religious, but the fact is that God is nothing but a word for our ignorance. Religion is a tool to help stabilize the weak mind in the face of the unbelievable terror that is the unknowable Cosmos. It is useful software to help keep the operating system running smoothly, nothing more. There is no real truth in religion, merely mans observations on right and wrong and his contempt of his nature. How can anyone be good who thinks highly of them self? The axiom that we are born imperfect flawed beings can be directly seen in religion, or at least the Christian faith, and therefore much of the world must subscribe. That we pathetic humans must grovel at the feet of some divine Lord so that we may one day be cleansed of our evil nature. Through fear of punishment many evil acts have been stopped and many evil men tempered. But still even with the belief of a God above humans did not stop their slaughter of one another. Perhaps it's not really a sin to slaughter a sinner, that's definitely how they saw it. A heathen was worse then an imperfect Christian, he was pure evil. As the proclaimed zealot Hernan Cortes made his way through modern day Mexico it would not be hard to see how the native population of savage cannibal heathens came to be viewed as sub human. Untamed by the Christian faith, these natives subscribed to savage practices that illuminate aspects of human nature that were buried and suppressed by organized religion. Bernal Diaz, a Conquistador who was with Cortez during his conquest of Mexico wrote many times about the sacrificial practices of the native peoples. The horrors he witnessed make me wonder if he too would have been a misanthrope. And if not the horrors he witnessed, what about the horrors he committed against his fellow man, knowing all to well that they would commit those same deeds on him if given the chance. How can you love man knowing what he can do.
I stare at a quarter I have laying on my desk, picking it up and feeling its tangible influence. I think to myself,if I were able to remove this coin from existence would anything change; would it matter? Is the coin and everything that makes it exist irrelevant to the Cosmos? Was it simply a part of an excess of materials spawned from nothingness along side the crucial materials needed for the Cosmos to exist? A positive perspective from my mind says that everything that exists is crucial to existence itself. The materials that make up the world around us are needed for the Cosmos to exist and also exist because the Cosmos needed them to exist. Why would something be created from nothingness for no purpose? Its existence means it was apart of something ancient. If the materials needed for everything to exist were simply always there, then we all share a profound importance to the Cosmos, to existence itself. If there is such a thing as nothing, how important is it to be something?
As my Pa on the roof said right before the sunset on that cool day in October.... "Sometimes I wish I hadn't of ****ed your mother Todd" Pa was always the dramatic type, telling me all the times about how that night in the Denny's bathroom stall where I was conceived had ruined his life. I always laughed and he would continue his little song and dance, sobbing and weeping into his hands. This usually come on after about six or seven beers and he never did quit until he was out cold. "The ****ing whore! I couldn't resist! She eyed me down with those damned eyes, made me feel special! As soon as that wench got my seed it was over! She grasped onto me with her legs as I came like some black widow sucking me dry!" That was my favorite line, pa always knew how to make me laugh. "I couldn't even of gotten lucky with a cool son! I had to have you! Some fruit cake fucking fairy! Oh God strike me down now! I hate everything!" That's when the joke went south and pa dramatically flung himself from the roof and impaled himself on the neighbors metal fencing with them spikes like a phalanx pointing towards the sky. I know deep down pa loved me much more then he let on, and I'll never forget his last joke. Wait...hey Ma, where did you and Pa meet? "What chu say Todders?" I says where did you and Pa meet! "I think it was some fancy restoriant, some place with a funny name. Had them that 24/7 breakfast...and nice bathrooms"
