"The Bengalaas can spit lightning and belch acidic clouds of vapor up to ten miles distant, can't it?"
-Snowreaver
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| Random mumblings from the third world | | | Author: | | | IP: | dsl-KK-2XXXX | | Date: | 12/23/04 02:12 | | Game Type: | Other | | Labels: | none | | Report Rating: , # of Ratings: 0, Max: , Min:
Lifetime Rating for Desert Demon: 7.7353 | | It was, all in all, a very dull morning.
Roger had awoken at 7, gone downstairs, opened the
fridge, and taken out the carton of milk. He had gotten a bowl and
filled it with cereal. He had grabbed a spoon and poured milk into his
bowl. He had then felt the astonishing effects of the hangover that
somehow had been numbed up until this point. Standing as he was,
whistling Beethoven's Fifth through his teeth, it was like being
punched in the face by a heavyweight champion, except perhaps a little
worse. Roger fell down, as most people would after being hit thusly. He
barely noticed the fact that he was lying in a puddle of milk.
The doorbell rang as he lied there, contemplating
the ceiling in silence. Roger cringed. It rang again, a sledgehammer to
his skull. Roger tried his best to ignore it, but in vain. Soon
afterwards, it was followed by a series of feminine shouts.
"I KNOW YOU'RE IN THERE, YOU FUCKER!" The voice
wasn't familiar to him. Indeed, it was rather alien. "OPEN UP, ROGER."
Still, it knew his name. It must be one of the girls who had been in
his flat last night.
Last night suddenly flowed into his head through
what felt like his right ear. Various images flashed in front of his
eyes before departing through what was presumably his left ear. He
blinked. The whole stream of memories had felt a good deal like a 20
foot long handkerchief that someone had violently sneezed into. Or
vomited in. Roger was too hungover to make the distinction.
The morning continued like this, Roger eventually
drowning out the shouts until they finally stopped. A click at the
front door coincided with the clock chiming for 12 noon. Danny was back
home.
Danny walked into the kitchen and took one look at
Roger, then made a rather risqué comment about masturbating to cereal
this early in the day. Roger attempted to flip him the bird, only to
find that his hands were indeed in his pants. How they had got there,
he had no idea. Perhaps corn flakes were significantly more arousing
than he had remembered. He would have to take note of the brand and buy
more next week.
As Danny departed, Roger closed his eyes. He drifted
rather slowly into a pained sleep, filled with dreams of Anna
Kournikova and Kellog's.
Rita kicked him in the side.
"FUCK YOU, ROGER," she screamed. He opened his eyes and smiled weakly at her.
"You're looking lovely, Rita," he managed before the
toe of her stilleto heel found its way into his ribs. He coughed.
"Fuck off. Give me the money you stole from me last
night in the middle of our passion, as you came into me as if I were
Pompeii..." She continued but he stopped listening. Rita had a habit of
going on and on and Roger wasn't really in the mood for it. Nor did he
remember any passion, and he seriously doubted any had happened. None
that he was aware of, anyway.
"Was this before or after I was in a drunken stupor?" he asked.
"Shut up while I'm talking!" she cried, kicking him in the groin.
"Dear me..." gasped Roger. His world twisted with
pain. "We didn't...I...didn't...money...ow..." He curled into a ball,
and rolled away from her. Unfortunatley, "away from her" was synonymous
with "out of the kitchen and into the gaping hole that somehow existed
in the middle of his sittng room." A burst of light blinded him as he
plummeted into the great beyond.
He landed on the giant visage of none other than
FDR, in what appeared to be a interdimensional traveler's change purse.
A rather collosal change purse, it seemed. Roger hoped desperatley that
the traveler was not as large as his moneybag.
A rather unexpected cleaning robot appeared, lifting
him up and dropping him into a nearby wastebasket. Roger, rather ticked
off at this point, yelled to the salmon heads surrounding him that he
was of more personal worth than they were, and would they like him to
prove it? After his rant, the nearest head responded by decaying rather
eloquently. Roger tried to interrupt, but was unable to get a word in.
He finally pulled himself out of the bin to get a better look at where
he was at.
Beyond the fact that it was a giant change purse,
the only other thing he could determine about his location was that he
was clearly no longer in London. His quiet contemplation was
interrupted by the opening of the change purse, however, and he
screamed with the realization that the fish heads were still going on
with their decay, completley oblivious to the impending doom.
A strange spacecraft made its presence clear with
the drone of its engines as it lowered itself down to the gigantic
dime. A series of clamps dropped down to the edges of the dime, and the
spacecraft moved it to the side, allowing Roger to see that beneath it
was a peso. This too was moved, revealing 50 yen, 3 pounds sterling, a
total of 12 canadian dollars, and a shining US quarter. The quarter was
lifted up by the spacecraft.
It was on this quarter that Roger saw his chance to
escape. He ran up to it and jumped on. The engines gunned, reminiscient
of a recitation of Eliot's The Wasteland by a stout gentleman's
gentleman with a rather nasal voice and a slight headcold. The coin
flew out of the purse, which was closed by the spacecraft's tractor
beam, and was then transported towards the gaping steel maw of what was
none other than a gum machine.
Roger screamed.
Rita ran after Roger, although having her heels on
made this rather difficult. By the time she made it out of the kitchen,
he had already fallen into the interdimensional rift that opened rather
inconveniently in the sitting room, and said portal had closed. She
wondered to herself where he had gone to, then called up the stairs to
Danny to ask if he had seen Roger. Danny yelled that he had not, and
asked if she would like to do something dirty on the sitting room rug.
Rita said that normally she might, but it, along with the rest of the
sitting room's furnishings, seemed to have vanished without a trace.
Danny jumped down the stairwell to see for himself,
and unfortunatley proceeded past his intended landing spot, landing in
a heap on the floor. Rita asked if he would like to do something dirty
where he was, to which Danny replied that his legs weren't really up to
par and would she call the emergency room and tell them that he had
fractured something that was no doubt important. Rita did as he asked,
and then left the apartment in search of Roger.
Commander Arrek of the 3548576th Chapter of the
Interdimensional Traveler Guild was rather looking forward to his
bubble gum, but the strange life form that seemed to have hitched a
ride on his quarter posed a problem. While he normally wouldn't mind
stowaways, this one was making a rather dreadful row. It was indeed
almost as if it were afraid of large spheres of chewable goodness.
Arrek could not comprehend how anyone could fear bubble gum.
Still, he needed his gum and the life of this
insignificant creature was less important than that. It's
unintelligable cries were giving him a headache, too, and he was
getting tired of its presence. He grabbed his ray gun and set it to
"Induce Vomiting," taking careful aim. The first blast missed by a
meter, but the second connected. The creature fell, screaming, into the
void below the moneybag.
Commander Arrek of the 3548576th Chapter of the Interdimensional Traveler Guild smiled. He was getting his gum after all.
Roger emptied his stomach into the air. He plummeted
down towards the base of the bubble gum machine, screaming through his
vomit. Above him, the quarter fell into the machine, and the gumball
began its fateful tumble down to the receptacle. Roger watched as it
spiraled down the slide some twenty feet above him. The sight made him
rather dizzy.
He vomited again.
Rita passed through his mind. He did vaguely
remember doing something with her the other night. And he did remember
searching through her purse, thinking that he needed to buy another
three dozen bottles of malt liquor. He dipped his hand into his back
pocket and extracted his wallet, opening it to see two crisp 50 pound
notes that he had stolen from Rita.
"Ah yes. I guess I did take her money." Roger
vomited again, then looked to his right and saw that he had some
company in his long drop. Two of the fish heads had been violently
jetissoned from the purse up above him. He nodded to one of them.
"Wonderful weather we've been having, yes?" he said.
The fish head stared at him blankly. He wondered, while waiting for it
to respond, whether fish heads had managed to evolve an audible
language, or whether the whole decaying thing was it. He hoped they
had-the decaying was nauseating him. He turned his head so as not to
vomit all over his newfound companion.
As he turned back, he found that the fish heads had
left him in favor for an osprey with a significantly stronger
personality. Roger was temporarily crushed before he remembered that
that was how most people treated a person such as him, and that he
ought to be used to it at this point. Rejection was a fact of life when
you were Roger.
Roger idly wondered what would happen when he hit
the ground beneath him. He managed to forget that it would be violent
death, and allowed himself to come to that conclusion the hard way. It
took him a good 20 minutes to realize that, and another five to realize
that there was no ground to hit. He blinked and looked down towards the
void.
"I wonder how I'm to get out of this, then," he said
to himself. "After all, Rita will want her money back. And no doubt
Danny has gone into my room and is touching my things." Roger idly
contemplated how he would painfully vivisect Danny if this were indeed
the case, then suddenly caught a glimpse of what appeared to be his
sitting room rug. "Why, a familiar face!" he cried. He yelled a
greeting to the rug before it vanished into what seemed to be an
interdimensional rift.
Roger had mere seconds to wonder where the rift had come from before he too went through it.
Danny recieved the force of the blow of Roger falling into their flat from the ceiling. He grunted with pain.
"Hello, Roger," he said.
"Hello, Danny," replied Roger. He got up and brushed himself off.
"Roger, would you be a dear and phone the emergency
room and tell them that I seem to have fractured a few ribs as well?"
asked Danny.
"Sure thing, mate," replied Roger. He walked into
the kitchen, made the call, and finally had his breakfast. He then
proceeded to go to his room to do dirty things with himself to the
though of cornflakes.
Rita by this time had become a prostitute at the
local rug shop, but we care very little for her, so elaboration will
not be included here.
Fine~~
I hoped you guys enjoyed my weak attempts at humor.
Anyway, this is just something I wrote up to kill time here in India.
Hopefully I'll get out some real reports when I get back home (Jan
3rd), such as the CS one I have sitting, waiting to be finished. Also,
I managed to snag EA's Cricket software here...would anyone be
interested in a Cricket BR?
Oh well. Happy Christmas (if you actually celebrate it because of Jesus
and not because you're a selfish prat who wants presents), Happy
Hannukah to Lith, Happy Kwanza (seriously do any black people celebrate
this?), Happy New Year, Happy this that and the other one, and, in
conclusion, sex is good.
Especially on rugs, neh?
Yours rather ambiguously,
DD
this has been the deranged thoughstream of an idle mind...
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