Archive for the ‘Fiction’ Category

Why Zombies are Fake – Definitive Proof!

January 24, 2012 Leave a comment

When a zombie bites you, a psychic connection is formed between you and the dead creature. If you squint, and only if you squint, you can see it. If your friends squint, they can see it, too. It pulsates, writhes around, like a tongue and an intestine patch-worked together. It is stitched onto your wound, attached at the other end down the creature’s throat somewhere inside of it. Maybe it’s bit other people; dozens of entrails pouring out from its mouth in every direction.

It is dead, transmitting thoughts and feelings to you and all its victims. Until you die, you will feel your own thoughts and emotions slowly replaced by frazzled nonsense from a broken mind. Nonsensical images formed by snapped synapses will flood your own vision, logic will be replaced by need, and your family will be replaced by cemetery emotions.

“Dear God, place me beneath the earth. Please, just bury me!”

If the creature is killed, the tether linking the two of you will cease to grow. You will have to drag the creature, sharing it with however many other people are still living, still attached. Psychic pus will continue to leak, along with fecal matter, scabs, and blood, until finally you are dead from poison and born as death.

Naturally, this can’t happen, so it’s all a load of total bullshit. Zombies are garbage.

Categories: Fiction, Horror

I just realized why modern medicine will always fail

December 31, 2011 Leave a comment

It will fail because it is newer than us. Humans have been around forever. Medicine hasn’t. It’s like trying to install updates for a new computer on an old one. The updates were only made for new computers, so they just don’t work. If anything, it just makes problems worse by confusing two separate time periods and intermingling them. It’s like if you tried to find a place for cavemen in our society. It would just bungle things.

If you tried to sedate a dinosaur, it would not work because the sedative would be newer than the dino by far. If you could replace dinosaurs and medicine’s places in the scheme of existence, maybe by time travel or just by shifting the conceptual usages of their forms, you couldn’t inject the sedative with a dinosaur either.

And what of animals we can sedate? Animals like horses and cats? They know this Earth better than us. They’re just showing us that by becoming sedated because they already know about future technology so it works on them.

It’s all futile.

Rain Water

October 5, 2011 Leave a comment

“Help me.” A voice called out softly in the rain, weaving through the broken trees. “Help me. I need your help.” It spoke like a whisper, but more excited, echoing just past the entrance to the woods on the far side of White Ross field.

Even as the rain beat against the plastic hood of his raincoat, Darren heard the voice. He had been sloshing through the grass—his rain boots slipping from his feet—hoping to find some crawlers. His feet made loud noises beneath him as he walked. Darren had purposefully given himself a soaker, and the way the water splashed around sounded a lot like a toilet. Darren had thought that was pretty funny stuff, although now he was focused on the voice in the woods.

“I need your help if you’re out there,” the voice called again. “I’ll die if you don’t help me. I’m in the well just past the entrance to the woods.”

Darren moved quickly towards the sound of the voice. Overcast skies had willed the trees and the grasses grey, clouds and wood and leaves merging effortlessly at the skyline. Shadows cast themselves beneath dim ashy trees, pine needles hidden in the dark and by the weeds. Darren was uneasy.

“Help me, please.” Darren could hear the voice becoming louder. No, not louder—closer. Even at the entrance to the woods, noises felt like they were coming from all around him, especially in the rain, quiet as it was.

Like the voice had told him, Darren found White Ross well no more than a few steps into the woods. The old cobblestone had begun to turn the rubble, it wasn’t very deep, and so it had a tendency to flood and spill in any sort of rain. If anyone was in there, they couldn’t be very far down.

The voice echoed again from inside the well. “I can hear you out there. I can hear you walking. Help me, please.” The voice had stayed calm, not fraying or becoming urgent in the slightest.

Darren leaned over the edge of the well and into the rippling, grey, reflection-less water. Within reaching distance was a younger looking man staring up at him, not at all taken by shadow. The walls and the water were grey, but still visible. Whoever he was, he was hidden beneath the murk, from just beneath his chin to up and around his hairline. He looked calm, and then he spoke.

“Will you help me?”

“I can try,” Darren replied. “But why can’t you get out yourself?”

“How would I do that?” he whispered. Darren watched rain drops collect in the back of the man’s throat.
“Just climb up the stones. The rocks are big and easy to hold onto.” He grabbed onto one himself to showcase how sturdy they were.

“I can’t,” the man said. “The walls are too slimy. I’ll slip right off. Will you lend me your hand?”

“You’re down too far,” Darren said.

The man pursed his lips and continued looking directly upwards. Above him, clouds passed in the sky, identical and grey, casting a dim light into the well and onto the clearing where the well had been built.
Darren asked the man how he had gotten down there in the first place.

“I fell in,” the man replied.

“But how?” Darren was starting to feel worse about the situation; frightened, even.

“Can I grab onto your raincoat?” the man asked.

“If I tie it to something, maybe,” Darren said.

“There’s nothing to tie it to. You’ll have to hold on and pull me out.”

The man had never answered Darren’s question, so he asked him again. How did he fall in?

“I have a secret,” the man whispered, looking past Darren and upwards into the sky. “There are other people down here with me—one for my right leg and one for my left. I can’t swim, so I’m standing on them. Otherwise I’d drown.”

Darren felt all the cold from the clouds and the rain travel up his back.

“I-I-I’d better get… I’d better get my parents,” Darren sputtered, stumbling backwards from the well and back towards White Ross field, the sound of water still splashing in his boots.

“Don’t bother!” The man’s voice echoed up and out the well, scraping against the trees. “I already did!”

Categories: Fiction, Horror

8 Minute Scabs

September 15, 2011 Leave a comment

So I’ve been doing 8 Minute Scabs again. It’s a great exercise routine, and blah blah there are better blah blah fuck it. It’s working for me. 12 days in and my abdomen is just one massive scab, so fuck paying like $80 for a gym membership or whatever I’m expected to do. This is better. It’s better because I like it.

Earlier today I wasted like three hours trying to pick at it and see what’s underneath. Trying to just tear off the entire mound is fucking impossible. It’s like a purple tank has adhered itself to my stomach. I mean, it wrinkles a little and gets cracked and crumbly when I bend over, but it’s still way too tough to just yank at. Anything that falls off just grows back anyway. It looks very similar to the way they tar up an old street to fill the cracks and potholes.

You can pull clumps off the top–they’re pretty crumbly, not sticky at all–but it’s impossible to dig deep enough without sending eruptions of puss everywhere. It’s cool if you want that, but my bed is now entirely coated in sticky white shit, and I look like a stupid pervert.

I was finally able to lift the corner up near my right pec. It took forever, but by prying at it with a kitchen knife and then sawing around the edges I got in and took a look inside. I can see some of my organs in there. They’re becoming scabby, too!

Categories: Fiction, Horror

The Boylet!??!

September 1, 2011 Leave a comment

The boylet is a lot like the toilet, except it is a massive ceramic dildo. When it is time to evacuate, the person sits on the curved tip of the boylet and allows it entry into their anus. A slit in the tip–powered by a massive suction–collects and removes all fecal matter. The boylet patron then pisses on the floor.

“Use a boylet. It will be cleaner.”


August 7, 2011 Leave a comment

With seven flavours, including FROG’S LEGS, Rudebeer is sure to be the LICE of the party. Pour yourself a glass and have a gas with Rudebeer’s special FART formula that makes you have to CUT ONE. You’ll love the smell of your BURPS and FARTS when they smell like BUGS and SKUNKS. OOOOOOOOPPSSS! Smells like you just drank a Rudebeer!

Watch out, because Rudebeer looks rude, too. Available in three WEIRDO bottles, you can sport a TONGUE, MUSCLE ARM, or EYEBALL shaped guzzler sure to whoops up your friends and make them think you’ve gone CRAZY from all your FARTS.

Categories: Fiction, Kid Picks

I feel like my house is being plagued by a Special Effects Horse

July 26, 2011 Leave a comment

For those not in the know, a Special Effects Horse is a cruel horse’s essence which has become lost without its body. These haunting beasts are tireless, mean spirited spirits. Although they are without form, cannot be heard, nor felt, nor seen, they can interact with this blessed realm through the medium of the special effect. Like magic, they burst into our world as they pass by a green screen, and CGI may give it a wireframe form that will be painted by computer magic over time. Despite the beauty of these modern marvels, the Special Effects Horse is a PLAGUE and a SIN, and there is one roaming about my house. I feel it, not physically, but where I am tethered to my fantasies. There is an empty space there, cut out in the shape of a horse. It has left the fantasy world and come into ours.

I currently have green screens set up all around my living room, my kitchen, and one another room, and it contually passes by them. I see it staring at me. Although it wants to be made into physical things, it doesn’t want to be seen before it has fully crossed the gap into our world. Only once it is a physical horse, whether it is made from computer graphics, clay or stone, can it properly take a human life. It will eat you, rip out your throat, and bury you under your own floorboards. Thankfully, we don’t have any horse makeup in my house, but I’m worried about any fireworks it might find. I lost the fireworks, and I’m becoming worried that a plague and a sin might find them.

Flooded with pyrotechnics, its impossible shell will become a brilliant spectacle of light and fire, and it will trample me, branding me with its hooves. A sparkle horse made from light and magic, and me, trapped beneath my floor boards, dead as hell and broken, too.

If it cannot be made physical, it will still hurt you and hurt you and hurt you. It creeps into you and steals your breath. It steals your breath and it turns it into sickness and it spits it back into your stomach and makes you filthy and filled with plague and sin. You will be worse than you were before, burdened by the sins of this goddamn horse. This horse–this Special Effects Horse–is both a plague and a sin. A PLAGUE and a GODDAMN SIN.

Categories: Fiction