You know, it is what it is. An orb. A sort of sphere. It is what it is. Kind of like an egg thing. Maybe it fell out of something? Like a part of something bigger. Not exactly sure, but it is what it is.
Kind of warm when you touch it. Not at first, but when you put your hand on it, the whole thing starts getting warmer and warmer. And it vibrates a little bit. I mean, it is what it is. The egg thing. The orb. We're still trying to figure out what it's made of. It feels almost like, I want to say wood, but really smooth without seeming polished.
A rock maybe? I don't know. It is what it is. We'll just have to leave it here and take another crack at it in the morning. We put in a big dog bed. In case, I mean, I don't know. We don't want it to roll around. Or break. What if there's some weird filling inside of it. We don't want it spilling everywhere.
Yeah, it does appear in our dreams. All of our dreams. I mean, it is what it is. Sort of an ovoid embodiment of love. I have a great affection for it. I want to serve it and obey its commands. Like, you know, not in a slavery sense, but like a friend. You know? I'm just saying, it is what it is.
Glorious. Resplendent. When you put your hands on it and it gets warm and you close your eyes and you can see all the black veins inside it. And they all start to throb in the darkness at the same tempo as your heartbeat. Like a million metronomes aligning all at once. I realize it's not metronomes, but it has that same tick-tick-tick feeling. It's telling us something. It wants us to do something.
I mean, yeah, sure, we gathered all the parts. We stole and traded for the metal and the welding torches. It is what it is. The egg wants us to build this thing so we're going to have to see where that goes. It's not like it's telling us to do anything weird. We're just building it a fifteen foot...thing. I can't go into it now. It is what it is.
I'll admit. I have weird sex feelings about it. They're vague. Like a sleep boner, you know? Ahhh. I can't explain it without getting embarrassed. It is what it is. Maybe there's a hot babe inside the egg.
Today we all came here and just sort of put on these purple uniforms and painted these masks purple. And we're just sort of wearing them and it feels right. You know? It is what it is. We're going to stand around the warehouse and, just, you know, guard it. For a while. I don't know how long exactly. For as long as it takes. Why are you bugging me? It is what it is.
I mean, yeah, sure, if you want to look at it that way, our bodies are sorta changing and the masks are sorta fusing into us. It's not like it hurts or nothing. I mean, I don't have anything else really going on today, I can stand here and morph into a monster. That's cool. Do I really want to be a pig monster when Leonard gets to be an eagle monster? Eh, it is what it is.
Oh, hey, the egg thing is busting open. Wow. It's this screaming sorta shambolic lady. I mean, was it what I was expecting? No. Did I wake up this morning wanting to do the bidding of this screaming lady? No. But it is what it is and she wants us to go beat up these kids in motorcycle helmets. I don't even know. It's like a circus thing. But I'm a pig monster now. What do you want from me?
It is what is.
This libtard terminator keeps asking for guns that don't exist and I may have to close early out of frustration.
Editor's Note: Due to a freak power outage, this obituary of Barbara Bush was written without the benefit of research. In order to pay our respects to this great woman in a timely fashion, we have decided to post this piece as-is. We hope you forgive any errors on our part.
My game is funded. Now I know everything.
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