A long time ago a man journeyed to this land to terraform it for the rest of his species. Using an organic resin secreted through the pores of his skin, he constructed an immense hive. The other travelers emerged from the dimensional gateway and never looked back. And thus my home city of Concord was born.
I remember my mother's first words to me. "I'm your mother and I love you. Someday boys will say they love you but ignore them until you meet a young harvard graduate whose family fortune will keep you in designer dresses as you slowly strip him of his wealth, assets, and manhood. That won't be for awhile though so for now just try to familiarize yourself with the nest while I regurgitate some food for you."
"Have you heard from Lauren and Janessa lately?" C said. No sooner had the words hit the ether than my brain was thrown into paroxysms of lonely. I'm still patiently awaiting the release of human memory v2.0. The version that will allow me to recall with crystal clarity the ethereal symphonies that echoed through the courtyards when Lauren, Nessa, and I were queens of our respective planets. My moon harp solos may have been technically competent, Lauren, but they never caught fire like they should have. They were always better suited for the back of the mix where they could add subtle layers of sonic architecture.
I remember the day my Mcdonalds manager fired Lauren and Nessa and told them to leave the store. "Or else what?" Lauren said. "Will we invoke the wrath of the metroid mother cunt? Will we be killed by the H.R. Giger-esque double jaws that shoot out of the metroid mother cunt when it feels threatened?"
The best experience of your life bisects your life. It cuts it lengthwise so there's no mistaking where your tiny existence hit its high water mark. Lauren, Nessa, and I were sitting in a car, our consciousnesses wrapped around each other as we drove through martian sandstorms and temporal inductance fields. "Someday our master will arise from the depths of the sea to reclaim this realm." Lauren said. "In the meantime, though, enjoy your vagina. There are many like it but this one is yours."
"I used to think there was something wrong with my vagina because it wasn't all blurry like the ones in Japanese porn." I said.
In addition to inventing revolutionary new techniques of autism therapy, Dr. Temple Grandin also designs chutes that guide cattle through slaughterhouses. As the other cars passed by we saw the faces of a hundred Temple Grandins who wanted us to follow the paths they had laid out for us. What they didn't know was that years later we would use our memories of their abuse as masturbation material. Then we would have the last laugh, except it would actually be more like an orgasmic moan.
Once power was handed over to the police state, the zombie plague was contained fairly quickly. Now Lauren, Nessa, and I were at the mall watching the holiday shoppers. Operating purely on instinct, they descended upon the shops, moaning about prices as they lurched and shuffled their way through the queues.
The coffee shop employees didn't see the womb-like comfort that was pouring out of the walls. The menu read "A nice place to relax as the world goes by". The words were as warm and inviting as light_environment on a hardwood floor. Still, for some reason part of me wanted to run for the rusted fire exit and beat on the metal door until there were only bleeding nubs where my fists had been.
"I'll always remember the time you ate those moldy food pellets and then jumped off the top level of the cage because you thought you could fly." Lauren said. "You put me through hell that night."
"Really?" Nessa said. "What was hell like?"
"It was tastefully done. They managed to pull off a menacing, otherworldly atmosphere while keeping the architecture aesthetically pleasing. The whole thing was designed with an artist's sensibility."
On the giant holoscreen outside the ministry of fashion an anchorwoman was talking about releasing your inner slut. It was an old recording. "I'm really looking forward to playing Midnight Club." Lauren said. "When a game is edgy enough to use Japanese text in its logo even though it takes place in New York and London you just know it's going to be full of high octane excitement."
"I'm looking forward to Half-Life 2." I said. "Judging by the rolling barrels in the physics engine demo, the Donkey Kong mod possibilities alone should make it worth buying."
Discoveries. We stripped the cenobite in the closet of his makeup and plastic fangs only to realize that maybe this tangible sense of artificiality was what we needed to get through this machine life. Calling it an alternative lifestyle makes it sound like you have a choice. What does a Hot Topic goth have at the end of the day? A bottle of absinthe and a new set of lies. A suicide pact made with friends vowing to kill himself when rap music comes out with its new subwoofer that makes Nelly songs even louder and gayer.
I challenge anyone to beat my Sonic CD time.
Yesterday I talked to my psychologist. "So then I said to Lauren "Hey, if your moon tiara always kills the monsters why not use it right away instead of letting us get our asses kicked for ten minutes first?"
"What's the matter?" my psychologist said. "Has the bad machine found that his so-called friends could care less about exchanging positively charged ions of happy once the supply of cheap marijuana runs out? I tried to educate him. I tried to show him that he was nothing more than human livestock grown in a strogg biovat."
I'm looking at the perfect insects in the pods surrounding me. My royal guard. Twice as vicious as normal xenomorphs and ready to give their lives to protect their queen. I've been with Lauren and Nessa again. My inner monologue is a broken speak 'n spell repeating a Final Fantasy VII quote whispered to me in a dream. "C'mon, Cloud! Don't #&$* around! We're goin' to Junon, boyeee!!!"
This update is dedicated to my muse. I see you're still unpacking your soul one word at a time so that others can line their coffers with solid gold. I watch you take the crack and slip it into your fishnet stocking like it's a novelty magnet you're shoplifting from spencer gifts.
This isn't about harassment. It's about ethics in cat journalism.
Can you please give Golgura a trophy? How about Tallest Monster? I speak not for Golgura now. He is stepping on us villagers out of anger. In his wisdom he has flattened my son.
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