It could very well be Brock's nightmare.
He wanders from chamber to chamber with his flea market, ironic t-shirt which becomes more soaked with anxiety induced sweat for every step he takes.
The boils on his back burn like the napalm we dropped on nam. He wipes his brow, but can never seem to really cleanse it of all the pig perspiration. It's the size of an aircraft carrier and quite the cross to bear.
His hopes, dreams, and internet persona have been reduced to a fine dust or cat-litter-like substance that kerzo keeps in the basement. He asks himself what did he do to end up in this wretched, cruel simulation. Is this retarded space god's punishment for the double dip salsa fiasco of '97? The misery is too much at times, for he is just a simple part-time bus boy working in a run down casino where the old come to die, and the juice pigs come to feast on the flesh of the deceased + a free breakfast buffet.
The voice of bisexual James Dean continuously showers him with praise and modest attempts of seducing the soul with bigboy sweet nothings..
"You're the voice of the 140 character generation"
"You should write for Pitch Fork bro, cuz you got the corny white angle down pat"
"You aren't chunky, you're creamy and swell"
"God pointed his Mets foam finger at you. You are the chosen one!!"
It's been hours now of wandering the dark, damp, musky confines of the WuCorp caverns. His stomach growls and panicked thoughts dart around like bats trapped in a wild boar's skull. The fleshlight battery is near dead, and he will be soon.. if the food rations run out.
Brock opens his trusty Jansport backpack he used at Hogwarts, and rifles through it like a Black Friday shopper who encountered a Blu-ray dvd bin. Shucks! Nothing in it except Playboy back issues and a wrinkled Big & Tall catalog.
But what's this? A cold hot pocket! It has semen on it. Brock asks bisexual James Dean if he should eat the cold, semen splashed hot pocket.
"Go for it kid. Shine on you crazy diamond!"
Or is it?
Last edited by Sideshow Bob; 01-17-2013 at 11:08 AM.
some will claim you tried too hard but i like the effort
Who said I tried?
My literary prose runs like the brown rivers of diarrhea after a Skampoe taco bell trip. It is au natural, a beauty to witness.
Last edited by Sideshow Bob; 01-17-2013 at 11:28 AM.
Hahaha this thread is so white that FMJ should be reading this story over a log fire with a glass of milk in his hand.
he's callin you a cracker.
Originally Posted by FMJ
Fuck your respect
- Rep Power
Originally Posted by Big L