While this story is technically neither a wandering adventure or an example of why I should be legally required to wear a ThudGuard at all times, I’m still going to share it because I can’t just keep failing at the words makings and damnit I’m going to produce SOMETHING.
So here’s something about a mojito bar.
little brothers who
refuse to cut off their hair
Edited for accuracy, I’m only 3 inches taller than you. Also hat.
Note: there’s no evidence for any of this, I’m just making it up based on experience and because a certain coworker is being INCREDIBLY IRRITATING. I’M LOOKING RIGHT THE FUCK AT YOU GARY.
You’re lucky you’re the only one in the lab that knows how to work the larger pieces of equipment and the only one not afraid to mess with the air tanks. I’m not getting within ten feet of those decapitations-waiting-to-happen.
This should be a familiar term to everyone, but what the hell I’ve got a point to make and making a point requires a reiteration of common knowledge. For the purposes of making my point a “poker face” is here defined as a mask that a person adopts in order to conceal their true reaction or response to a situation.
1. If you are blonde, you’re gonna have a bad time. If your name is Elizabeth, you’re REALLY gonna have a bad time.
2. A jack of all trades will survive, a master or any particularly useful skill set or expert on any relevant field of knowledge will not. Fired a gun a few times at the range? Perfect. Fully trained and accredited marksman? Been nice knowing you.
3. All puppets or ventriloquism dummies are evil.
4. If your friend or loved one has become possessed then I’m very, very sorry, but you’re just going to have to kill them. It doesn’t matter how long he/she has been your friend/ lover/ girlfriend/ boyfriend/ roommate/ parent/child for or how much you wuv them with an Earth ‘w’… you’re just going to have to grit your teeth and prescribe a few 12 gauge nasal decongestants. Do it for love. For LOVE people.
5. Never, ever, EVER trust a cymbal-banging monkey; they are hare bringers of despair and death. If you ever find yourself in ANY situation where you have come into contact with one or if you happen to walk into a room containing one, then make peace with your god because YOU my friend are going to die. Most likely enjoying your brief new employment as a blood fountain while the shitty little monkey gleefully clangs out your swan song.
Fair warning: There is literally no way I can write this without descending into hysterics, so if I go from my usual reasonable eloquence to off-rocker jabbering nonsense within the same sentence just try to roll with it. Also, some of my facts may be hyperbolic out of sheer terror.
Let’s talk about my bestest best friends in the whole wide world of hellish nightmare creatures… ANGLER FISH.
Oh jesus christ why did I put that picture there…?