It started to snow in Ontario as Darryl was shuffling down the icy sidewalk. He looked over his shoulder as he turned the corner to the street he lived on, his paranoia scratching away at the edges of his sanity. He pounded a meaty fist against a door. "Let me in mother, my toes have turned black!" There was a stirring behind the door as several bottles were knocked over. White flakes fell on Darryl's shoulders like dandruff as several locks were opened. A wild-eyed banshee stared at the man, curiously. "Fuck off!" Darryl screamed and pushed the door inwards, smashing his mother in the face.
Pouring himself a whiskey Darryl set to work on the next installment of Pals. I think I shall do something a bit more risque he thought, sipping the amber liquid. After puzzling over this for several minutes he flung the shot glass against the wall and watched the precious alchohol run down the wallpaper. There were several shouts from downstairs as the artist paced around his room, looking for inspiration.
This usually happened for several hours at each attempt of writing Pals. There was a cycle of pouring a drink, thinking of the comic and then pacing. It usually spiralled out of control into a drunken shamble downstairs to watch television and eat the stale filth his mother prepared. But tonight was different. There was a knocking on the door downstairs. Before his mother could stir from her slumber, Darrl jumped down the stairs and opened the door, glad to be freed from the shackles of writing Pals. "Wait a minute...what are you doing here?"
The vacant eyes stared at the 120 pound canadian homosexual. The form lurched into the house, his bloodied nose dripping cocaine onto the ancient floor-boards. "Atoga! Get the hell out of my house!" Saying his name seemed to stir the drug-crazed behemoth. As he opened his mouth to speak the dried vomit cracked and splinters of it rained onto the floor. "Subhuman...I've come to help you write Pals!" Darryl frowned at Atoga, at first ignoring his charity. But he decided he had nothing to lose and lead the wild man upstairs.
They both stared eagerly at the screen, hoping it would provide answers to the questions which they seeked. How to write Pals! Atoga fumbled with the last of the whiskey while Daryl simply stared into the abyss, dreaming of several acts of sodomy that may take place if enough drugs were provided. Then suddenly Atoga sprang into action. He drew crude shapes, his shaking hands trying to hold the mouse like a pen. "I can't draw Hannah! I just...can't seem to have...!" The baked stoner slumped forward, unconscious. Darryl sighed, throwing the man over his shoulder before throwing him onto a yellowing matress. He rubbed his eyes before going back to work.
It eventually stopped snowing early morning. Darryl awoke with a start, his eyes wildly looking around and a smile on his face. And then reality hit him. It seemed as though Atoga had gone and with it, his computer. Darryl sighed, picking up the empty bottle and then throwing it in the trash. He left the house without saying a word and walked down the empty streets. The virgin snow crunched under his sandals, searching for Atoga.
He eventually found him sleeping in a garden under a table. Darryl gently shook him, but he seemed to be stone cold. Dead. Next to him sat the computer with a note scrawled in what looked like feces. "I FINISH PALS". Darryl smiled, tears rolling down his face. Dragging the body across the grass he started digging. It would have to be a shallow grave, he didn't have the time. But at last he finished Pals. And that was all that mattered.
THE END
How to write Pals
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Megatron
- Mamma's Gang member
- Posts: 8030
- Joined: Fri Apr 19, 2002 1:00 am
- Location: The United Kingdoms
Comic? Probably never. Mabye I'll write an amazing story, oday?
SUSAN HAS NO MOUTH AND MUST SCREAM
Life in the ghettos of Canada was tough. If the rampant knife-throwing gangs didn't get you, the weather did. Susan stalked along the roads, casting a glance up at windows to check for snipers. The place had changed a lot in 4 years before the black tar heroin had taken over. Sneaking into a black alley, the figure scrambled up a fire-escape. He looked to see if anybody was watching him before silently pushing a window open and entering his home.
The room was bare except for two items. There was a bucket in the corner and a computer in the centre. The glow from the monitor lit the craggy features of Susan, the undercover detective who had no respect for the rules but got the job done anyway. He sat at the keyboard and checked the site he had been infiltrating for the past 2 years, a forum that masqueraded as a games site and used elaborate code words to make drug deals. He had worked his way up the food chain to get to the big cheese, the leader. Known only as 'Spazmo', the mysterious gangsta prince had killed at least 30 people this year. Whenever there was drugs, Spazmo had been involved somewhere. Susan set to work, checking the latest posts before his heart skipped a beat. He had been sent a private message from the drug king. With sweat pouring off his brow, Susan read.
The undercover detective shuffled deeper into the ghettos, the message bouncing around his head like a needle in a hay stack. The message said to meet him in a hotel room for information regarding his case. His cover seemed to had been blown, but there was no point throwing 2 years worth of work away when he still had this lead. Entering the hotel he nodded at the girl behind the counter. "Spazmo." he whispered. "Room 21, second floor."
He knocked on the door and pulled his piece from the holster. "Enter!" Susan pushed the door open, silently. There was a naked man lying on the bed wearing a halloween mask. "Spazmo?" He man peeled away the mask to reveal the beautiful majesty. Susan had forgot his angelic face, but hadn't forgot this was a viscous drug dealer. "You said you had information for me..." Susan lifted his gun. Spazmo looked to one side and nodded. Before Susan could react a thug smashed him over the head with a frying pan. He looked around, the room seemed to spin before the frying pan came down again.
A bucket of snow was thrown in the face, waking him up with a jerk. His heart racing, he looked wildly around the room. He was still in the hotel room, but it was lined with newspaper. He also seemed to be strapped onto a metal chair and was naked. "Susan..." Spazmo stood next to him, his naked crotch at Susan's eye-level. A hand gently touched under his chin, tilting his head back to look at the glorious face. "I've been watching you Susan, watching you watching me. I see you go up and down the fire-escape all day and all night, posting on that forum. But I know why you really do it." Susan tried to turn his head but the silky-soft hands held him steady. "You love me." smiled the psychopath. "So now...I'll love you." Spazmo knelt down and stood back up holding a drill. "What are you going to do with that!?"
Susan was thrown out of the car, naked and bleeding in front of the police station. His lips and teeth had been drilled through, leaving an open hole that had been violated for the past hour. Covering the wound with one hand, Susan walked in a daze to the lobby. The receptionist screamed at the macabre image and a detective ran in. "Susan...my god..." Susan threw his arms around his old friend, sobbing and bleeding onto his new jacket. The detective pushed him away, gagging. He pulled down his pants and started to jack off wildly, pissing and shitting at the same time. Susan stared in horror and silently screamed. The Horror. The Buttfuck.
THE END
SUSAN HAS NO MOUTH AND MUST SCREAM
Life in the ghettos of Canada was tough. If the rampant knife-throwing gangs didn't get you, the weather did. Susan stalked along the roads, casting a glance up at windows to check for snipers. The place had changed a lot in 4 years before the black tar heroin had taken over. Sneaking into a black alley, the figure scrambled up a fire-escape. He looked to see if anybody was watching him before silently pushing a window open and entering his home.
The room was bare except for two items. There was a bucket in the corner and a computer in the centre. The glow from the monitor lit the craggy features of Susan, the undercover detective who had no respect for the rules but got the job done anyway. He sat at the keyboard and checked the site he had been infiltrating for the past 2 years, a forum that masqueraded as a games site and used elaborate code words to make drug deals. He had worked his way up the food chain to get to the big cheese, the leader. Known only as 'Spazmo', the mysterious gangsta prince had killed at least 30 people this year. Whenever there was drugs, Spazmo had been involved somewhere. Susan set to work, checking the latest posts before his heart skipped a beat. He had been sent a private message from the drug king. With sweat pouring off his brow, Susan read.
The undercover detective shuffled deeper into the ghettos, the message bouncing around his head like a needle in a hay stack. The message said to meet him in a hotel room for information regarding his case. His cover seemed to had been blown, but there was no point throwing 2 years worth of work away when he still had this lead. Entering the hotel he nodded at the girl behind the counter. "Spazmo." he whispered. "Room 21, second floor."
He knocked on the door and pulled his piece from the holster. "Enter!" Susan pushed the door open, silently. There was a naked man lying on the bed wearing a halloween mask. "Spazmo?" He man peeled away the mask to reveal the beautiful majesty. Susan had forgot his angelic face, but hadn't forgot this was a viscous drug dealer. "You said you had information for me..." Susan lifted his gun. Spazmo looked to one side and nodded. Before Susan could react a thug smashed him over the head with a frying pan. He looked around, the room seemed to spin before the frying pan came down again.
A bucket of snow was thrown in the face, waking him up with a jerk. His heart racing, he looked wildly around the room. He was still in the hotel room, but it was lined with newspaper. He also seemed to be strapped onto a metal chair and was naked. "Susan..." Spazmo stood next to him, his naked crotch at Susan's eye-level. A hand gently touched under his chin, tilting his head back to look at the glorious face. "I've been watching you Susan, watching you watching me. I see you go up and down the fire-escape all day and all night, posting on that forum. But I know why you really do it." Susan tried to turn his head but the silky-soft hands held him steady. "You love me." smiled the psychopath. "So now...I'll love you." Spazmo knelt down and stood back up holding a drill. "What are you going to do with that!?"
Susan was thrown out of the car, naked and bleeding in front of the police station. His lips and teeth had been drilled through, leaving an open hole that had been violated for the past hour. Covering the wound with one hand, Susan walked in a daze to the lobby. The receptionist screamed at the macabre image and a detective ran in. "Susan...my god..." Susan threw his arms around his old friend, sobbing and bleeding onto his new jacket. The detective pushed him away, gagging. He pulled down his pants and started to jack off wildly, pissing and shitting at the same time. Susan stared in horror and silently screamed. The Horror. The Buttfuck.
THE END
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POOPERSCOOPER
- Paparazzi
- Posts: 5035
- Joined: Sat Apr 05, 2003 1:50 am
- Location: California
