You Are X

Ever get the feeling that you’re off?

You know, like you were born off, raised off, think off — the way you wipe your ass is off, your jerk is off; generally everything about you is, off.

Yeah, me neither, but this one guy I used to know intimately through many, many; exhaustibly much acquaintances — did.

So that’s who I’m gonna tell you about today boils n giblets.

It all begins inna dark, and stormy cellar, on a chilly Autumn dawn.

All the rats (approximately 5, to be precise), angry, tired, and wet sleighed atop a weathered pizza box crashing about the great Cellar Sea, when out of the central vortex shot a tentacular wave that proceeded to wrap so mightily about its hull, it pulled our heroes right into its spin.

Now, the box itself wasn’t anything special; certainly not a character in its own right we come to know, and love as it carries our heroes safely to their journey’s end — no.

So, you would be correct to presume its description isn’t necessary, yet that is precisely what will read here:

Sharpened bits of cheese etched where some chum had sliced the pie (a pimply pubescent wiping sweat from his acne peppered brow). The baseless caricature of an Italian chef, bled through a large grease stain in the lower center when suddenly I remember — I forgot what I was talking about.

Has that ever happened to you bellies n gerbils? Sucks ain’t it?

Allow me a moment to catch up with… *scrolling* …you… *scrolling faster, harder, turning the screen sideways, frontways, backways, up, and down, until slamming it against his chest with a long reflection of patriotic solemnity. Then turns to you — yes you reader, in exaggerated exasperation*

That makes no sense! You must be sooooo confused bonads n gables!

They weren’t rats at all; but caribou — a whole herd of fully seasoned caribou. Now, does that fix it for you otherings n sand? Good, I’ll continue…

Clinging to preservation on the edge of an upturned (and notably racist pizza box) our heroes initiated an interpretive display of erotic neon-literature, while awaiting their decision to either shit or get off the pot. To close this debate (after several intense hours of graphic interpretation), they drew straws from carefully guarded pockets to decide whether to draw straws on the matter. But when they all drew equal, they knew then they had no choice.

A men!

How was that hogspit n chitlins? Do’s yer thinkin vessels feel a little “off”, yet?

Hmmmm… …  …mmmmmmm… …  …m… … …mmmmmmm…mm…mmm… m…m… … …m…. I’m getting a little more “no’s” than I think warrant, so I’ll just act as the remainder of this questionnaire.

Now, would it be presumptuous to presume some of you identify as a member of the “guy” species? No, guy, not Guy. Mmhmm. And as a self-id’d “Guy among guy” (No not Guy among guy, more like guy among… right) by your own admission (your words not mine), and I quote, “?”.

Now, d’ya see what I did there…?

WHAT?! Jesus-Wielding-Christ! What you just wrote make’s as much sense as a pair a’ tits on a seabass in July. I think it’s time you hand it over —

No!

— Give me the keyboard —

NNnGHHh! NO! Look, all’s I was saying limericks n Pastor Tod—

*Hard scuffle*

*High squealing* NOOOOOO!

*Vicious blows; loud sopping crunches — swollen and fading*

I bought a plot between your mother and father….

          — Terribly sorry readers of the audience —

*hard stomp, melon pop; two scrapes of a heel*

— but as it would apparently appear, the former teller of this tale has expired terribly from what the coroner decided just before he saw his shadow: “a verily incensed vexation”.

Our thoughts and prayers are certainly with us tonight, whatever they might be.

Or not… or once….

Yeah! Afterall, even it was only one time, once.

An’ sometimes that’s all it takes.

Once.

          Anywhothefuck, I’d sure like to stay and tell you all about it, but as you can visibly see I am incredulously, and incoherently outta roo

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*snickering*

Ok! Shh! Shh!

*snickers*

Sh! Okay. Are — are they——

Shit… no, no they’re still there

Huh? Staring.

No, just staring.

I don’t know watching the page, I think. I don’t know, maybe they’re waiting for it to entertain them. Yeah well, nuthin I can do.

No!

Imma a fill-in, not the Fill-er! I did my thing, now I’m through.

Besides, they’ll see me for sure and then it’ll be this big awkward; “oh, excuse me!

No! Please, excuse me!

Oh, not at all, I’m sure! However, since I have you, if I, if I may… … …

*Ahem*

Yes! Yes! You have my time, out with it!

…Well, you see, it’s only that I was under the impression you were out of room on that last page… tha-that Is what you said, isn’t it…?

See? It would naturally become my heir duty to correct them, noting it was what I had written, not said.

Do I—? Think they know we know they know?

I don’t fucking know!

You look. No! You! Cause I don’t…. alright, fuck!

Yeah, I gotta an ass-eye-view to an assassination…. One mom’s marching me to a fire…

*Jesus lady, it ain’t that extreme! Hit the back button!*

Sorry, hmmm… a group of teens are using my digital pages to roll grass. No, no it’s literal fucking grass. Smartphone. Right…. Oh! and another guy’s eyeing the page pretty hard

*YEAH, I’LL TELL YOU WHERE TO COCK THAT BROW, BUDDY!*

Alright! Okay —— yep, I’ll tell ‘em —— yeah, look just shut the fuck up fuh Chris’ sake!

*The fuck d’ya’ want? Read the next story already!*