decaheximal
09-28-2003, 08:26 AM
Okay, so. I live in this filthy little "dungeon of horrors," right? Right. Well, actually it's more like a maggot-infested stink-lair frequented by all manner of vermin, the bulk majority of which consists of flies, mice, and on one occasion, an opposum. I had a bat once, too.
Anyway, on occasion, I'm frequented by two anonymous friends of mine, who I'll call, oh, say "BM" and "JD." My comrades and I collectively refer to the dank shit-ridden piss hole of a room in the corner that serves as a bathroom, the "Black Metal Bathroom." (And believe me, I use the term "bath"room loosely...) <img src=smilies/puke.gif>
So I mean, I kill at least a dozen flies on a daily basis, try to burn the maggots once in a while, there was a bee in here the other day... BM smashed the bastard to the floor, crushed it with his boot, stamped it in real good, then got down on his haunches and burned the smashed exo-carcass, oozing all manners of inside-out gory insect entrail nastiness with his lighter for a good thirty seconds before pronouncing it officially "dead." I kid you not.
Actually, a few minutes after JD left this morning, I saw another damn mouse running around, so I opted to go insane and run after the little bastard with a rusted golf club. I figured I'd dismember it (painfully) with a quick snap of the four iron, then sodomize its remaining life force with my boot heel. Clean up detail would have to be considered later, I was in no mood to not do this. They've been driving me nuts for the past several months.
Anyway, back to my original point... I've always wondered what it would be like, stuffing my lard-ass cat into the microwave, hitting the "Baked Potato" preset button, and laughing maniacally as the matted furball spun around on the glass rotating microwave platter.
Probably smelly.
He's just lucky that... A.) He's too fat to ever... and I mean EVER fit into ANY manner of two-foot cubic space, and B.) The damn microwave broke last month in a foul-smelling exploding clam chowder incident.
He'll have his day, though.
<P ID="signature">----
This sentence is false. The previous statement was true.</P>
Anyway, on occasion, I'm frequented by two anonymous friends of mine, who I'll call, oh, say "BM" and "JD." My comrades and I collectively refer to the dank shit-ridden piss hole of a room in the corner that serves as a bathroom, the "Black Metal Bathroom." (And believe me, I use the term "bath"room loosely...) <img src=smilies/puke.gif>
So I mean, I kill at least a dozen flies on a daily basis, try to burn the maggots once in a while, there was a bee in here the other day... BM smashed the bastard to the floor, crushed it with his boot, stamped it in real good, then got down on his haunches and burned the smashed exo-carcass, oozing all manners of inside-out gory insect entrail nastiness with his lighter for a good thirty seconds before pronouncing it officially "dead." I kid you not.
Actually, a few minutes after JD left this morning, I saw another damn mouse running around, so I opted to go insane and run after the little bastard with a rusted golf club. I figured I'd dismember it (painfully) with a quick snap of the four iron, then sodomize its remaining life force with my boot heel. Clean up detail would have to be considered later, I was in no mood to not do this. They've been driving me nuts for the past several months.
Anyway, back to my original point... I've always wondered what it would be like, stuffing my lard-ass cat into the microwave, hitting the "Baked Potato" preset button, and laughing maniacally as the matted furball spun around on the glass rotating microwave platter.
Probably smelly.
He's just lucky that... A.) He's too fat to ever... and I mean EVER fit into ANY manner of two-foot cubic space, and B.) The damn microwave broke last month in a foul-smelling exploding clam chowder incident.
He'll have his day, though.
<P ID="signature">----
This sentence is false. The previous statement was true.</P>