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The Rise and Fall of Chatserv: Amerikaanse Varken Versie

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The Rise and Fall of Chatserv: Amerikaanse Varken Versie

Post by Armageddon on Tue Feb 25, 2014 11:11 pm

It was midnight and I'd confoodled all I could confoodle in one go. Where did the time go? Now I'd have to head back to my dank shack in the middle of the city, resupply for tomorrow's harvest, and have a good ol' "oomf n oh!" before bedtime.

Amy was still staying with that PLEASE REPORT ME FOR SWEARING!!PLEASE REPORT ME FOR SWEARING!! Greg in her old apartment. She rarely visited anymore, only stopping by a few times every month to buy groceries and cheap wine. Even then, she never remembered I was there until I drunkenly shoved the cup of loose change into her leg. Sometimes she would give me a few quarters and dimes, but other times she'd just exclaim 'oh PLEASE REPORT ME FOR SWEARING!!PLEASE REPORT ME FOR SWEARING!! off!' in an embarrassed sort of way and tell me to 'just move on already, dammit!'

I'd told myself that I was happy without her, and that I was definitely happy here in my dank shack behind the abandoned buildings. I liked it here, all on my own. I could confoodle all day and night long without anyone pestering me to 'put that thing away!' Sometimes I would get lonely, but that's when I'd go on the prowl looking for conversation at various coffee shops, or to just raise hell with the uppity baristas working there.  

The baristas were stuck up twats with no sense of humor. I hated them. I hated their job title. Why do they get a special name for serving overpriced coffee? I hated how they wore the title of "barista" like it was the highest honor one in the coffee industry could achieve. With their beanies, fake glasses, and artsy looking cream coffee things, I'd laugh at the thought of a fifty year old man with gauges asking if someone would like to sample a "Vouchie Yen Cappuccino Deluxue." I'd tell them they'd be like me someday, but they'd never listen. They'd say something about their art career and "moving to New York and making it big", all the while I'd be only thinking about Amy and Greg lapping up each others' cheap wine while laughing at prime time television and funny videos of cats on their Facebook. It made me angry. To know that she was happy with him. That she loved his perfect nose, perfect smile, and perfect office job at Baldor's. His suit and tie, smug face, and moussed hair. I didn't love Amy anymore, but I still hated Greg, the little fucking prick. I decided to forget the coffee and the barista and head over to Amy's to say hi.

On the way over, I picked up loose change on the sidewalks and a few half eaten things out of the trash along with a few half used cigarettes. Because of this, I wasn't in as much of a bad mood when I reached her apartment. Knocking casually on the door, I began to stuff my face with half smoked cigarettes and old moldy biscuits. I decided I wouldn't kill Greg, I'd merely ask for my Seinfeld DVDs back. I didn't have a VCR, but it would be nice to see George's smile every once in a while during my camfoodling sessions.

Amy answered and was very surprised to see me. She asked me in an agitated tone what the hell I was doing here, and I replied with the first thing to come to my head.
"Bfmmh Senfelfff DVss"
The biscuits and cigs made it hard to communicate, but I was confident that it all translated well. Amy's face quickly turned to disgust and she began to close the door when I put my foot in the door and motioned towards Greg, who was sitting on the couch laughing at an episode of How I Met Your Mother. Amy told me no, a very firm no, that she couldn't have me ruining her and Greg's night, and that I needed to leave before she called the police. I had finished my biscuits by this point, and managed to spit out a few words of comfort to settle her down.

I told her that I was only here for my Seinfeld DVDs, and that she needn't worry about anything happening between me and Greg. By this point Greg was out of his seat and standing behind Amy, trying to pull a macho "I am the alpha man here" look in his face. My experience with the back alley dogs behind the old abandoned buildings allowed me to ignore this obvious trick of putting me into submission. I stared hard at Amy and asked her to please let me in.

Hesitant, Amy finally said fine, and she let me in after telling me to be quick and to not leave a lot of dirt around the place. I hurried over to the cabinet where my collection was, grabbed the DVDs, and made the decision to kill Greg.

I went up to him and told him how glad I was that he was treating Amy well and that they were happy. I wasn't really glad, but it felt like a good start to something interesting. He said that he didn't give one tiny PLEASE REPORT ME FOR SWEARING!!PLEASE REPORT ME FOR SWEARING!! what I thought or how I felt, and that he will never forget how awful I'd treated her when I was with her. This was a blatant lie, as I knew that Amy and I never once had an argument. This gave me the confidence that I needed to bash his skull in with my collection of the first six seasons of Seinfeld.

Without a moments hesitation, I began to beat down upon Greg's smug face, aiming particularly for the nose, as I had heard a rumor from the garbage man that you could knock the bone into the brain by bashing the nose in. Amy tried frantically to pull me off, but had failed to take into account the thick layer of syrup I had placed all along my shoulders and back for when I fropped with the dock people on Thursdays. Her hands became stuck to me, and eventually she became part of the beating session. Greg's face began to resemble well scrambled eggs, which satisfied me some, but I still felt as if there was some smug left to beat out of him.

Taking the piece of glass out of my pocket that I used for opening cans of dog food and crabs, I sliced a bit of ear off of Greg, and then cut off a part of his nose, as I had felt the DVDs hadn't fully done the job. Amy was frantically trying to get unstuck, but to no avail. Eventually she fell over into the pool of Greg's blood that had began to collect on their mahogany wood floor.

She hit the floor hard, causing her to get knocked out immediately upon impact. Greg had long passed out by this point, and my DVD collection had been stained and beaten to the point where George's face was barely visible. Kramer was still there, but that was hardly any compensation for George. I felt bad about the DVDs, but was happy with the result of tonight's rumble.

Before leaving I shook Greg's unconscious hand in a form of good sportsmanship, placed a few of my half smoked cigarettes (the good ones, with very little dirt and piss stains on them) on Amy's stomach in hopes that would mend any harsh feelings between us, and then began to have a look around to see what she'd changed around the place since I left. Everything looked fine, except for the bathroom which I thought had a gaudy coloring to it. I took the liberty of taking their wine and beer before I left; they wouldn't be needing them with all that head trauma they'd be suffering later.

On my way out I noticed a young couple heading up to their apartment after what I presumed was a romantic night out. It reminded me of Amy and I's first date. Her smiling softly at me as I told her about my plan to start my own chatroom business downtown. We had just gotten back from the lake where we had laid down to look at the stars. We were so hopeful about the future. And I had loved her. She loved me. Those days seemed like a distant dream to me now. I watched as the young couple entered the elevator and hurried out of the complex to make it back to my shack before the mice began to make nests in my bed.

It had been an eventful evening, and I knew that Amy would phone the police as soon as she managed to wake up. She'd tell them what had happened, who I was, and where I lived. She'd say "They'll get him, baby! They'll catch that asshole! Egbert is as good as dead!"

I smiled and began to laugh. She was always so naive. So out of touch with reality. I chugged her cheap wine and called her a dumb cunt.

Everyone knows that there are no police in this city. There are no laws. There is nobody here to help her. It had become a wasteland.

Bribble had been abandoned long ago.

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Re: The Rise and Fall of Chatserv: Amerikaanse Varken Versie

Post by ponycrazy12 on Thu Apr 17, 2014 7:05 am

Well that sure casts a sinister tone on the tumbleweed.
Suppose this was your angsty way of letting it go? Amen, former Rockhopper Tracker-in-arms, amen.
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