Equally naturally, I did a fucking shitty job, and now it looks shitty. My blog looks like it has a terminal illness. Fucking awesome.
So the other day a friend(/psychopath) challenged me to tell her about something that I had invented that someone else had taken credit for, or she was going to kick me out of our secret society and shame me in front of all our friends, and I was all HELL NO BITCH and so I submitted this. For your viewing pleasure:
It was a dark night. I was sweating profusely, my skin taking on a green sheen. The leprosy was taking hold, and worst of all, it was joining forces with the tapeworm. I'd already lost a couple of toes down the back of the sofa and as I slid the needle into my arm, I felt the muscles start to disintegrate and the flesh come apart. The situation was getting seriously fucking dire.
I withdrew a vial of my blood, just enough to complete my experiment. Exhausted, I handed it to my assistants, Raul and Georgie R. I gave them detailed instructions on what to do and shuffled off to rest in the drawing room of my mansion.
Suddenly, I heard a commotion. Something crashed to the floor, there was a roar of anger and outrage. George came streaking out of the labratory, grabbed a broom and ran back. I lifted myself up on my elbow and fell back down when the flesh on my forearm ripped and slid off.
The sound of wood hitting flesh over and over rained down upon my ears for ten minutes, and then silence. There was nothing for 3 hours, and then a low groan that got louder and louder arose. Metal rattled against metal and every now and again I could hear George muttering to himself. 2 days later, he brought in an elixir that cured the strange leprotic illness and 3 days after that, he sent me to a spa for recovery. When I arrived home a week later the labratory had been cleaned out, the corpse was gone, as were George and Raul. There was no evidence of our experiments. This struck fear into my heart, but I decided it was better to let it lie, lest the authorities ask what exactly we were doing in the sewer under the graveyard that night.
I well regretted that though, when my humble assistant turned his hand to film making and a few years later George Romero was some kind of sodding cult hero and rolling in it! I INVENTED ZOMBIES, GOD DAMNIT. WHERE ARE MY FUCKING ROYALTY CHEQUES, HUH? THREE MONTHS OF MY SKIN FALLING OFF FOR FUCKING NOTHING. TWAT.