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Aug. 17th, 2011 06:39 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
froodleSo this is what I was doing when I should have been working on my Eerie fic:
Title: The Terrible Monster of Boringest Doom
Author: Froodle
Disclaimer: Practically everything that happens in this story is real.
Characters: Froodle, Johnny Heg, Buzz Lighthair of Ron Smith's Command, the Prawn, Hayley, The Terrible Monster of Boringest Doom aka The Red Bull aka The Raptor aka My Cousin Lee
Word Count: 2371
Rating: Whatever the horriblest rating ever is
Summary/Warning: Contains UTTER PETTY SPITEFULNESS
Dark clouds scudded across a slate-grey sky, their edges tattered and unravelling in the fierce wind. In the distance, thunder rolled, momentarily drowning out the susurration of freezing rain falling amidst the pine trees. The soft carpet of needles lining the forest floor muffled the pounding of their feet against the damp earth.
Johnny Heg leaned against the broad trunk of an old tree, and shook his damp hair out of his eyes. He was tall and broad-shouldered, with pale skin and dark eyebrows that met in the middle.
“Did we lose him?” he managed to get out between gasping breaths.
His companions exchanged glances. The smallest of them, whose pasty complexion and shock of strawberry blonde hair had earned him the name Prawn, shook his head, simultaneously trying to light a foul doobie despite the downpour.
“You can’t ever lose him,” he said, despair and weed combining to make his voice thick.
“This is fucking retarded,” said Buzz. “It’s our territory, why are we the ones hiding and whispering and running away?” He flexed his biceps, making the fabric of his tight red t-shirt ripple, and the photo of Zac Efron on the front seemed to grin wider and cheesier than before.
“You go deal with it, then,” said Froodle, wringing water and the occasional small branch or woodland animal out of her long hair. “If you’re so brave, you take him out.”
“I can’t,” said Buzz. “I’m busy. I have important things to do.”
Johnny scoffed, fingering the locket around his neck which held a picture of a dead mouse. “You mean you have to sit in your room crying over Charlie St Cloud again and writing posts on Facebook about how talented and beautiful Zac Efron is,” he sneered.
“He is amazingly talented and beautiful!” said Buzz. “I’m not the one crying over a stupid dead mouse!”
“You show Mister Jingles some fucking resp-” Johnny began, but his tirade was cut short by a warning hand placed against his manly chest.
The last member of the group held her finger to her lips in a gesture for quiet. Her stylishly-cut black hair fell in bedraggled clumps around her pale face and her normally impeccable eye-makeup was smeared by rain and tears.
“What?” whispered Prawn, his thin face full of fear.
“I thought I heard something,” said Hayley.
“Stay here,” said Johnny, pushing his girlfriend toward the twins. “I’ll go check it out.”
“We should stay together,” said Froodle, but Johnny shook his head and stepped around the tree and out of sight.
“I think we’re-” he started to say, but his words were drowned out by a terrible noise that seemed to come from everywhere at once.
“Alright, Johnny mate? Man, I am so fucking hung-over, yeah? I got well fucking pissed last night, didn’t even know where I was, boy-”
Johnny made a sound, the high-pitched agonised scream of an animal in its death throes, and suddenly there was silence. Even the rain and the wind and the distant thunder had stopped.
“Johnny!” screamed Hayley, and would have run blindly into the accursed woods had the others not restrained her.
“Hayley, no!” said Froodle, struggling to control the hysterical girl. “It’s too late for him!”
“No!” sobbed Hayley, grief distorting her face and further smearing her makeup. “We can save him, we have to go-”
“He’s gone,” said Buzz. “You know nobody ever survives… that.”
Hayley began to weep in earnest. Prawn hugged her awkwardly, stroking her hair.
“He’d want us to protect you,” he said, and instead of marijuana, his voice now was choked with tears barely held in check.
A rustle in the dark made them all freeze. Something arced overhead, glittering in the moonlight, then landed at their feet. Froodle bent and picked it up, then, with a low moan of horror and disgust, flung it down on the sodden earth as though it had burned her.
Johnny’s locket was tarnished and dented, the picture of Mister Jingles ripped away, leaving only tattered scraps of paper around the edge where the photograph had been removed.
“We have to go,” said Buzz, as Froodle frantically rubbed her fingers on the mossy trunk of the tree. “It could still be out there.”
Numb with loss, they moved silently over the uneven ground. They took it in turns to guide Hayley by the hand – her eyes were open, but they remained fixed at some point in the middle distance visible only to her, and her face bore the expressionless mask of the catatonic.
They came to a clearing and stopped just within the treeline.
“We should go around,” said Buzz. His brother and sister nodded in agreement.
At the far edge of the clearing, something pale flickered before the trees.
“Hayley,” said a voice, faintly. “Hayley, where are you? Hayley, please help me…”
Hayley began to move forward, but the Prawn seized her wrist in a firm grip that belied his slender frame.
“It’s not him,” said Prawn. Behind him, Froodle began to cry noiselessly. “It’s a trick the creature uses to lure you in.”
“Hayley, I need you,” said the thing in the trees. “I got away, but I’m hurt, I’m so hurt…”
With a sob, Hayley turned away from the ghastly apparition. Prawn, misreading her intentions, released her wrist and moved to fold her into a comforting embrace. He stumbled backwards as Hayley elbowed him in the lip, tripping over a tree root and crashing to the ground.
Now free, Hayley sprinted across the clearing.
“You idiot!” yelled Buzz. “Come back!”
As she reached the midway point, an amorphous black mass rose up in front of her.
“I posted this comment on the London riots calling the police useless cunts, come and see how many thumbs up I got, is Will in, he’s not answering his ’phone, I need a lift to Douggie to see my bird, you can’t drive can you…”
Even at a distance, the terror on her face was visible. The darkness swallowed her whole before she could scream.
“Hayley!” cried Prawn, struggling to his feet. “No!” He turned to the others. “She wasn’t even one of us, she didn’t deserve to be consumed by our family’s curse!”
“There’s nothing we can do for her now,” said Buzz.
“But-”
“He’s right,” said Froodle, wiping frantically at her streaming eyes. “All we can hope for now is to warn the rest of the Island and give them a chance to evacuate before it reaches the first village.” She took Prawn’s hand in her own and pulled him into a tight hug.
“I’m so sorry,” she whispered into his tousled ginger hair. “I know how much you liked her.”
“We need to keep moving,” said Buzz. He retreated further beneath the cover of the trees. “Stay close to me, and watch out for the smell of Lynx.”
The rain began to fall again as the three remaining Hegs made their stumbling way through the woods. Buzz led, checking every patch of forest floor with a craftsman’s keen eye for tell-tale imperfections. Spotting a discarded pair of FatFace jeans, stained with vomit and left to moulder, he guided the others in a wide arc away from the infected area. For the first time in that long, horrible night, Froodle began to hope they might survive.
This, of course, was the creature’s cue to strike again. Foul tendrils of inky blackness descended from the forest canopy. Froodle screamed in naked terror and leapt back, stumbling into Prawn and bringing them both crashing to the ground.
The great beast stood before them, mouth ajar, tedious anecdotes of drunken mishaps conducted at parental expense pouring from its gaping maw in a poisonous flood of pure boringness. Prawn clasped his sister in terror and they lay prone on the soaked earth, waiting for death.
“Alright, Ben?” said the monster. “Can I lend ten quid off you, mate? My dad sent me some money but he’s a tight cunt so I’ve spent it all.” The creature produced an oversized lighter and began flicking it on and off. “This cost me twenty quid, boy. I love fire, me. All my mates call me a pyro, I’m dying to torch all that dust on the TV in your basement…”
“I’m not lending you anything,” said Buzz. “I’m going to uni in September and I’m saving every penny I make before then.” He produced a Stanley knife from the pocket of the heavy-duty work trousers he had been wearing when the monster broke loose, and glanced at his siblings over the hulking mass of the creature.
“Run,” he mouthed at them.
“Come on Ben, be a mate,” said the thing. “I haven’t got any cash and I need to take me bird to Maccy D’s, she’s a fat slag but I guess she’ll do, it’s just a holiday thing, she’s pretty mad ’cause I snogged her mate, like-”
“Fuck this noise!” said Buzz. “You won’t destroy me the way you destroyed my brother!” And he plunged the Stanley knife into his own throat.
Froodle screamed. Prawn screamed. The creature roared in frustration at being denied its prey. It seized Buzz by the ankle and hoisted him into the air, but it was too late – already his eyes had gone blank in death. Red arterial blood ran from the gaping wound in his throat and stained Zac Efron’s face.
The creature turned its rapacious gaze upon the two survivors. They stumbled to their feet, Prawn desperately trying not to look at the lifeless body of his twin.
“Alright Will?” said the creature. “Fancy having a couple of foul doobies in your car while we drive to Douggie, yeah?”
“S-s-sorry,” stuttered Prawn. “M-my c-c-c-car’s got a l-leaky exhaust. D-driving it m-makes me s-s-sick.”
“It’s only an hour there and back,” the monster wheedled. “Have you got any weed, mate? I could do with a good toke, yeah?”
“I might,” said Froodle, putting a hand on Prawn’s shoulder and taking a step back from the grotesque tableau. “It’s back at Castle Heg, though – we’d need to go get it.”
The thing’s eyes gleamed with low animal cunning.
“Tell me where it is,” said the nightmare, already salivating at the thought of unsupervised access to someone else’s personal property. “I can go get it and bring it to the car.” It looked back at Prawn. “The smoke’ll make you feel better, yeah? You’ll only be in the car for an hour, right.”
“It’s in my room,” said Froodle. “Inside a blue book with a picture of a dragon on it. It’s by the tall set of bookshelves next to the bed.”
Without another word, such as ‘thank you’, the creature vanished, leaving behind only despair and the stink of too much Lynx deodorant.
“You don’t smoke weed,” whispered Prawn, when he was sure they were alone.
“I don’t read Christopher fucking Paolini either,” said Froodle. “But that bookshelf is massive, it’ll be hours before the monster figures out I was lying.” She tugged at his sleeve, averting her eyes from the bloodied rag doll that once had been Buzz Lighthair of Ron Smith’s Command. “Let’s go.”
Though they had successfully distracted the beast, they moved quietly through the woods, watching where they stepped and barely saying a word to one another. It was false dawn by the time they reached the cliff edge, where a narrow dirt track lead the way down to a small fishing village which was just beginning to stir.
Froodle sighed in relief. Beside her, Prawn was pale and drawn, but he stood straight-backed despite weariness and the terrible losses of the night.
“Go to the tavern, order us some breakfast,” she said. “I’ll hire us a boat to escape in. Once we’ve eaten, we’ll sail out of the harbour and deliver our warning to the lighthouse keeper. That way nobody can stop us from escaping, but we’ll still give them a fighting chance for survival.”
Prawn nodded, and as his sister headed to the home of the harbour master, he went to the single-storied white-washed building that served hot meals to the fishermen of the village. His portion of bacon and eggs had just arrived, and he was breathing in the sweet, salty aroma, when suddenly he detected another, altogether less pleasant scent.
“Lynx!” he whispered in horror, throwing himself down behind the breakfast bar just as the tavern doors exploded inward.
“Will mate!” said the beast. “Are you in here? Couldn’t find that book your sister was on about, you must have some toke on you.”
Prawn tried to remain silent, holding his breath, but the cloying stench of Lynx was too strong. He began to cough, and knew that his doom was upon him. He thought sadly of all the racing games he would never play, and all the foul doobies he would never smoke, and all the hot girls he would never randomly friend on Facebook, and then death came for him in a roaring crash of tedious conversation, and he thought no more.
The boat was small, but it was seaworthy. Froodle collected two life-jackets from the harbour master and went to join her brother for breakfast. When she saw the people dying of sheer boredom in the street, she knew at once that the monster had found them.
“Alright Catherine?” it said, advancing upon her. “Just came for a chat really. Want to see where I broke my knuckle punching a wall because my mum was being such a bitch?”
Froodle dropped the lifejackets and ran. She ran and ran and ran until she reached the sea, and kept running until the water covered her head and the white foam filled her ears and she could no longer hear.
And there she remains to this day, drifting in and out on the tide, too afraid to come ashore in case the monster finds her and tries to tell her about his Facebook updates or show her scenes from Saw on YouTube even after she explains that she finds those movies gratuitous and boring.
On still nights, a person might even hear her despairing cry echoing over the water:
“SHUT THE FUCK UP, LEE, NOBODY FUCKING CARES, JESUS!”
In other news, a couple of days ago I created a Twitter account just to be in with a chance of winning a signed copy of the new Johannes Cabal book. I didn't win it, and now I think I know how prostitutes must feel after they've performed some vile act on a client who fails to pay them. It seemed like a good idea at the time, but in the cold light of day, joining Twitter is revealed to be a dark blot on my soul that will never scrub clean. I'll probably never get into Heaven now, and what's worse is that when I'm burning in Hell, I won't even have a good book to read.
Title: The Terrible Monster of Boringest Doom
Author: Froodle
Disclaimer: Practically everything that happens in this story is real.
Characters: Froodle, Johnny Heg, Buzz Lighthair of Ron Smith's Command, the Prawn, Hayley, The Terrible Monster of Boringest Doom aka The Red Bull aka The Raptor aka My Cousin Lee
Word Count: 2371
Rating: Whatever the horriblest rating ever is
Summary/Warning: Contains UTTER PETTY SPITEFULNESS
Dark clouds scudded across a slate-grey sky, their edges tattered and unravelling in the fierce wind. In the distance, thunder rolled, momentarily drowning out the susurration of freezing rain falling amidst the pine trees. The soft carpet of needles lining the forest floor muffled the pounding of their feet against the damp earth.
Johnny Heg leaned against the broad trunk of an old tree, and shook his damp hair out of his eyes. He was tall and broad-shouldered, with pale skin and dark eyebrows that met in the middle.
“Did we lose him?” he managed to get out between gasping breaths.
His companions exchanged glances. The smallest of them, whose pasty complexion and shock of strawberry blonde hair had earned him the name Prawn, shook his head, simultaneously trying to light a foul doobie despite the downpour.
“You can’t ever lose him,” he said, despair and weed combining to make his voice thick.
“This is fucking retarded,” said Buzz. “It’s our territory, why are we the ones hiding and whispering and running away?” He flexed his biceps, making the fabric of his tight red t-shirt ripple, and the photo of Zac Efron on the front seemed to grin wider and cheesier than before.
“You go deal with it, then,” said Froodle, wringing water and the occasional small branch or woodland animal out of her long hair. “If you’re so brave, you take him out.”
“I can’t,” said Buzz. “I’m busy. I have important things to do.”
Johnny scoffed, fingering the locket around his neck which held a picture of a dead mouse. “You mean you have to sit in your room crying over Charlie St Cloud again and writing posts on Facebook about how talented and beautiful Zac Efron is,” he sneered.
“He is amazingly talented and beautiful!” said Buzz. “I’m not the one crying over a stupid dead mouse!”
“You show Mister Jingles some fucking resp-” Johnny began, but his tirade was cut short by a warning hand placed against his manly chest.
The last member of the group held her finger to her lips in a gesture for quiet. Her stylishly-cut black hair fell in bedraggled clumps around her pale face and her normally impeccable eye-makeup was smeared by rain and tears.
“What?” whispered Prawn, his thin face full of fear.
“I thought I heard something,” said Hayley.
“Stay here,” said Johnny, pushing his girlfriend toward the twins. “I’ll go check it out.”
“We should stay together,” said Froodle, but Johnny shook his head and stepped around the tree and out of sight.
“I think we’re-” he started to say, but his words were drowned out by a terrible noise that seemed to come from everywhere at once.
“Alright, Johnny mate? Man, I am so fucking hung-over, yeah? I got well fucking pissed last night, didn’t even know where I was, boy-”
Johnny made a sound, the high-pitched agonised scream of an animal in its death throes, and suddenly there was silence. Even the rain and the wind and the distant thunder had stopped.
“Johnny!” screamed Hayley, and would have run blindly into the accursed woods had the others not restrained her.
“Hayley, no!” said Froodle, struggling to control the hysterical girl. “It’s too late for him!”
“No!” sobbed Hayley, grief distorting her face and further smearing her makeup. “We can save him, we have to go-”
“He’s gone,” said Buzz. “You know nobody ever survives… that.”
Hayley began to weep in earnest. Prawn hugged her awkwardly, stroking her hair.
“He’d want us to protect you,” he said, and instead of marijuana, his voice now was choked with tears barely held in check.
A rustle in the dark made them all freeze. Something arced overhead, glittering in the moonlight, then landed at their feet. Froodle bent and picked it up, then, with a low moan of horror and disgust, flung it down on the sodden earth as though it had burned her.
Johnny’s locket was tarnished and dented, the picture of Mister Jingles ripped away, leaving only tattered scraps of paper around the edge where the photograph had been removed.
“We have to go,” said Buzz, as Froodle frantically rubbed her fingers on the mossy trunk of the tree. “It could still be out there.”
Numb with loss, they moved silently over the uneven ground. They took it in turns to guide Hayley by the hand – her eyes were open, but they remained fixed at some point in the middle distance visible only to her, and her face bore the expressionless mask of the catatonic.
They came to a clearing and stopped just within the treeline.
“We should go around,” said Buzz. His brother and sister nodded in agreement.
At the far edge of the clearing, something pale flickered before the trees.
“Hayley,” said a voice, faintly. “Hayley, where are you? Hayley, please help me…”
Hayley began to move forward, but the Prawn seized her wrist in a firm grip that belied his slender frame.
“It’s not him,” said Prawn. Behind him, Froodle began to cry noiselessly. “It’s a trick the creature uses to lure you in.”
“Hayley, I need you,” said the thing in the trees. “I got away, but I’m hurt, I’m so hurt…”
With a sob, Hayley turned away from the ghastly apparition. Prawn, misreading her intentions, released her wrist and moved to fold her into a comforting embrace. He stumbled backwards as Hayley elbowed him in the lip, tripping over a tree root and crashing to the ground.
Now free, Hayley sprinted across the clearing.
“You idiot!” yelled Buzz. “Come back!”
As she reached the midway point, an amorphous black mass rose up in front of her.
“I posted this comment on the London riots calling the police useless cunts, come and see how many thumbs up I got, is Will in, he’s not answering his ’phone, I need a lift to Douggie to see my bird, you can’t drive can you…”
Even at a distance, the terror on her face was visible. The darkness swallowed her whole before she could scream.
“Hayley!” cried Prawn, struggling to his feet. “No!” He turned to the others. “She wasn’t even one of us, she didn’t deserve to be consumed by our family’s curse!”
“There’s nothing we can do for her now,” said Buzz.
“But-”
“He’s right,” said Froodle, wiping frantically at her streaming eyes. “All we can hope for now is to warn the rest of the Island and give them a chance to evacuate before it reaches the first village.” She took Prawn’s hand in her own and pulled him into a tight hug.
“I’m so sorry,” she whispered into his tousled ginger hair. “I know how much you liked her.”
“We need to keep moving,” said Buzz. He retreated further beneath the cover of the trees. “Stay close to me, and watch out for the smell of Lynx.”
The rain began to fall again as the three remaining Hegs made their stumbling way through the woods. Buzz led, checking every patch of forest floor with a craftsman’s keen eye for tell-tale imperfections. Spotting a discarded pair of FatFace jeans, stained with vomit and left to moulder, he guided the others in a wide arc away from the infected area. For the first time in that long, horrible night, Froodle began to hope they might survive.
This, of course, was the creature’s cue to strike again. Foul tendrils of inky blackness descended from the forest canopy. Froodle screamed in naked terror and leapt back, stumbling into Prawn and bringing them both crashing to the ground.
The great beast stood before them, mouth ajar, tedious anecdotes of drunken mishaps conducted at parental expense pouring from its gaping maw in a poisonous flood of pure boringness. Prawn clasped his sister in terror and they lay prone on the soaked earth, waiting for death.
“Alright, Ben?” said the monster. “Can I lend ten quid off you, mate? My dad sent me some money but he’s a tight cunt so I’ve spent it all.” The creature produced an oversized lighter and began flicking it on and off. “This cost me twenty quid, boy. I love fire, me. All my mates call me a pyro, I’m dying to torch all that dust on the TV in your basement…”
“I’m not lending you anything,” said Buzz. “I’m going to uni in September and I’m saving every penny I make before then.” He produced a Stanley knife from the pocket of the heavy-duty work trousers he had been wearing when the monster broke loose, and glanced at his siblings over the hulking mass of the creature.
“Run,” he mouthed at them.
“Come on Ben, be a mate,” said the thing. “I haven’t got any cash and I need to take me bird to Maccy D’s, she’s a fat slag but I guess she’ll do, it’s just a holiday thing, she’s pretty mad ’cause I snogged her mate, like-”
“Fuck this noise!” said Buzz. “You won’t destroy me the way you destroyed my brother!” And he plunged the Stanley knife into his own throat.
Froodle screamed. Prawn screamed. The creature roared in frustration at being denied its prey. It seized Buzz by the ankle and hoisted him into the air, but it was too late – already his eyes had gone blank in death. Red arterial blood ran from the gaping wound in his throat and stained Zac Efron’s face.
The creature turned its rapacious gaze upon the two survivors. They stumbled to their feet, Prawn desperately trying not to look at the lifeless body of his twin.
“Alright Will?” said the creature. “Fancy having a couple of foul doobies in your car while we drive to Douggie, yeah?”
“S-s-sorry,” stuttered Prawn. “M-my c-c-c-car’s got a l-leaky exhaust. D-driving it m-makes me s-s-sick.”
“It’s only an hour there and back,” the monster wheedled. “Have you got any weed, mate? I could do with a good toke, yeah?”
“I might,” said Froodle, putting a hand on Prawn’s shoulder and taking a step back from the grotesque tableau. “It’s back at Castle Heg, though – we’d need to go get it.”
The thing’s eyes gleamed with low animal cunning.
“Tell me where it is,” said the nightmare, already salivating at the thought of unsupervised access to someone else’s personal property. “I can go get it and bring it to the car.” It looked back at Prawn. “The smoke’ll make you feel better, yeah? You’ll only be in the car for an hour, right.”
“It’s in my room,” said Froodle. “Inside a blue book with a picture of a dragon on it. It’s by the tall set of bookshelves next to the bed.”
Without another word, such as ‘thank you’, the creature vanished, leaving behind only despair and the stink of too much Lynx deodorant.
“You don’t smoke weed,” whispered Prawn, when he was sure they were alone.
“I don’t read Christopher fucking Paolini either,” said Froodle. “But that bookshelf is massive, it’ll be hours before the monster figures out I was lying.” She tugged at his sleeve, averting her eyes from the bloodied rag doll that once had been Buzz Lighthair of Ron Smith’s Command. “Let’s go.”
Though they had successfully distracted the beast, they moved quietly through the woods, watching where they stepped and barely saying a word to one another. It was false dawn by the time they reached the cliff edge, where a narrow dirt track lead the way down to a small fishing village which was just beginning to stir.
Froodle sighed in relief. Beside her, Prawn was pale and drawn, but he stood straight-backed despite weariness and the terrible losses of the night.
“Go to the tavern, order us some breakfast,” she said. “I’ll hire us a boat to escape in. Once we’ve eaten, we’ll sail out of the harbour and deliver our warning to the lighthouse keeper. That way nobody can stop us from escaping, but we’ll still give them a fighting chance for survival.”
Prawn nodded, and as his sister headed to the home of the harbour master, he went to the single-storied white-washed building that served hot meals to the fishermen of the village. His portion of bacon and eggs had just arrived, and he was breathing in the sweet, salty aroma, when suddenly he detected another, altogether less pleasant scent.
“Lynx!” he whispered in horror, throwing himself down behind the breakfast bar just as the tavern doors exploded inward.
“Will mate!” said the beast. “Are you in here? Couldn’t find that book your sister was on about, you must have some toke on you.”
Prawn tried to remain silent, holding his breath, but the cloying stench of Lynx was too strong. He began to cough, and knew that his doom was upon him. He thought sadly of all the racing games he would never play, and all the foul doobies he would never smoke, and all the hot girls he would never randomly friend on Facebook, and then death came for him in a roaring crash of tedious conversation, and he thought no more.
The boat was small, but it was seaworthy. Froodle collected two life-jackets from the harbour master and went to join her brother for breakfast. When she saw the people dying of sheer boredom in the street, she knew at once that the monster had found them.
“Alright Catherine?” it said, advancing upon her. “Just came for a chat really. Want to see where I broke my knuckle punching a wall because my mum was being such a bitch?”
Froodle dropped the lifejackets and ran. She ran and ran and ran until she reached the sea, and kept running until the water covered her head and the white foam filled her ears and she could no longer hear.
And there she remains to this day, drifting in and out on the tide, too afraid to come ashore in case the monster finds her and tries to tell her about his Facebook updates or show her scenes from Saw on YouTube even after she explains that she finds those movies gratuitous and boring.
On still nights, a person might even hear her despairing cry echoing over the water:
“SHUT THE FUCK UP, LEE, NOBODY FUCKING CARES, JESUS!”
In other news, a couple of days ago I created a Twitter account just to be in with a chance of winning a signed copy of the new Johannes Cabal book. I didn't win it, and now I think I know how prostitutes must feel after they've performed some vile act on a client who fails to pay them. It seemed like a good idea at the time, but in the cold light of day, joining Twitter is revealed to be a dark blot on my soul that will never scrub clean. I'll probably never get into Heaven now, and what's worse is that when I'm burning in Hell, I won't even have a good book to read.
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2011-08-17 06:08 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-08-19 10:47 am (UTC)Johnny Heg: Colin Farrell
Hayley: Christina Ricci
Prawn: Nick Stahl
Buzz Lighthair of Ron Smith's Command: Liev Shrieber
Me: Clea Duvall
no subject
Date: 2011-08-17 10:32 pm (UTC)(Trust me. Echo Bazaar is totally worth it.)
no subject
Date: 2011-08-19 10:48 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-08-19 09:50 pm (UTC)(And speaking of selling souls... well, I'll wait till you've tried Echo Bazaar a bit. Heh heh.)
no subject
Date: 2011-08-23 10:47 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-08-23 11:41 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2012-10-22 04:09 pm (UTC)Also read about the new threat to the peaceful existence. Peace or world war 3. http://worldwar3orpeace.blogspot.com/
no subject
Date: 2012-11-28 05:00 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2012-12-29 07:48 pm (UTC)