BibbleSmiley(BS)

Maroon

The last drop of mercury disappeared before it could hit his tongue, the body's pleasure source. So cold and empty his insides could be sewed back together with packing peanuts tossing about in entropy like a box of dice being shook. No more, the doctor didn't know what he was taking but there were only two alternatives to get off it, life or death. The table was set to make yesterday's dinner with leftovers on the counter.

This was impossible, a local underground entity had fake products for sale mercury mixed with mescaline. The pain to persevere was tolerable. So in love with the table saw blade on a CD player spinning like it'd just done a cannon ball onto your lap. Nothing was better than the deep sleep coming.

Barely aware unlike a sentient sentry, Smiley rolled himself into a ball, fetal position, blue in the face as were the seams of his bursting blue balls he made the trap down to lafayette. There was a car with blankets over the window obviously in need of repair and if it didn't start a tow truck would pick it up. He didn't want to be the bearer of bad news and saw a pistol on the ground. He tried to put a hole in his head like John Mccaine but the pistol was a broken BB not even John Wayne would use with his back to the sun.

If he couldn't go under he would get to the top but it wasn't a crowded street he was splattering himself on feet hitting concrete, it was a railroad track. He never wanted either girl more than he did a gravy train with whisker biscuit wheels. He wasn't going to be the last one to eat the biscuit he thought Grandma and him were making when she showed him how dry it was and the right way was moist and squishy. You could tell from the smell in younger years when she could still have a bun in the oven now it smelled like old newspapers. If he began publicly masterbating it would turn into a circle jerk.

There was no way he could resist the urge to lay pipe down on the track and rub it like masterbating onto a mousepad after writing a firecode knowing all he had to do was put the hardened egg yolk roller back on and hit send, do it once again until the algorithm matched his expectations for what input would loop into feedback. The vibrations on the track like a dumb blond passing her drivers test because of the way her puppies were pressed in between the safety belt having committed four felonies at a traffic stop and wanting body cam footage of the macarena.

He was happier than ever. It was hillbilly heroin this mercury he was a party animal in a zoo with hundreds of thousands commands being given in order for it to produce one little blip. It was getting closer, the image of him castrating himself and becoming eunuch the holiest of holies playing the back nine yards going one after another.

The whistle shrieked accompanied by Bibbles own thrown into a fit of passion and the conductor swerved off the tracks to avoid collision. A chemical spill of mercury covered the Earth, dripping into the planet's core shifting the magnetic poles and the home of the human race traveled backwards in time and place. He saw it all in the apple of his mind's eye darting back and forth behind his lids.

They found him fishing in a puddle lapping it up with a curled tongue. He was immediately transported to the children's death row hospital until a clarinet clown had him coherent enough to stand trial and determine if future midget autists would be allowed to compete in WWE that could replace fly fishing on ESPN.

He was allowed to swear himself in on a copy of the book of his choosing, Bibbles Smiley. One hand on it and the other patting his lap. He honestly believed every word written there and explained why as he began to read what happened next. A jury elected to be sympathetic in the light of his circumstances wasn't exactly twelve angry men; this was less like a movie script than it was that of a script of mercury. He'd been prescribed but couldn't handle it without losing grip on reality.

There was the case that he shouldn't be allowed to be put into a recovery program. It didn't make anyone become a better person capable of making his own decisions. He was Garfield with the stouffer's lasagna and according to Gordan Ramsey as Judge, looking at what the others were cooking before he went back in his office to write down the recipe. WWE was not just bland it had been raw for years. He banged his tenderizer and Smiley was fond of guilty pleasure perversely beating his meat.

A secret double agent working against the deepstate switched the ring girl he was talking to in exchange for the one that approached him. No frozen choo-chocolate milk tasting like BUD LIGHT (Boy yoU Don't Like It Go Home) and Captain Morgan the cure for malaria in the west nile feuding with Biggies final chapter in the East.

Smiley could be genetically modified to produce vegetable oil out of corn starch.Ramsey wanted to prove guilt beyond reasonable doubt, he was a danger to himself and others especially in the ring. No course could be taken other than the detox route. Mercury was in his veins shot up like cattle cruelty being slaughtered, their mutilation the surest sign of alien presence short of a sign saying this is it.

The verdict was put into effect at once. Smiley was too out of it to protest the blood transfusion from body to robot. The cool circulating currents flooded with his drug of choice. Gears in an external shell wrapped around him in a downward beak dive cracking it open. Inside the childrens ward he was made to live as an AI. It wasn't so different from being on mercury which should've been administered in the lowest dose, shooting it up had the same effect as a long term injection.

Taken from his current holding to adult recovery Smiley groggily woke up in a new body, completely aware of the finest molecular stone soup in all the land. Stumbling out of bed the doctors made sure his motor skills were finely tuned enough to proceed with WWE. He wasn't the same Bibble Smiley as before. Hardwiring to be more efficient made everybody's lives easier as his contribution that gave back to society became a widely adopted technique the next generation found increasingly more status quo.

He was better than the high performing autism allowed him to function. The benefits were numerous like being clean with no carbon emissions. The only threat he posed was to Ichor Spiller in his first match. He wasn't going to win, he had to know that his actions were reprehensible and being refuted. He was a post-apocalypse cyborg traveling between worlds with technology people would be awestruck to know was possible. He had the capacity to be weaponized and would eventually grow bored with his mission of search and rescue, the latter turning to destruction of the nasty humans.

His will wasn't his own; it had been made by the chains that bind. His humanoid form was intact but the mind was surviving by scanning for the possibility of threat. The crowd knew him as Bibble Smiley and had to be introduced to the idea of this being the same entity. They were in anticipatory concealment of willingness to accept and had to see first hand how their tax dollars were being spent. This technology belonged in a museum for anybody to look at but was worth more in the future than the potential earnings at the moment. Black marketing has to keep going to appreciate in value.

His speech was redacted to be concise. Even after all this time he still got nervous in front of a crowd. It was being recorded but invisible entities watching had tape recorder memories. His opening statement was predetermined unlike his moves. The audience quieted down some to secure the package.

"You'll be wondering if life gets any better than this with so many of you gathered here to cheer. Nobody can bad-mouth me while being honest. The universe is too big to be immortal. My mongering to initiate a religious crusade is an institution placed by intelligence greater than our own. Anyone murdered automatically goes to heaven and that's why there is war. Rocks in my socks slinging dope no glock santa with the opps don't know the time so ask the clock shooting smack in a rap."

He threw a punch it deflected in combat mode. Survival instinct kicked his drive into high gear like cranking the hog. He moved in motion in a moment and was slammed. The physics weren't right. Ichor Spiller lived up to his name and they couldn't stop the mercury from bleeding. Smiley had to be removed from his suit.