Dedicated to vanitycat for helping me to procrastinate, providing humerous innuendos of a vile nature, writing awesome shizzle and for being the God of Fartiplication ^_^
Enjoy!
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Meanwhile...
‘Twas the night before Christmas and all through the house,
Not a creature was stirring, not even the mouse,
Apart from the burglar who climbed up the stack,
A knife in his teeth and a bag on his back.
Slithering down through the chimney with care,
He knew he would find some goodies down there,
Something to sell to get his next fix,
Brandy and mince pies to add to the mix...
‘Dad’ heard a noise,
Really was such a clatter,
He drunkenly stumbled about the bedroom, ricocheting off of lampshades and bedside tables before having a piss in the wardrobe,
To see what the hell was the matter.
He fell through the window,
Whilst trying to lift up the sash,
As he heard from the living room,
A right big bugger of a crash.
He saw a young burglar, so lithe and so quick,
He knew in that moment it must be that prick,
The Town’s junkie burglar! His poisons they came,
As he gargled, and heckled, and called them by name...
"Now Cocaine! Now, Cherries! Now, ‘Rufies, M-Cat!
On, Ecstasy! On, Speed! On Hashish an’ on Smack!
To the top of the heavens! Take me higher than before!
This one’s gonna be the whitest Christmas of them all!"
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
The seismic activity occurring approximately four feet below the topsoil of the graveyard had been slowly moving outwards from its epicentre for several days now. If anyone had actually been in the graveyard, which was currently closed due to the sole gravedigger’s not entirely unexpected passing from simultaneous lung and liver failure, they could have easily been forgiven for thinking that ol’ Ma Evans had been buried with a ‘toy’ of some description.
Judging by the amount of time she’d been dead however, it would have to be powered by those pink bunny batteries - you know the ones. That and the fact that ‘toys’ don’t tend to curse like a very pissed off sailor. If you looked closely, you would more than likely see the air turning a distinct shade of blue.
“What the funt? You have gotta be fugging kidding me, is this a dress? Seriously? Why the hell am I wearing a fecking dress?”
The sound of wood being torn to shreds accompanied the ranting and raving until a hand broke through the ground, clods of earth falling from bloodied knuckles. It reached further skyward, fingers twitching and cracking as a few broken bones settled back into their correct places. As soon as an elbow reached the surface, the hand reached downwards and patted the surrounding earth with caution.
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Latura in "Sick Things"
HumorIn a reality very near to our own, a parody of Earth which is so close, it can't even be described as a 'parallel' world, resides Latura. Her world is full of Mad Scientists, Demons and decidedly ooky Hell-beasties. Oh, and Pumpkinhead, but not the...
