ITT: Apricity Hood writes a story (fiction).
Let's /lit/ up the motherfucker with a game of OC do not steal fanfic writer tag. Write a portion and post it in this thread (wonder what the end result will look like lul).
I'll start:
Chapter I. The Rude Awokening ". . . and that was 'Fuck D*mbpf,' the newest hit single by Lil Poopoopeepee. It's 7:15, dark cloudy rainy skies all day and night, temperature in high forties. Coming up next, People's Republic China's National Anthem, brought to you by, Disney. Star Wars 43: Jar-Jar Unchained in theaters Dec 23rd . . ."
I smashed that M.F. phone throwing it against the wall like Caitlyn Gender pedestrians with her porsche. I thought I unsubscribed from this radio station a week ago?
"Jeannie! Mom, Jennie's throwing things again," that was my younger brother, a clueless sheepboy begging to be slaughtered. For being a fucking snitch, at least. "Fuck you Mark, I'll stitch you a new one. Audible smh."
"Jeannie stop c*ssing and come down. You'll be late for school!"
"Aghh but mom, I am too cool for school!" I meant that post-ironically, of course. What I wanted to say is that I am too cool for these unevolved unthinking subhuman masses waiting for slaughter unless we are talking about Fortnite where they always slaughter me big time. What do they know about knowledge and reason? Bet these plebs never even heard of Julius Evola either. Pfft. Jeannie headed downstairs and sat behind a big family table. Mark was in his pajamas and bing bing wahooing away on a Nintendo Why enjoying his school-free day. Something about underpaid elementary teachers in clown masks rising up or whatever.
"Eat your cocoa puffs, sweetie."
"Where's my fucking organic smarty-os?" Jeannie was furious.
"Language! Oh, those? Silly me, I thought that was dog food. Fluffy likes 'em, though." Jeannie felt sudden homicidal urges closing in. A sense of despair rising up (and disdain for plebs), enveloping her. She put on wireless Beats By Dre and selected that punkno cloud rap mixtape with a sick early 1990s UK junglist rhythm she made for herself and her imaginary friends, to drown, at least temporarily, the familiar noise.
A dog across the street started barking. |
