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Author Topic: Ess Oh Bee Ess  (Read 1572 times)
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« on: January 07, 2012, 05:54:03 AM »

Ess Oh Bee Ess
An academically researched project
Your tax dollars at work, Americans

The sun began to sink in the sky's canvas, painting the quieting jungle canopy in an orange tint. Emerald waves twinkled with an array of light resembling a nutritious casserole.

Hito had been snoozing on a secured raft by the coast. A light breeze ruffled his magnificent neckbeard and woke him from slumber. For such weather, he had originally sported a shemagh, that choicest headdress so useful in self defense against the depraved sun, but used it, almost ironically, to dress the wounds of a certain armor-clad sword of Allah.

For the past month or so, Hito had cast a line out for the numerous species of nonexistant fish nibbling unwary swimmer's toes. The atmosphere, disparate from the familiar daily sunsets, signaled him to admit defeat. While seeking forgiveness from the fish gods1, the honorable shaman battered his head violently against reappropriated scrawls2 such as 'Head east to York', and 'On this spot October 17, 2011, yo mama killed a python'.

He paddled his way towards Unity Island, again visiting the tomb of Tathers, sharing the room with a handful of cloaked figures3 bearing offerings and heterosexual libations. He paid homage the only way his value system could project: Some gold, chocolates, candles, transformer robots, and bent bottle caps4. In other words, he figured the pec pioneer was still walking. He could almost swear the body responded with a Fonzi pose.

The shaman's head passed the amber moire as he poked his head out of the tower, discovering a conveniently placed catapult to launch himself onto the main island. After a personal pep talk outweighing the pluses to the risks, he shot himself out of the atrocious plot device5 and crashed into the only thing on the island sillier than himself: The Necromancer's Guild. The dazed projectile, realizing what an awful place he'd landed in, did the only thing appropriate for the situation: He slapped on a Richard Nixon mask, snapped off the ilium of an incredibly immortal dead guy6, and gleefully burnt down the hut before tap dancing to the exit. Restraint literally went out the door, which is good, because it would have been dull if it were only figuratively.

Wiksik was now a kingdom with a throne and no king. The dusted old seat greeted him with its rustic majesty, and he proceeded into a hidden passageway. Mysterious stairs guided him to a more mysterious chamber, guarding a squid7 with a single glowing eye, chained to the lair, its limbs and guts spewed upon rock in maze like patterns. Gazing into its eye was a hooded sentinel, his stare now flashing back. Hito didn't recognize him at first, but his name probably began with aleph. The two greeted each other with faint smiles and exchanged lemon tea. After the formalities were over, Hito asked with the seriousness of a Grecian to an Apollonian Oracle:

"So what's new?"

The sentinel heaved himself from his settled workplace and slowly turned to a wheel, spinning its crank without looking back.

"Oh, so it's the same old bull:palm:."

He hacked the bone crafted shovel into some wires and the power went out.


Bibliography and notes
1. I have authentic sources on what mer people look like. They look like humans for the most part, but have long heads like that of Ki Adi Mundi or Pericles.
2. I have reliable sources that these were legally obtained.
3. And yet is still more than half the island's population. Neil Tathers is also a professor of pecology and wrote several books.
4. The other objects are detailed in my book, Heterosexual Objects for Delicate Insertion.
5. Shut up! Leave me alone!
6. Ibid.
7. This is baseless speculation, but I believe it is a space station. I could be wrong.
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« Reply #1 on: January 08, 2012, 04:41:16 AM »

The moon was in full bloom as it floated over the pitch black sea mirroring the endless void. A lean shadow reclined on the inner hang of a tree branch, framing the horizon cinematically. Concentric circular fumes puffed from the mouth of the silhouette, blessing the sky orb with rings as triumphant as Saturn, but infinitely more ephemeral. The outline enjoyed the breezy air.

"So many people passed away this winter. It's not even that cold. Maybe empty, but not cold." he remarked as he thought of more badly written parametametaphorical pomo nonsense.

He thought the lunar surface looked like a rabbit. He liked rabbits. One of the salvaged film reels he found was of a recording of a rabbit chewing carrots. Hito also liked carrots, but they were even rarer than rabbits. The shaman then went on a tangent to consider whether the weather in Game of Thrones would be better rationalized through the establishment of an irregular pulsating star or, less cumbersomely, a dragon-induced nuclear winter. He remembered some nerds claiming it's a work of fantasy, thus logic has no application, but it's sort of a cop out since the author already hinted at the cause. Plus those nerds got at least -150 rep for trying to argue through ignorance. After that he bought some strawberry pop at a 7-11 and watered it down because his diet was making him fat.
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