Saturday, January 22, 2011

Quantum Entanglement

Porn Movie Idea: Quantum Entanglement
A lady wearing a robe is home alone drinking beer. She orders a pizza with extra sausage. The pizza delivery man arrives, gives her the pizza, takes the money, and leaves. She sits the pizza box on a table.
The pizza box opens itself up to reveal that the pizza is in fact the pizza delivery man who states, "I exist in two places at once." He is naked and has an erection.
The lady in the robe asks,"Does that mean there is another one of you standing outside my house naked with a boner as well?"
Immediately the door opens to reveal the same naked pizza delivery man."Yes it does," he proclaims.
"Wow I always wanted to be fucked by two guys at once." The lady disrobes.
This starts the oral scene. While the lady switches back in forth between sucking both dicks the pizza delivery men both moan and react to the sucking identically.
The sound waves from the simultaneous moaning causes a space time anomaly which results in a third pizza delivery man who comes out of the box. He walks over to the door and lets the fourth pizza delivery man in. The two new men each take one of the lady's holes and start sucking.
"Now this is a little too much,"the lady laughs.
Right then four more of the same pizza delivery man can be seen walking up to the gang bang. And they all proceed to bang the living shit out of her.
The scene jarringly ends when the lady suddenly wakes up on the floor next to an open pizza box. Inside the box is nothing but a couple half eaten pizza crusts. The lady wipes some ranch dressing off her face and mumbles something about never eating an entire pizza by herself again.

Tuesday, January 18, 2011

Diploid Blood Seed

comic book idea:Diploid Blood Seed
Before you ask any questions let me explain why we require everyone working here to wear jock straps and protective cups. A low level scientist at this nano tech facility accidentally implanted a nano intelligence in to his testicles creating hybrid sperm gelatinous intelligence.
The scientist, who was seriously bored out of his mind, accidentally dropped a syringe on his crotch nailing his left testicle. He knew what was going to happen next, because he had done it to so many other random things for his job. The shock of stabbing himself in the nuts with experimental materials never kicked in.
The nano intelligence pairs up with whatever substance it is injected into creating an adhoc intelligent being. The scientist's greatest success had been a jar of peanut butter that could play a mean game of chess. Unfortunately no one in the lab had any interest in chess and they had eventually spread the peanut butter on toast and ate it. Partially to test for an emotional response from the peanut butter. Mostly it was for their own morbid amusement, because nobody likes it when a jar of peanut butter beats you at a board game.
Within a day of the injection the testicles had learned rudimentary responses, such as no, and more. The scientist is amused by this and notes that upon orgasmic completion of masturbation the testicles become belligerent like a drunk.
After 3 days the testicles had reached equal to or greater than the intelligence of the peanut butter. This fact was never tested because the scientist had no interest in playing chess against his own balls.
An unfortunate side effect began five days after the injection. The nano intelligence started to expand giving the scientist testicles the size of grape fruits. It was very hard for the scientist to hide this fact at work, even with the large lab coats provided. A sexual harassment suit is pending.
The scientist stayed home for the weekend as the testicles had become so big he could no longer contain them in his pants. While it had become enjoyable to watch the testicles play xbox live, the trash talking was starting to effect his gamer rep. Masturbation was no longer an option at this point.
Eight days after the injection. The scientist is awoken in the morning by a testicular form that measures nearly the same size as an adult male. Before the scientist can reach the phone to finally report the problem to work, the testicles did something unusual.
The testicles stretched, and pulsated, and screamed. The scientist also screamed. Limbs suddenly tore themselves free from the scientist's extraordinarily stretched out ball sack. A head slowly looked up from the large testicular humanoid form.
"hello my name is Bob," the testicular form stated.
The scientist laid there silent in his now fully soiled bed.
"it is a pleasure to finally look you in the face," grunted Bob now with a little more attitude. For a moment the Testicular form known as Bob seemed to hesitate. Then Bob said,"this is for last week."
Bob picked up the horrified scientist by the torso. Then shook the scientist up and down mercilessly until the scientist vomited all over the bed.
Bob was last seen on surveillance footage taken from a gas station near the scientist's apartment. It appeared as though Bob was wearing a spare Lab coat. It is not yet determined if the Testicular form known as Bob is still gaining greater intelligence, because the accident will not be repeated for scientific study.

Sunday, January 16, 2011

Spartan Bruce-673 VS The Moa

Though he was exceptional at stealth missions Spartan Bruce-673 was the best at one thing. He had the perfect tan. An Active Camouflage generating device on the back of his MJOLINR Power Armor gave him the ability to become invisible. Bruce was the first to personally modify this armor ability. He used a two layered camouflage generating tweak that allowed the armor to disappear but left his body completely visible. This gave no tactical advantage in battle. Unless you except Bruce's argument that no Spartan should go in to battle with out perfectly bronzed abs.
"Bruce. Get those goddamn ostriches out of the camp!"
"They're called Moa. Sir,"Bruce corrected his squad leader.
"No they are are called breakfast. And if another one of those squawking bastards ruins my nap I'll have your ass for breakfast."
The squad leader was always a little cranky when he missed his nap time.
"Sir, a Spartan's duty is to protect our forest friends."
"Bruce a Spartan's duty is to finish the fight. Now finish off those fucking Ostriches. That's an order."
"Yes, Sir,"Bruce sighed.
With Bruce's training he could easily sneak up and gut the troublesome Moa one by one. And he could just as easily plant a 7.62mm round through the skull of each one of them before the flock had even a second to react. Instead he confiscated a flat bed truck and figured he would herd the flock out of the valley.
This wasn't a fire fight mission so Bruce happily set his Active Camouflage to tan mode, even if it was a little cloudy. He flipped the visor up on his helmet, slicked the hair out of his face, lit a cigarette, and took off in the flat bed. He had no knowledge of Moa behavior in fact Bruce had never herded anything in his life. Never the less he drove down towards the river where the Moa were often seen drinking under the shelter of a bridge.
He was in luck the Moa flock was eating along the side of the road only minutes from camp. Bruce hit the truck lights and gunned the engine hoping he could scare the flock in to a dead panic run straight east out of the valley. The flock split running every direction but east.
Bruce yelled,"No you stupid birds," and honked while pointing east."That way!"
Unfortunately one Moa took his advice and quickly darted east. Which placed it directly under the flat bed tire with a loud thud noise. Bruce slammed on the breaks. Dust kicked in to the air.
He got out of the truck and looked around baffled. The Moa had only run about 30 feet before the flock had collectively stopped. One was already happily pecking at something in the dirt. A pair of Moas looked in Bruce's general direction and squawked defiantly. Bruce looked back at the pair lit another cigarette and puffed on it letting the smooth relaxing tobacco wash over his body. He smoked American Spirits which had the strong refreshing smoke of tobacco treated with only natural additives.
"Are you looking at me?"
One of the pair of Moas dug its face in to the ground with complete disinterest. The other squawked back at him. Or maybe at the truck. Or maybe at nothing. Moa can be profoundly stupid.
"No bird insults a Spartan," ran through Bruce's head as he charged the Moa pair, cigarette clenched in teeth. Bruce leaped in to the air arms out ready to do (something?) to the flightless birds.
The Moa on the right with a glint of mischief in it's eye lifted it's head up to reveal what it had been digging around for. A plasma grenade. The Moa's prehensile beak easily primed the grenade. But the Moa's offensive maneuver was ill timed as Bruce was already milliseconds from delivering a crippling mid air haymaker to the Moa's neck.
A plasma trail streaked across Bruce's vision as the grenade was knocked from the Moa's mouth, and flew back in to the ditch along the side of the road. Bruce had three seconds to run before the timer on the plasma grenade triggered. He utilized that ample escape time to sock the other Moa in the gut which really didn't hurt the Moa all that much.
The Moa looked over at Bruce. It only managed half a squawk before The plasma grenade detonated funneling a brilliant blue explosion along the sides of the ditch. The concussive force blasted Bruce and the Moas across the field.
Having sustained only a few casualties the Moa flock tactically retreated east to another valley where they had stashed a back up weapons cache.
The MJOLINR armor protected Bruce from most of the damage. He sustained only a few minor burns that occurred when the visor on his helmet automatically went down snapping the cigarette in to his face. The Active Camouflage generator also took a little damage. It would be at least days before he could tan again.
This would not be Bruce's last wound in battle, but it would be his last mission for Delta Squad. A week later he was transferred to Lance's Squad.

Anatomically Correct

Inspired by a message hidden within a Coca Cola advertisement in a skating magazine Jeremy set out to find a portal to another dimension. They really are not that uncommon. Most people just never go looking for them. And when people do stumble across them they usually regret it. Which is to say the experience is like discovering the Barrista at Starbucks slipped LSD in to your morning coffee.
Jeremy was excited about his mission. The instructions were subtle. Disguised as swirling soda and ice in the Coca Cola advertisement was an image of a naked lady receiving graphic anal sex. The lady had three eyes which is unusual for a Coca Cola advertisement. And by pure happenstance Jeremy recognized the pornographic source image from a crusty porn magazine he'd found behind his apartment complex a few months ago. He went back to see if the magazine was there still but it looked as though some kids had gotten to it and torn it up. Rummaging through the scattered shreds of paper he found the ladies face and it was a perfect match except she had two eyes. On the other side of the shred of paper was the words,"blue door."
That was enough to send Jeremy on a two year long search through every porno magazine he could get his hands. Scanning through the magazines page by page looking for something. Though, he did not know what he held faith in his ability to find it. The problem Jeremy understood about inter-dimensional doors is that there is no science to understanding them. Because the rules governing physics and all other aspects of reality in another dimension do not need to match our dimension in any way. This is why the door may not necessarily be a door by our standards. At least that is how Jeremy would explain it to the magazine attendant at the book store, and the clerk at the vintage store, and the guy who eventually banned him from the porn store.
He was correct of course. And two years to the day he found what he was looking for. It was in a Hustler brand porno magazine that specialized in women with large beavers. He was at the same magazine stand he had first seen the Coca Cola advertisement in the skating magazine. He spent much of his time at the magazine stand. Probably because the guy running it was a drunk and Jeremy's explanations and rabid porn addiction amused him.
What he found in the magazine was a key. A glowing magenta key about the same size as a door key. It had wedged itself deep in between the pages of the rather large magazine about rather large beavers on small women.
Jeremy held the key up and examined it with a look of pure excitement, almost religious ecstasy. The magazine attendant was less ecstatic because he didn't see a bright glowing magenta key in Jeremy's hands. He saw a dulled box cutter blade that one of the delivery guys must have lost.
"Hey Jeremy why don't you leme throw that away for you."
Jeremy looked at him and laughed.
"No, seriously I don't want you accidentally messing up any of the merchandise."
Jeremy held the key up to the attendant. He spoke to him with an expression of compassion and love as if he were Jesus talking to his disciples,"this is the key. Look it fits perfectly in the key hole on my neck."
Blood sprayed out of Jeremy's neck. Gallons of it, completely drenching the stand and knocking the attendant over. Jeremy wedged both of his hands deep into his neck wound wrenching it open. Blood flowed like a geyser washing the magazines on to the street. The wound slowly opened wider while Jeremy simultaneously pulled his arms down in it. He then fell sideways and wedged his legs feet first in to the hole. The blood spray now reached half way down the block. Jeremy pulled the last of his body through the hole in his neck. There was a loud pop and suddenly there was no sign of Jeremy except for the lake of blood that engulfed the thirty third and Main street block.

Tuesday, January 11, 2011


Bruce regained consciousness six hours ago. He was Spartan Bruce-673. The only remains he could find of the rest of his squad was a few scattered limbs and a lot of plasma craters. A life time of conditioning had removed most of his emotions but it wasn't enough to drown out the burning desire he felt right now. He would go through hell itself if he could only see Lance one more time.
Lance had never left his side for the entire two week battle. They had fought side by side endlessly without sleep often knee deep in grunt blood, and the two Spartans had never been happier. They shared blood, sweat, and pain. The battle had brought them closer together then ever before. But all of that ended when a Brute War Chieftain pounded Bruce from behind with a Gravity Hammer. The savage Jiralhanae had given it to Bruce so hard his visor cracked. Bruce was left; knocked out, health drained, and the shields on his MJOLNIR Powered Assault Armor struggling to recharge. His body had laid lifeless in the sand but the battle had raged on around him.
But what happened to Lance. Bruce searched through the disembodied limbs, none of the call signs on the armor pieces matched Lance's 649. The battlefield was far too war torn to look for a trail. If Bruce was ever going to find Lance he was going to have to go with his gut and hope fate would bring the two lovers back together.
Before he did anything else Bruce took the time to examine his M392 Designated Marksman Rifle. His powerful hands could field strip a DMR in a matter of seconds but he slowly and methodically cleaned and oiled every part. Taking inventory of any scratch or nick on the precision machined weapon. This was his manhood. With both of his hands on it he could easily down a full squad of Elites. His experienced muscly arms bracing the gun he would drive the 7.62mm round deep into an Elite face like a jackhammer one blow after another. Every time he used it though, he hoped it would be the last time. Dreaming of the day he might go home where he would be free to once again paint portraits of Lance in their garden.
Bruce headed east carrying; a DMR with thirteen rounds, a combat knife he pulled out of the face of a dead skirmisher, a half charged energy sword, and six shotgun rounds. His destination was a fuel station about five miles up. It was a good distance from the main battle and it was the most likely spot to find any radio equipment that hadn't been blown to bits. It was also the only direction he could hear any noise. The battlefield had become as silent as death except for the occasional crackling of scorched corpses.
As he walked he saw nothing but destruction. It looked as if neither side had won. Every munitions box he passed by had been depleted. there was no sign of a retreat only streams of blood down the hill side. Out across the water he could see half of a UNSC Frigate towering out of the water billowing smoke into the atmosphere.
For hours he had walked along before a light drizzle started so Bruce took it as a sign to rest his injured body. He removed his helmet and let the water drops hit his bloody face. He took out a pack of cigarettes from the supply case attached to his thigh. There was only one left, his lucky. Even with the blood dried and caked on his face Bruce looked incredibly cool with the lit cigarette gripped softly in his large demanding lips. He thought about Lance and how much he loved to share a smoke with him. Only Lance was gone now and judging from everything else around here he was probably a smoldering pile of ash. Defeat was filling Bruce's heart, but a Spartans body never gives up. He flicked the cigarette at a dead grunt and went on his way.
The fuel station was getting close he could clearly see it. He could also see the source of the noise he'd heard from the battlefield. It was a Brute Captain Major. His golden armor still shinning brilliant with its war damage. The Brute looked as though he had just freed himself from a Falcon rotor blade that had impaled his massive leg. Clearly one last fight was going on between the Brute and an unknown enemy. Who ever the missing person was they were sloppy they should have finished off the Brute instead of being content to leave him pinned by a rotor blade.
There was no way Bruce could take on this Brute either. At least not head to head. Starting a fire fight with the Brute would alert any other enemies that may be in the area. Bruce crept silently and held himself low in the field along the road. There was no cover. The Brute continued towards the gas station tossing debris around as he walked. He was clearly irate and ready to fight someone in the fuel station.
The Brute paused for a minute when he reached the fuel station. He was scanning for more traps, whoever the Brute was after was definitely hiding in that fuel station. Unfortunately for the Brute his caution had given Bruce ample time to bridge the gap between the two.
In one quick movement Bruce placed his DMR on the ground, unsheathed his combat knife, and stepped silently up to the Brute's back. There wasn't even a scream as Bruce drove the knife right through the Brute's spinal cord. The Brute arched backwards it's body tensing and spasming. Bruce grabbed the Brutes helmet pulling him down to the ground simultaneously removing the helmet. He then drove the knife in to the Brutes eye socket effectively finishing the kill.
"Bruce, is that you?"
He looked up from the Brute's corpse and saw Lance standing helmet off with a grenade in hand."Lance!"
Something wasn't right.
"I knew we would find each other in death." Lance laughed.
That's when Bruce noticed the plasma burns on Lance's face. "We're not dead Lance. You have plasma burns on your retinas. Your hallucinating."
"We are dead. Bruce!" Lance shook.
Bruce lunged at Lance socking him in the face with one hand and grabbing the grenade with the other. "We are still here Lance. You may never be able to see my paintings again. But I'll learn to sculpt for you Lance. We are going home Lance. Together."
Lance stopped laughing.
The two men held each other tight and for the first time in history two Spartans shed tears on a battlefield.

Monday, January 10, 2011


"Hi! I noticed you where traveling through me. And I thought I would wake you up and greet you."
"what the hell. I can't move. Who is that?"
"Oh yes sorry about that but your body is in something labeled cryotube. you are completely inanimate. But I did go ahead and restore consciousness to you."
"oh Fucking Christ this can't be happening. Did you tamper with the ship? What's the date displayed on the cryotube?"
"there is a number 42210."
"Shit. Ok I still have another 80 years in this tube. Can you put me back to sleep?"
"No. OOOh but I can slow down your ship so we can have more time to hang out! you could tell me all about where you came from and who you are."
"Don't do that. Look is there anyway you could send back a message to Earth. Tell them something went wrong on flight 283430 and to send an emergency space warp interceptor to"
"hold on. I'm sorry, I can't do any of that. well maybe with a lot more information I could, but you will be outside of me before I finish this sente..."
"finish what?... Hello... Hello..."

Friday, January 7, 2011

A Brain Machined

Ian worked 87 hour shifts 7 times a month at the factory. he was allowed; 3 lunch breaks, 2 dinner breaks, 1 breakfast break, and no sleep breaks. He did get as many bathroom breaks as he wanted, as according to state law. His job was to randomly press one of 6 buttons followed by typing a random word into the engraver. The words where often made up and always misspelled.
To relieve work pressure Ian would take as many bathroom breaks as his wrists could handle. He would pound away at himself endlessly so that by the end of the shift his workstation would take on a sticky musky atmosphere. His workstation would become like a womb cradling him in his autonomy. It was during a pressure relieving session that the problem began. He found blood in his semen. It was only a small drop but it was enough to cause alarm. Ian knew if he were to become infertile he would immediately be re-purposed into a food like substance. The shift ended at 3:15AM and Ian walked straight to the public medical clinic. Ian sat nervous and did not sleep the entire long wait to be examined. Not only was he too stressed out but he hadn't relieved any pressure for a good 6 hours.
The doctor was a series of plastic robot arms, an array of sensors, and a computer terminal which Ian would type responses into. The robot arms were programed to be comforting and gentle. The arms could examine you and put you at ease in the kind of way you would normally have to pay for. The sensors were not so loving unless you are in to that kind of thing. The diagnostic tests on Ian's testicles were incredibly unpleasant. The worst test being similar to a sex act Mistress Mindy would do using stiletto heels and barbed wire. After a minute of processing the test result and treatment diagnosis were displayed across the screen and printed out on a small receipt. "Defective Brain: Replace Mechanically."
"Fuck You!!!"Ian screamed at the computer. "try again. try the MRI again I'm sure it's just a malignant tumor. Or an infection. I'm a slut. I'm a dirty slut. Your tests are wrong..."
A large nurse with the typical 300 pounds of solid muscle walked up to the room and inquired from the viewing portal.
"Is there a problem?."
"No," Ian replied softly."NO, I mean yes. uhhh, the computer is wrong. It says, defective brain, it didn't scan my brain. something is wrong with it."
"The computer is not wrong. Are you going to cooperate?", the nurse stared looking somewhat bored.
"Fuck You Nuhrrrss..."and then the soft hiss of gas is all that could be heard in the room.
The nurse waited one minute and then walked into the room. He was supposed to wait longer but the smell of Halothane is very pleasant. In fact it was one of the few pleasant things about his job. Which is good because the following part of his job was very unpleasant.
The nurse grabbed Ian by the foot and dragged his semi conscious body to the corrections department of the clinic. There the nurse placed a clamp around Ian's ankle and hoisted him upside down on to the rack. Legally the nurse had to stay to observe the procedure, but instead he sighed and walked outside for a cigarette.
Ian hung there thinking about what was going to happen. He'd seen others who'd had it done to them. They walked and talked like normal people but when you looked in their eyes there was nothing there. It was if someone had polished the inside of their pupils. During the procedure the inside of the skull does receive a slight polish.
You know the saying,"we only use 10% of our brain," well that is bull shit. Instead research in to Mnemonic devices had created a finely machined object that could replace about 90% of your brain mass and make it work about 4 times better. The side effect of all this is that the recipient of the artificial brain transplant becomes incredibly boring.
The last thought to enter Ian's brain was,"Ice cream?" as a metal apparatus simultaneously cracked open his skull and scooped out the 90% unwanted brain mass.
Ian was given 2 weeks paid medical leave. He returned to work without complaint. His bathroom breaks were significantly reduced and his work station retained a sterile empty smell. Ian did continue his work stress relieving activity but he only did it at home once a month using his designated stress relief viewing material, and he always deposited the results in the correct government storage container.

Wednesday, January 5, 2011


movie idea: F.I.V.
in the year 2133AD android CD-4 falls in love with a common house cat named Mittens. The house cat can't reciprocate because it was neutered. CD-4 goes on an epic quest across time and space to find the key to cat testicular regeneration. CD-4 returns home successful and then Mittens and CD-4 totally bang, it's actually kinda gross. Sadly Mittens was just using CD-4 to get his testicles back because a gypsy told him that he would knock up a sexy Persian cat and that one of Mittens kittens would become the feline antichrist. What the gypsy failed to mention is that Mittens had kitty AIDS and that it would mutate in to a highly lethal Android Immunodeficiency Virus. CD-4 would be the first android to get the disease but it would spread it to thousands of others when CD-4 goes on a 3 year android orgy fuck fest in an attempt to drown its sorrows over Mittens. The android population is decimated by the disease. Humans are forced to take over android jobs and Coca Cola co stock drops 9 points in one day.

Saturday, January 1, 2011


it wasn't the usual drug. Rob said it was something different he got it from a group of immigrants from Southern Siberia. They said they soaked the leaves in water for a week and then had a good steam with the water. They said it could make a good steam bath feel like it was twenty times longer as well as twenty times more relaxing. They also said it could be used for torture but wouldn't explain how.
James didn't give a shit he would buy anything from Rob. He thought of himself as a junky connoisseur a true scum fuck gutter punk. He once shot up baby formula,"just in case"he said.
"so you think i should take a steam bath in heroine, is that it Rob?"
Rob laughed,"Noooo, I figure you can dump that bag of leaves in a pot of water bring it to a soft boil and just sit over it with a towel absorbing that steam right into your face."
"Yah guess ill just suck it up my eyeballs. Could just as easily go blind from shit like that." James reflected for a second on the level stupidity he had reached.
James headed home. This same day the World Sauna Championships were starting in Heinola, Finland. Timo Kaukonen would take first place in the men's competition by lasting 16 minutes and 15 seconds in a 110C sauna.
James called five different people to come over to his filth encrusted studio apartment. In hopes of finding a partner to test his new drug with. He had no luck.
After drinking a 40 once malt liquor. James poured two and half cups of water in to a metal pot. He dumped the entire sandwich bags worth of brown shriveled up leaves in to the pot. and brought the concoction to a low boil.
In a last second moment of inspiration he ran in to the bathroom and quickly shaved the 5 o-clock shadow off his face. Grabbed his one towel, a ratty Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles beach towel. and ran back to the stove. He sat down cross legged on the counter, draped the towel carefully over his head and the pot, and attempted to steam himself.
The steam caused a wave of relaxation to roll over him. Much like heroin, except lacking the energy draining urge to nod off. That's important because the way he was sitting had he nodded off he would have face planted into a pot of boiling liquid.
James sat over that pot tell the water had nearly boiled out leaving nothing but a thick sludgy brown sauce. He turned the stove off laid down on the floor and relaxed. He relaxed in a way he had nearly forgotten. He relaxed the way a child would rapped in a blanket on a lazy Saturday morning with his favorite cartoons on and not a single care in the world.
A day passed and James found Rob back out on third street
"Ehh, got any more of those leaves? They're fucking awesome."
"No,"Rob replied.
"Come on sure you do. You had a garbage bag full of em."
"not any more,"Rob replied.
"don't be that way Rob. What's the deal?"
"I'm all out.. and I know you don't want anything else so just get lost" Rob yelled severely frustrated.
James stared at Rob. Rob walked forward sat down on the curb and ignored him.
There could have been a handful of different ways for James to hunt down the origin of that plant it could have kept him busy for weeks and it could have been a very profitable venture. But he was never the ambitious type. Instead he bought a cup of coffee and walked back home.
It should also be mentioned that his day at home would have been incredibly boring and uneventful. None of his small handful of friends would have called him back to at least inquire about the success of his new drug. And his cat would be spending most of that day out side hunting bugs. Unfortunately without any thought what so ever James grabbed the cold pot of sauce and sucked down every last drop of it.
Almost instantly that same incredible almost inspiring wave of relaxation washed over him. It brought tears of joy and childlike giddy laughter. James fell to the floor rolling around giggling. But this only lasted about a minute before it was interrupted by a sharp cramping pain in his abdomen. Icy cold blasted through his veins causing him to curl up in a pale pathetic mess. His tears of joy were replaced with dry burning eyes that received swirled visions of syrupy color dripping over the walls in his house. His heart pounded and the blood vessels in his nose burst with a ferocious spray down the front of his arms. James was starting to feel a little regret.
"Maybe this was a bad idea" he thought
"nooo it was a great idea," the frog growing out of left shoulder croaked."I was getting very sick of pulling your arm around all day. And I'm sure the spiders attached to your wrists are extremely happy to get away from the shit you make them do to that snake all day"
James told the frog,"What your saying sounds incredibly stupid." He didn't look down to investigate the frogs statement. Because a roomful of oiled up life size shirtless green army men poured bucket after bucket of black india ink over Jame's body till the room filled from top to bottom with black ink. At this same moment 400 hundred miles away a women is screaming at a museum security guard for no good reason at all. Because he could not magically pull her purse back up out of Charles Ray's ink box unharmed. James was aware of this and was currently sorting through the purse hoping to score a few bucks. He did find a nice cell phone which he kept. He then swam gracefully through the black ink to the escape hatch on the bottom. he lifted the round lid up squeezed himself out the other side and landed with a plop sound in his tub. Serendipity struck again for a large mean bull frog who just discovered the escape hatch from his own black filled world. The escape hatch happened to be James' ass hole. Which he tore open and peeled James off his toad body like peeling away a shit filled condom. James' body slumped into a smelly slimy pile half hanging over the edge of the tub. The bull frog stood upright an impressive 6 foot three.
He looked around James' scummy apartment. Disgraceful he thought. He rummaged around the apartment trying to decide if he would make a home of it. But inspiration struck when James' cat came home. As it strolled in from the balcony curious about the strange savory smells coming from the apartment the frogs tongue leaped out snatched the cat and sucked it down the frogs muscly throat cracking the cats bones apart. The bull frog was filled with hope for what wonderful things must be outside that apartment. He put on his nicest track suit and headed out.