A SLAP POPPIN' UNHINGED BLAT GATTA

[Mac Sirloin]

Have you ever taken into account that one of the most important ways of advertising homes is putting a realty sign out front? Yet, when you buy the house itself, you do not get this sign.

That sign is the catalyst for the entire lives of people. Safety, Families, Pets owned, and life lessons all stem from that chunk of wood and plastic plopped on your lawn. The lives of the realtor's themselves can depend on them for their livelihood, but you can NEVER own one. You can steal them, sure, but that doesn't omit the same satisfaction as gaining something through your own hard work for nothing more then knowing that "I own this. I earned it."

I'd been thinking hard on that for a few days when I finally voiced it to my friend Jordan. He thought it was stupid and trivial; completely unrelated to watching 'Sunday School Musical', a purchase made out of irony more than anything, I quickly forgot about realty to process some on-screen piousness.
---
Some time later, after the movie was done and Jordan was rooting around for the case did I notice the sheer complexity of his room. Everything was properly organized, it looked very neat, but beneath it was this chaos of unwariness and paranoid non-simplicity. Finding a single thing could take hours in Jordan's room, and I could never fall asleep there, there was this weird claustrophobia about it. I'd always opt to sleep on his living room couch or else just leave; I'd get horrible dreams, flashes of things that all spliced into each other, and then I'd wake up and remember splashes of those things that I knew didn't happen, but nonetheless scared the fuck out of me. It would continue for hours afterwards. These almost audible pulses of images and noises surging through my head. I often lost my train of thought this was and could never be sure how.

More later. My dad is sanding now and making panting noises. Really fucking distracting. Fucking asscunt.

[Splat]

Did you intend this to be in NOA&L? It's written fairly creatively but if you wanted it in OTD say so and I'll move it. If not, I guess it's fine here, just cus of the way it's written.

[Mac Sirloin]

Did you intend this to be in NOA&L?

Yeah, but moving it would be pretty cool.

...........
...................__
............./´¯/'...'/´¯¯`·¸
........../'/.../..../......./¨¯\
........('(...´...´.... ¯~/'...')
.........\.................'...../
..........''...\.......... _.·´
............\..............(
BRO FIST

[OANST]

What the fuck is this!?

[Mac Sirloin]

The first time I got an info-flash outside of the room was at work, I was moving a wheelbarrow behind the Animal Shelter Compound when I saw something large and black moving between some trees, when I flinched away as something streaked across my left eye. I got a jumble of images, one of which, something that has stuck with me, is the image a of a pair of legs. Very strange looking, they were, blue, with a sort of decayed blotchiness. They twitched along in what looked like human legs running backwards up a hill.
I quickly went home, claiming illness, and contacted Jordan. He told me the same thing had happened to him. He worked at Sears, a department store. He said that he saw a large shape very close by, and blacked out. Jordan began asking me in depth about my experience, he said he'd caught nothing, but his experience seemed to equate to the same as my early pulses. We agreed to search the area around the shelter early in the morning.

[mudling]

Seriously, I don't care if this actually happened, or if it's realy or not, you had me intrigued, and I realy enjoyed reading it, no matter what it is.
You can write well, and as Splat said, creativly, I'm curious as to what happens next.
Altough maybe it's better where it was before, in the fan corner, because there isn't realy any subject to discuss due to the randomness, besides what Kastere has written.

[Nate]

I hadn't moved it yet because I have absolutely no idea what it's meant to be.
I shall take your advice.

[Mac Sirloin]

It's meant to be a story god damn it.

[Mac Sirloin]

Gentlemen, I started this story over a month ago. And now I'm gonna try to resume. On my new laptop. With missing "Q" and "C" keys so I have to hit the little nubbins extra hard.


The animal shelter revealed nothing. Even after sneaking in through the rear gate of the compound all I came across (I'm going to put a chunk of cardboard or something on the "C" shit's pissing me off. There. Well, it's a penny, but whatever.) was some dog turds that weren't cleaned up. Jordan made his way home, but I waited for the staff to open as I had an early shift.

I had to wait for about 45 minutes. Nobody came. It struck me as odd that the poop hadn't been cleaned up. An hour. It was Eight Thirty, half an hour past opening time. The other co-op students didn't arrive. I was concerned for the animals now, and considered breaking in, when I realized the animals were all completely silent.

I moved my shoe against the ground, making the gravel grate and scratch. Nothing.
I sidled up to the staff entrance. It was unlocked. I considered getting help-but there was no one around. I forgot about the information flashes and suddenly became very concerned with the well being of the animals.

I coerced myself into opening the door and letting looking in. Then looking a bit farther along. Then looking in the foyer. And the hall leading to the animals. There was a reverberating, grating humming noise pulsing down the halls. It sounded like the animsl snores were all synced together almost. I crept up to the heavy door, released the latch, and pulled it open.

[OANST]

Are you ever going to continue it or do I have to drive to Canada and steal your fucking bike?

[Mac Sirloin]

I'm continuing it Detroit boy. Enjoy your Juggaloes, dick-whip.

A smell hit me first, an organic 'hasn't been cleaned and needs to sweat less' stench that made my eyes water and my knees buckle for a second. I reached for the handle but the door was already shut. I blundered around, trying to remember the layout of the room, and smacked my head into something ropey and greasy that had never been there before. I looked up, and flinched.
The opposite wall was composite of a single stretch of skin, perforated by the dark spots of hair follicles the size of my index finger. At the very centre was a long, black hair, the spot from which it grew out of the skin was tender and yellowing. The skin stretching into the wall, becoming it at the now rounded corners.

It suddenly occurred to me that the room was significantly smaller with what appeared to be a large stretch of groin skin grafted to it. It also occurred to me that I was trapped in here with it.
I took several tentative steps forward, waiting for a reaction. Nothing happened. Satan's wallpaper just kept taking long, sighing breaths.