Here it is folks, the moment you've all been waiting for.
I'm still a retard at formatting so if you can't read or see a certain panel, click on it and then zoom. You should probably do that for all of them to see those HD visuals.
Sunday, 31 March 2013
Sunday, 24 March 2013
The Cheapest Room in Town - Part One - The Beforetime
The following work contains extreme immaturity, and should not be read by anyone.
ANYONE
I'm a real smartass. You probably wouldn't like me. When I meet someone who is obviously stupid I'm really sarcastic. Then they think I'm stupid because they think I'm being serious. I never let on and it just adds to the hilarity, even if I never see that person again. I'm actually quite shy, but some people misinterpret it as arrogant or stuck up. I can't help it. I'm pretty crazy. But if you think I'm crazy, you should meet my roommate. He thinks he's God. Like, he actually thinks he is the physical manifestation of God on earth. I know what you're thinking. You're thinking 'but we're all physical manifestations of God, experiencing itself over and over again', because that's what I said. No, he thinks he is the second coming of Jesus Christ, God's only son. He's actually not that bad of a guy, as long as you take him with a grain of salt, and some cracked pepper if you're that way inclined. He's just stupid and obnoxious, but overall pretty harmless. One thing that annoys me about him though, he's a really loud snorer. It just goes hand in hand with the rest of him. It's like, you get to know the guy, and after a while you realise just how obnoxious his opinions are, and of course he's a loud snorer, I should have known. The deeper he sleeps, the louder and more violent the snoring becomes. You know the type, when you can hear a gallon of snot being gargled through a fuckin' megaphone. It's so bad I want to cry and throw up at the same time. Fucking snorers. They will be the death of me.
You'd think I'd be used to it by now. When I was a kid, I lived with my family in a caravan. We didn't have a lot of money because fuck Dad the stingy cunt, and Mum was a housewife and still is for that matter. So it was me and my sis', Mother, Father, one dog, a huge white furry beast who is actually half wolf, and the other dog, a little terrier, and a sheep. Holy fuck, we had a goddamn sheep living with us in this pissy little caravan, and we're not even Kiwis (slow clap). See, we formed quite a bond with it. You know the story, the runt of the litter that looked so pathetic that everyone went 'awwww' so we had to take it in so it didn't get eaten by an eagle or something, and then we named it Kenneth, because Kenneth is a ridiculous name for a sheep. Where I'm from in the deep south, it gets real cold at nights, and we started feeling sorry for poor old Kenneth out there by himself so eventually we let him sleep inside.
Anyway, Dad is a horrific snorer. I'd lie there, trying to convince myself that it wasn't all that bad, that I could fall asleep regardless, but the tension would rise and I'd start tossing and turning more frequently, the sickening gargle penetrating my mental state like an insanity drill until I snap and spring up and punch a hole in the wall. But back to my roommate, the reason I'm sharing a room is because it's cheap. So cheap, in fact, that it's the cheapest room in town.
When I first moved here, I didn't notice any of the strange happenings going on. Sure, my roommate is a bit strange, but who isn't, right? It started off as just little things. Stuff going missing, strange smells coming from the walls. But I put that down to Georgia, my other housemate. She spends all of her time drinking, smoking, and taking various illicit substances for 'personal growth.' Although it seems to be having the opposite effect as she is quite skinny. There's not a lot of fat in pills. But goddamn, the noises and smells that came from that room. I remember one night what sounded like a sea of puppies chanting through a delay pedal and then plugged into a homeless guy who is powering the speakers, blue smoke seeping under the door and the smell of burning hair and rancid coconuts. I wasn't too far off, she later claimed. Apparently she was on acid, trying to open a portal to the lucid dimension.
'You'll discover some things about this house', she said with a cheeky grin and a wink. I didn't take it too seriously, writing her off as an insane freak.
When this kind of thing happens, your brain blocks out a lot of it. It's so counter intuitive to boring old normal reality that at first it doesn't want to accept it. It somehow slips through the cracks of perception, so you can focus on more important things like food, video games, and oh my god my next door neighbour looks hot when she hangs the washing out, leaning forward to attach a peg so her breasts bulge slightly out of her top and her ass sticks out a bit like she's practically begging me to come over and fuck her right there while she's holding onto the clothesline for support.
It wasn't until I'd been there for six months that I really started to question just what the fuck is going on here. That's when I heard the music coming from under the house. Under my room to be exact.
I heard it in the night, when you're in those weird half-conscious states and you still think the events of the dream actually happened. I awoke thinking I'd killed a friend I had back in high school, and up until that point I'd gotten away with it. But I felt disgusted at what I had done, and terrified that the cops would one day find me. I couldn't believe it had actually happened. I was in so much shock I didn't even really notice the music at the time. I inevitably realised that it was all a dream, and I can't tell you how relieved I felt. It was all worth it just for that feeling. I drifted off back to sleep to some peculiar marching music. It wasn't until later the next day that I remembered the dream. I was watching a movie about a detective who was being accused of killing an innocent man, but you don't know if he did it or not. That triggered the memory of my dream, and I again experienced a flash of emotions in super-speed - wonder, terror, then intense relief. As I impossibly tried to recall further details of the dream, another memory popped up: falling asleep to music, that sounded remarkably like it was coming from under the floor.
I forgot about it for a while. I was more distracted by my insane housemates and the girl next door. I decided that the next time I saw her I'd go talk to her, see what's up. I saw her later that afternoon out back, washing her dog. I decided to take a huge risk here that would probably ruin any kind of friendship that ever could have occurred with this girl, because it was just too good to pass up. If I'd have thought about it a second longer I wouldn't have done it, and if there's one thing I've learnt in life, it's never to pass up something possibly funny, even if only to you. I strolled up to the fence, lent over and called out in the most serious and innocent manner with a slightly posh accent.
'Excuse me miss, but I couldn't help noticing you're in a spot of trouble there. You see, getting bitches wet is my specialty, and I don't ever use a hose.'
She stared at me for a good five seconds with not even a hint of an expression. She shot back in a flat tone, 'perhaps you should come over here and give me a hand then.'
'Freeze it.' Lets pause the scene for a minute while I look into the camera and talk to you, the audience. Now, this response could mean one of three things:
A - she's a total slut.
B - she's got a very good sense of humour.
C - a bit of both.
And from my experience, C is the answer to most of life's great questions.
This was going so well, and boy did I have a great comeback to that one.
I realised later that my sleezy pickup line was fool proof. Even if she had thought it was disgusting and snobbed me, I wouldn't have been in the friend zone. Which is the worst of all zones to be in. Possibly even worse than gay zone. Now there's a nice image. A bunch of homos running around playing laser tag in the dark, ' oh my god you shot meee! Now I'm gonna come over there and shoot all over you, ahahaha!'
Haha, savour that image in your head ya faggot. So if you're not in the friend zone, you're in the potentially fuckable zone. And roughly 100% of all guys want to be in that zone. In fact, they are the only two zones. Gay zone is just an extension of friend zone. See kids, we're having fun with learning. Now who can point to where the vagina is on this diagram? No, not you, Billy.
But anyway, back to my sleazeball pickups. I'm not always like this, you know. I'm just crazy.
'I won't be using my hand, either.' I bet you didn't see that coming, dipshit (you).
She finally giggled, and replied 'I'm having a party tonight, you should come, Dave.'
She knows my name? How does she know my name?
'How do you know my name?'
'Oh I know a lot of things. Enjoy the music from under the ground', and she winked and turned in one sweet movement and turned back into the house. The music? The music! Oh God, now I remember. How does she know about that? WHO IS THIS HOT WEIRD SLUT!?
I rocked up at the party at eleven because I'm cool like that. And boy was it rockin'. A sprawling sea of loose ends doing shots, skulls, mixers, bombs, beer bongs, bongs, girls dancing like they're on ecstasy, girls dancing because they are on ecstasy, skinny dippers, there's enough smoke to alert the local fire department, there's some cool cats on the roof smoking joints (the secret spot), the stereo is pumping out euphoric drum and bass which reverberates the fabric of reality for the guys on acid over in the corner there, girls in skimpy outfits and liberally applied makeup, meat head guys in tank tops fresh from the gym, hipster looking girls standing around looking stupid with black rimmed glasses and one side of their head shaved, hipster looking guys with long hair and brown leather boots talking about how music died in the seventies, a group of loved up twenty-somethings on E making out with each other on a mattress, and then I spot her over by the door to the kitchen, mixer drink in hand and chatting jovially to a girl and two guys. I slide on over there, but on the way a crazed looking broad stops me and asks in an annoying voice 'Hey do you know anyone who has some acid?' to which I reply 'Yeah I think some dude dropped some in the bottom of the pool befre, it's in a ziplock baggie so it should still be good' and then keep on marching past her to my goal. She spots me first.
'Hey Dave, how are ya? Hey guys, this is my next-door neighbour Dave, he's a real smartass.'
'It's a pleasure', I exclaim. They look at me with curious eyes, and instead of playing it cool I decide to launch into this act where I pretend I'm a lost European tourist who can't speak English properly and I'm asking for directions to the nearest brothel using a lot of hand and body gestures, because when I'm nervous I sometimes do something like that. It went over pretty well and they are clearly intrigued. If you haven't figured it out already, I try and act like I don't care what people think but in reality I really do. It's hard to explain. I'm pretty crazy.
ANYONE
Part One - The Before-time
You'd think I'd be used to it by now. When I was a kid, I lived with my family in a caravan. We didn't have a lot of money because fuck Dad the stingy cunt, and Mum was a housewife and still is for that matter. So it was me and my sis', Mother, Father, one dog, a huge white furry beast who is actually half wolf, and the other dog, a little terrier, and a sheep. Holy fuck, we had a goddamn sheep living with us in this pissy little caravan, and we're not even Kiwis (slow clap). See, we formed quite a bond with it. You know the story, the runt of the litter that looked so pathetic that everyone went 'awwww' so we had to take it in so it didn't get eaten by an eagle or something, and then we named it Kenneth, because Kenneth is a ridiculous name for a sheep. Where I'm from in the deep south, it gets real cold at nights, and we started feeling sorry for poor old Kenneth out there by himself so eventually we let him sleep inside.
Anyway, Dad is a horrific snorer. I'd lie there, trying to convince myself that it wasn't all that bad, that I could fall asleep regardless, but the tension would rise and I'd start tossing and turning more frequently, the sickening gargle penetrating my mental state like an insanity drill until I snap and spring up and punch a hole in the wall. But back to my roommate, the reason I'm sharing a room is because it's cheap. So cheap, in fact, that it's the cheapest room in town.
When I first moved here, I didn't notice any of the strange happenings going on. Sure, my roommate is a bit strange, but who isn't, right? It started off as just little things. Stuff going missing, strange smells coming from the walls. But I put that down to Georgia, my other housemate. She spends all of her time drinking, smoking, and taking various illicit substances for 'personal growth.' Although it seems to be having the opposite effect as she is quite skinny. There's not a lot of fat in pills. But goddamn, the noises and smells that came from that room. I remember one night what sounded like a sea of puppies chanting through a delay pedal and then plugged into a homeless guy who is powering the speakers, blue smoke seeping under the door and the smell of burning hair and rancid coconuts. I wasn't too far off, she later claimed. Apparently she was on acid, trying to open a portal to the lucid dimension.
'You'll discover some things about this house', she said with a cheeky grin and a wink. I didn't take it too seriously, writing her off as an insane freak.
When this kind of thing happens, your brain blocks out a lot of it. It's so counter intuitive to boring old normal reality that at first it doesn't want to accept it. It somehow slips through the cracks of perception, so you can focus on more important things like food, video games, and oh my god my next door neighbour looks hot when she hangs the washing out, leaning forward to attach a peg so her breasts bulge slightly out of her top and her ass sticks out a bit like she's practically begging me to come over and fuck her right there while she's holding onto the clothesline for support.
It wasn't until I'd been there for six months that I really started to question just what the fuck is going on here. That's when I heard the music coming from under the house. Under my room to be exact.
I heard it in the night, when you're in those weird half-conscious states and you still think the events of the dream actually happened. I awoke thinking I'd killed a friend I had back in high school, and up until that point I'd gotten away with it. But I felt disgusted at what I had done, and terrified that the cops would one day find me. I couldn't believe it had actually happened. I was in so much shock I didn't even really notice the music at the time. I inevitably realised that it was all a dream, and I can't tell you how relieved I felt. It was all worth it just for that feeling. I drifted off back to sleep to some peculiar marching music. It wasn't until later the next day that I remembered the dream. I was watching a movie about a detective who was being accused of killing an innocent man, but you don't know if he did it or not. That triggered the memory of my dream, and I again experienced a flash of emotions in super-speed - wonder, terror, then intense relief. As I impossibly tried to recall further details of the dream, another memory popped up: falling asleep to music, that sounded remarkably like it was coming from under the floor.
I forgot about it for a while. I was more distracted by my insane housemates and the girl next door. I decided that the next time I saw her I'd go talk to her, see what's up. I saw her later that afternoon out back, washing her dog. I decided to take a huge risk here that would probably ruin any kind of friendship that ever could have occurred with this girl, because it was just too good to pass up. If I'd have thought about it a second longer I wouldn't have done it, and if there's one thing I've learnt in life, it's never to pass up something possibly funny, even if only to you. I strolled up to the fence, lent over and called out in the most serious and innocent manner with a slightly posh accent.
'Excuse me miss, but I couldn't help noticing you're in a spot of trouble there. You see, getting bitches wet is my specialty, and I don't ever use a hose.'
She stared at me for a good five seconds with not even a hint of an expression. She shot back in a flat tone, 'perhaps you should come over here and give me a hand then.'
'Freeze it.' Lets pause the scene for a minute while I look into the camera and talk to you, the audience. Now, this response could mean one of three things:
A - she's a total slut.
B - she's got a very good sense of humour.
C - a bit of both.
And from my experience, C is the answer to most of life's great questions.
This was going so well, and boy did I have a great comeback to that one.
I realised later that my sleezy pickup line was fool proof. Even if she had thought it was disgusting and snobbed me, I wouldn't have been in the friend zone. Which is the worst of all zones to be in. Possibly even worse than gay zone. Now there's a nice image. A bunch of homos running around playing laser tag in the dark, ' oh my god you shot meee! Now I'm gonna come over there and shoot all over you, ahahaha!'
Haha, savour that image in your head ya faggot. So if you're not in the friend zone, you're in the potentially fuckable zone. And roughly 100% of all guys want to be in that zone. In fact, they are the only two zones. Gay zone is just an extension of friend zone. See kids, we're having fun with learning. Now who can point to where the vagina is on this diagram? No, not you, Billy.
But anyway, back to my sleazeball pickups. I'm not always like this, you know. I'm just crazy.
'I won't be using my hand, either.' I bet you didn't see that coming, dipshit (you).
She finally giggled, and replied 'I'm having a party tonight, you should come, Dave.'
She knows my name? How does she know my name?
'How do you know my name?'
'Oh I know a lot of things. Enjoy the music from under the ground', and she winked and turned in one sweet movement and turned back into the house. The music? The music! Oh God, now I remember. How does she know about that? WHO IS THIS HOT WEIRD SLUT!?
I rocked up at the party at eleven because I'm cool like that. And boy was it rockin'. A sprawling sea of loose ends doing shots, skulls, mixers, bombs, beer bongs, bongs, girls dancing like they're on ecstasy, girls dancing because they are on ecstasy, skinny dippers, there's enough smoke to alert the local fire department, there's some cool cats on the roof smoking joints (the secret spot), the stereo is pumping out euphoric drum and bass which reverberates the fabric of reality for the guys on acid over in the corner there, girls in skimpy outfits and liberally applied makeup, meat head guys in tank tops fresh from the gym, hipster looking girls standing around looking stupid with black rimmed glasses and one side of their head shaved, hipster looking guys with long hair and brown leather boots talking about how music died in the seventies, a group of loved up twenty-somethings on E making out with each other on a mattress, and then I spot her over by the door to the kitchen, mixer drink in hand and chatting jovially to a girl and two guys. I slide on over there, but on the way a crazed looking broad stops me and asks in an annoying voice 'Hey do you know anyone who has some acid?' to which I reply 'Yeah I think some dude dropped some in the bottom of the pool befre, it's in a ziplock baggie so it should still be good' and then keep on marching past her to my goal. She spots me first.
'Hey Dave, how are ya? Hey guys, this is my next-door neighbour Dave, he's a real smartass.'
'It's a pleasure', I exclaim. They look at me with curious eyes, and instead of playing it cool I decide to launch into this act where I pretend I'm a lost European tourist who can't speak English properly and I'm asking for directions to the nearest brothel using a lot of hand and body gestures, because when I'm nervous I sometimes do something like that. It went over pretty well and they are clearly intrigued. If you haven't figured it out already, I try and act like I don't care what people think but in reality I really do. It's hard to explain. I'm pretty crazy.
To be continued...
...and keep watching the skees!
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