Life is full of dull and pointless things. Like work for instance. People will try and persuade you to get off your arse and work by foretelling your eminent downfall if you should not partake in work-like activity--or stay away from run on sentences like this one. Well save for the period.
Murdoc was well aware of this vapid truth. He always was, as long as his memory could serve him. Even the simplest of household chores would cause the greasy bassist to experience an aneurism. However of all things he absolutely loathed for being dull and pointless was Stuart Tusspot..The way he stared into space for hours on end, his toothless grin, his whiney pigmy sod boy voice, but most of all were his looks. His pale skin and lanky figure. The awkward way his unnaturally blue hair stood up without effort, his dark soulless eyes. Murdoc not only was convinced, but knew for a fact that Stuart's entire existence was a total and complete waste.
"Oi you know if it wosn't for me you'd be out on the curb wastin' away faster than you are now... well actu'lly that sounds quite good. Why didn't I just leave you to die on that bloody store floor, you little fag?!" 2D gave a blank look at Murdoc and stayed silent.
"Dun really ma'er anyway huh? I guess not. Your tiny little peanut brain can't even soak any of this in. Fucking sod." Murdoc found the nearest item and threw it at 2D's head, as 2D remained motionless Murdoc decided he would leave the living room settee for the glory that was his Winnebago. It was a hell of a lot better of a place to laze in rather than having to be burdened with the sight of the sheer idiocy that was Stuart Tusspot.
As the scuffing of Murdoc's cuban heels slowly became fainter and fainter 2D sucked in a breath of air and released it.
Kong is nefarious for producing disheartening sounds. From the curdled wails of spirits, to the twisted moans of the undead, and the mischievous laughter of wicked demons, there is never truly a time that Kong is fully silent and at peace.
Sometimes, when it is strangely silent and the halls of the old studio echo with heavy despair and stillness, muffled sobs can be heard coming from the basement.
Cutting through the eery silence.
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