Life Sucks
Whil-o-whisp
Fandom: Goth yaoi love (red Goth x curly Goth), South Park
Word count: 706
A/n: HAPPY BIRTHDAY! YOU WISH YOU HAD MORE MONEY! HAPPY BIRTHDAY! YOUR LIFE'S SO SAD IT'S FUNNY! This is a birthday present for my sister, for her thirtieth birthday, so wish her a happy birthday in the comments please k thanks! I enjoyed writing this, it was inspired by my friend Megan, who was trying to help me get ideas by saying "Life sucks" randomly in msn. Tell her thanks too. If not for her, I wouldn't have cranked this out in time for my sister's birthday. I like Siouxisie and the banshees, and I could see Curly goth liking them too. Incase you haven't read Hate, I did take Artistic liscence, I named Red Goth Asher Thorne Johnson, I named Kindergoth Lucas, and I named curly Goth Eric Nickalus Reeves. Go read Hate, I don't care if you don't read the other ones, they aren't very good, but Hate is amazing. I like it, a lot of people like it. Go Read it.
Disclaimer: I found a peanut, Its mine now, you can't has it. That is all I own.
Oh my fucking God. If that bitch doesn't shut up, I swear, I will slit my wrists and die on her bed, I swear to the most fucking non-conformist god thinkable I will do it. "What's wrong with you?" "Are you alright?" "You should stop smoking" "You should stop drinking", that's all I fucking here from her conformist, pussy sucking mouth, that's it. Criticizing me does shit. Hypocrites words are nothing to me now. They always were nothing. They always will be.
"Eric!? Eric! Are you alright? I smell cigarettes, are you smoking again?" Oh my god. Smite me now. Of Course I'm fucking smoking and if she doesn't shut up I'm gonna go grab the Vodka beneath my bed and get shit faced just to avoid that god awful voice. Makes me wish I hadn't given Lucas my Cd's for the week. His dad's teaching him to drive. That's gotta be hell. At least my father stays out of my life. My Mother needs to follow his fucking example. "Eric Nickalus Reeves, Get your white hiney out here!"
"The word is Ass! A-S-S!" If she's gonna do the get your white ass out here thing, she might as well say the fucking word. I fucking hate my life so fucking much. So much. She is just so infuriatingly conformist, a fucking Britney spears wannabe ass-wipe that needs to fall off the face of the earth. She is the fucking reason I hate most of the world, besides the fact that the rest of the world pretty much sucks just as much. I don't hate my fellow Goths. We are the only fucking sane ones here.
The rest of the world is off their gourd, a couple strings short of a web, whatever phrase you want to say, they're nuts. They walk around following their Disney dreams thinking they'll find some prince charming or damsel in distress, bull shit. Life is a fucked up rat race to the grave, that's it. There are no prince charmings, no damsels to be saved, no knights in shining armor, just shitty jobs, yelling spouses, crying brats, and gossip to fill their empty heads. They try to save the earth, try to stay healthy so they can live this rat race longer, what's the fucking point?
"Your friends did this didn't they?" she better not start… "Before they came along you were such a good kid! You should stop hanging out with them." She started. I'll never hear the fucking end of it. Its 'that boy is bad for you' or 'she's not your type Eric' or 'should that kid really be smoking'. She just can't seem to find the destructive beauty of smoking, the subtle drive of more caffeine then blood, the simple beauty of a well lit, well placed cigarette between black lips, under a red fringe. She doesn't know anything. She can't see past her stupid tinted glass.
Knocking… On the window. Who the fuck would be on the second story of my….Red. "Gonna open the flippin window or not." My knight in black skinny jeans. He's holding something, and theres a truck out front. Henrietta's in the passenger seat, so Lucas must be driving. "Well?"
"Yeah, yeah, I'm coming. Vodka?" I ask as I pull the window open, and he pulls the closest thing to a smile he can manage, holding up the bottle wrapped in a brown paper bag. How darling. Vodka. My favorite. Siouxsie & the Banshees is playing my favorite song, and is that a pack of lucky strikes in his pocket? He's psychic. I press a dry, ashen kiss to his lips and he hums in as close to delight as our black hearts can get. My Mother is still screeching her lunges out, but who cares. Asher Thorne Johnson remembered my birthday, and will celebrate it with me in the most nonconformist gothic fashion, by ruining my lunges, souring my liver, and being what christians would call blasphemous and heathanistic. What else could I ever want from this world.
"You're too good to me. How's life?" He rolls his eyes, flipping his hair out of drearyingly beautiful blue/gray eyes.
"Life sucks, as usual. You coming or not?" How could I refuse?
A/n: If cryogenics were all free, you could live like walt Disney and live for all eternity inside a block of ice… Happy Birthday Lynda. Yes, I will annoy you all day with that song.
For the rest of you: I hope you enjoyed, please fave if you did, and please comment! PLEASE K THANKS BYE!