I don't know about this one....I just don't know. Though while I constantly ingest coffee at an alarming rate (which is probably why I'm eighteen, 5'2" and 92 pounds dear LORD WHAT IS WRONG WITH ME NO MATTER WHAT I EAT....) Oh um sorry. I have issues with myself. Never take fat for granted. It's so much easier to be too large than too skinny. *Anyway*, on the sugar note, I just wanted to see what sort of phlegm my brain would expel if I ate the pixie sticks which have mysteriously emerged in my house and drank more than my two cups at a time coffee limit.......Here it is. Note that the normally disjointed style I've adopted is gone from this author's note, as I wrote it after I came back down to earth. And as a fun fact, pixie sticks make urination surprisingly fun, as fun as something like that can be. And oh yes, this is just something I have to do:
AAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHH!!!!! MIGHTY GOD I'M AN ADULT FFFFFFFUCK HOW DID THAT HAPPEN SOMEONE SSSSAVE MEEEEEE!!!!!!!
Ok, I'm done now. Here's this thing I have. And oh yes, if you don't leave a review after you read it, I'll take it down. (oh the threatyness of that threat)
Here we go kids.....sorry this note was so long. Someone hit me, I'm stuck......
I'm not completely sure this has anything to do with the actual series.....
Vlakri, the eternal Vampyre Scourge, scuttled along the alleyways of a small suburban town, silently chuckling to himself at the never-waning and often appalling stupidity of the human race.
"FFFFFFUCKING humans, don't kn-n-now what the hell they've *nyugh* GOT most of the time SSSSSSSWWWEEET GEEE-HU-ZUS!!!!!!"
(I think he's got turret's syndrome).
He panted, opening his clutched fist to examine what was lying in the center of one sweaty palm. "T-t-t-t-tEN CENTS for a pair of .............GOD ALMIGHTY ohIthinkI'mgonna......UNGH!!!!! ...... *GORGEOUS* SHOELACES!!!!!! WOW!!!"
(I'm not sure what's going through his mind right now....he's a rather mysterious fellow really.....real creepy like.....heh, I almost wrote crappy...)
He giggled to himself, rubbing his forearms in an attempt to get rid of some of his pent-up euphoria.
He spied a set of stairs running underground, leading to a now-vacant subway tunnel, empty because of the late hour. He scuttled down the steps, stopping several times for air, and speeding up several times due to the fact that he was falling down them. Once he had rather violently and rapidly reached the bottom, he scuttled over
(he does that a lot, don't he?)
to one of the tall columns set at random intervals, supposedly holding the ceiling up. Though if it wasn't up, it probably wouldn't be the ceiling anymore. Maybe the floor is just a ceiling that didn't have any of those nifty columns to hold it up....but we digress.
We are following the story of the unfortuantly named Vlakri, who had been born rather painfully to a severely confused man six hundred years earlier. Though not born Vlakri, he had adopted the name, after spending several mildly disturbing years going by his birth name, AAAAAAAAAAAAGHH!!!!!!! He was slight and fair at birth, and stayed that way throughout his life until the time of his death, which came when he had committed the unthinkable crime of offering his parasol to a rather foreboding gentleman in the rain, suggesting he might walk the gentleman home.
The crime, rather than the fact that he had offered the parasol, was that he had been wearing matching women's attire, confusing and frustrating the man once he had found no boobies to grope, even after a rather extensive search.
The man had then latched on to poor Vlakri's neck, making him even more slight and pale. The man had kept Vlakri locked in a room for several months, only unlocking the door to admit himself, in order to feed off Vlakri and refer to him as 'pixie'. This continued until Vlakri discovered a rather large and rather open window about two feet to the right of a large hole in the wall. He used the only furnishing in the room, an orange Mr. T shirt
(yes, it's still the seventeenth century. What, you didn't know Mr. T was immortal? Foolish mortals....I pity da foo....Foo'ish mortals?)
to break the window
(yes, I did say it was open. Hey, don't blame him, he has turret's, remember? Bunch of coldhearted......)
and make his rather feeble escape. Feeble because it gave him such a rush of freedom that he went back and did it several times, and it had grown rather weak after the fourth time. He had spent the next four hundred years walking down the street, which after some time had grown a subway, which he recently secreted himself in to snigger at his new shoelaces, blood red, which gave him such immeasurable pleasure.
Notice the time inconsistency? YOU SHOULD HAVE! Want to know if this actually has a point, is going somewhere, isn't just a mackerel rotting in the bottom of a forgotten boathouse next to Silver Lake? GOOD! I'll update then! After you review and I get turret's syndrome for my senior project...................................................................................................................................................(you're think raisins right about now, aren't you?).................................................................................................................................(or maybe rabbit poop? You sick, sick urchins.....you need me to update 'Let's All Kill Himiko, don't you? It would make it all better........yesssss........)..................................(mmmm).............................(rabbit poo).................
AAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHH!!!!! MIGHTY GOD I'M AN ADULT FFFFFFFUCK HOW DID THAT HAPPEN SOMEONE SSSSAVE MEEEEEE!!!!!!!
Ok, I'm done now. Here's this thing I have. And oh yes, if you don't leave a review after you read it, I'll take it down. (oh the threatyness of that threat)
Here we go kids.....sorry this note was so long. Someone hit me, I'm stuck......
I'm not completely sure this has anything to do with the actual series.....
Vlakri, the eternal Vampyre Scourge, scuttled along the alleyways of a small suburban town, silently chuckling to himself at the never-waning and often appalling stupidity of the human race.
"FFFFFFUCKING humans, don't kn-n-now what the hell they've *nyugh* GOT most of the time SSSSSSSWWWEEET GEEE-HU-ZUS!!!!!!"
(I think he's got turret's syndrome).
He panted, opening his clutched fist to examine what was lying in the center of one sweaty palm. "T-t-t-t-tEN CENTS for a pair of .............GOD ALMIGHTY ohIthinkI'mgonna......UNGH!!!!! ...... *GORGEOUS* SHOELACES!!!!!! WOW!!!"
(I'm not sure what's going through his mind right now....he's a rather mysterious fellow really.....real creepy like.....heh, I almost wrote crappy...)
He giggled to himself, rubbing his forearms in an attempt to get rid of some of his pent-up euphoria.
He spied a set of stairs running underground, leading to a now-vacant subway tunnel, empty because of the late hour. He scuttled down the steps, stopping several times for air, and speeding up several times due to the fact that he was falling down them. Once he had rather violently and rapidly reached the bottom, he scuttled over
(he does that a lot, don't he?)
to one of the tall columns set at random intervals, supposedly holding the ceiling up. Though if it wasn't up, it probably wouldn't be the ceiling anymore. Maybe the floor is just a ceiling that didn't have any of those nifty columns to hold it up....but we digress.
We are following the story of the unfortuantly named Vlakri, who had been born rather painfully to a severely confused man six hundred years earlier. Though not born Vlakri, he had adopted the name, after spending several mildly disturbing years going by his birth name, AAAAAAAAAAAAGHH!!!!!!! He was slight and fair at birth, and stayed that way throughout his life until the time of his death, which came when he had committed the unthinkable crime of offering his parasol to a rather foreboding gentleman in the rain, suggesting he might walk the gentleman home.
The crime, rather than the fact that he had offered the parasol, was that he had been wearing matching women's attire, confusing and frustrating the man once he had found no boobies to grope, even after a rather extensive search.
The man had then latched on to poor Vlakri's neck, making him even more slight and pale. The man had kept Vlakri locked in a room for several months, only unlocking the door to admit himself, in order to feed off Vlakri and refer to him as 'pixie'. This continued until Vlakri discovered a rather large and rather open window about two feet to the right of a large hole in the wall. He used the only furnishing in the room, an orange Mr. T shirt
(yes, it's still the seventeenth century. What, you didn't know Mr. T was immortal? Foolish mortals....I pity da foo....Foo'ish mortals?)
to break the window
(yes, I did say it was open. Hey, don't blame him, he has turret's, remember? Bunch of coldhearted......)
and make his rather feeble escape. Feeble because it gave him such a rush of freedom that he went back and did it several times, and it had grown rather weak after the fourth time. He had spent the next four hundred years walking down the street, which after some time had grown a subway, which he recently secreted himself in to snigger at his new shoelaces, blood red, which gave him such immeasurable pleasure.
Notice the time inconsistency? YOU SHOULD HAVE! Want to know if this actually has a point, is going somewhere, isn't just a mackerel rotting in the bottom of a forgotten boathouse next to Silver Lake? GOOD! I'll update then! After you review and I get turret's syndrome for my senior project...................................................................................................................................................(you're think raisins right about now, aren't you?).................................................................................................................................(or maybe rabbit poop? You sick, sick urchins.....you need me to update 'Let's All Kill Himiko, don't you? It would make it all better........yesssss........)..................................(mmmm).............................(rabbit poo).................