(no subject)
"...but the faint noise persisted, grew louder even. I came to a sudden and grave conclusion. The diminutive sound I first thought to be the far away hum of a cd player or stereo left on,(finally brought to my attention by my then contemplative and silent state), could only be demonic in its origin. At first I was more annoyed than worried, knowing that some mere imp from one of the lower leveled tiers in Hell's pantheon would pose little threat. This slight comfort did not last long however, for soon the sound grew into a chaotic buzzing, and much to my horror I was then able to identify it's source and Master. Beelzebub! Prince of lies, Lord of the flies, and Triumvirate ruler of the underworld. Who else is heralded by the the sound of a million insects humming in corrupted ecstasy? I should let you know that I did not actually see my nemesis trying manifest itself into the mortal world, for the sound was coming from behind me, approximately around the area of the stove. Instinct kicked in. Not moving a muscle I scanned my immediate vicinity for some sort of holy weapon in which to banish my foe back to the nether realm, but to no avail. No holy sygils. No ancient swords. Without a grimoire in sight or any means to draw the all powerful pentagram of YHWH; all hope seemed lost. But Wait! What was resting solemnly against the bulk of my left thigh but a potato. The ebb of time seemed to all but stop as I grabbed my new found weapon, and with the guitar pick I was holding in my right hand quickly carved the eldritch symbol of Mhur into it's starchy hide. In one fluid motion I hurled the vanquishing root-vegetable at where I thought the demon prince to be; accompanying my attack with a cry of " Eat the holy fury of the Lord, Eternal Corrupter!" My enemy must have foreseen his doom. Possibly the combination of the power burning deep in my soul and my steeled nerves were too much for his resolve, for as I turned around and let fly with my attack I saw nothing more evil or menacing than some dirty dishes; my pot of Macaroni boiling on the stove; and the potato which had just landed harmlessly with a dull thud. Wasting no time in celebrating my victory over the forces of evil, I took off my shirt and proceeded to get drunk on the couch. That, my friend, is the end of my story."
"God damn it..." said the man( who appears to be the only audience of the previous tale) standing over the story teller with a passive look of disappointment on his face. All I wanted to know was why one of my potatoes was on the stove with the letter "M" carved into it. You know, I fucking hate you some times." He then stalked off into his room and closed the door. Leaving our self pronounced hero sitting on the couch, surrounded by empty beer bottles in half-drunk, shirtless reflection.
"God damn it..." said the man( who appears to be the only audience of the previous tale) standing over the story teller with a passive look of disappointment on his face. All I wanted to know was why one of my potatoes was on the stove with the letter "M" carved into it. You know, I fucking hate you some times." He then stalked off into his room and closed the door. Leaving our self pronounced hero sitting on the couch, surrounded by empty beer bottles in half-drunk, shirtless reflection.