The drabble that ate my afternoon
Ugh. What a messed-up day. Dreams consisted of weirdness: one was nice, I was just feeding ham to one of my kitty friends (Dennis!); one was...weird and semi-lucid. One was just... Fuck. I can't even get across to you how messed up it was. Basically it was the memory of my first cat's death. She died when I was three years old, on Thanksgiving. Of a stroke. One of the most horrible things you can witness.
So I was pretty fucked up by the time I actually woke up. (Two thirty this afternoon... Yeah. Oops.)
The one good thing to come out of this was that I wrote a drabble. Had to distract myself somehow. And, um, it kinda ate my afternoon. Again, oops.
Sofaklok
Pairings: Murderface/Knubbler (discussed)
Rating: PG-13 for swearing, sex talk
Summary: At breakfast, a mystery is solved.
Disclaimer: Nope, still don't own any of these guys.
“Breakfast” was a term defined loosely at Mordhaus. Yes, it was the first meal the members of Dethklok ate upon waking up...but it was usually served between noon and four PM.
On this particular day, as Charles was taking a quick break from contracts and phone calls to eat his lunch, five hung-over, bleary-eyed musicians wandered into the dining room, yawning and stretching, seeking breakfast. Half an hour later, having gotten some food in them, they were feeling human again and up to talking to each other in more than grunts and rude hand gestures. Somewhere along the line, the conversation had turned to Snakes ‘n’ Barrels.
Murderface offered up his usual comment on the subject: “Well, if you ever needed to figure out how to tell if schomeone’sch gay, juscht look at what they wore.”
“Fuck ahff,” Pickles mumbled around a mouthful of French toast.
“You may not like to hear it- but it’sch true.”
“Dood, Knubbler wears teight peants en’ shit, en’ you doohn’t call him gay cahnstantly.”
“That’sch becausche he’sch not.”
Pickles rolled his eyes. “Oh my gahd. Jest shet ahp en’ let me eat my French toast.”
Looking up from the unidentifiable fish...thing...on his plate, Toki chimed in, “But if Knubblers amnst gays, whys you fuckings him on de sofas yesters-day nights?”
In his office, Charles could have sworn he heard four jaws hit the floor. He decided it would be better for his sanity if he didn’t investigate.
Toki’s eyes were wide and innocent as he looked at his shocked bandmates. “Bees-cause I t’inked dat’s what “gay” ams means. If you ams fucks ot’er guys.”
Nathan took out his recorder. “Reminder: burn the couch. And, uh. Get it replaced.”
“Ahn... Ahn th’ soohfa...” Pickles muttered weakly. “Aw, dood, theat’s... Ew. Theat’s leike, too neasty fer words. I sit ahn theat soohfa.”
“Scho-fucking-what! You fuck your schkanky groupiesch on that schofa!”
“I knoohw. Baht none a’ them have leike, foot fahngus. En’ they bathe regularly so they smell okay. Unleike you.”
“Fuck you, Picklesch.”
“I t’ink I ams have de stomach-t’rows-ups,” Skwisgaar said quietly. He quickly got up from the table and fled the room as fast as he could without actually running.
“Uh, yeah, y’know... I’m not, uh. Hungry. At all. Anymore. Possibly, uh, ever.” Nathan pushed his cereal away from himself and paid full attention to his newspaper, looking slightly green.
“Theanks, Toki. Theat was really sahmthing I coulda gone without imeagining. Ya ruined my eappetite too. Theanks a tahn.”
“You welcomes, Pickle!” Toki smiled and went back to munching on his mystery fish.
After a few minutes of silence during which Murderface repeatedly stabbed the table, he burst out, “I’M NOT GAY!”
“Dude. No one said you were. No one said, uh, anything. Not for the past five minutes. We were too busy trying not to like, puke at the thought of you naked.”
“You were thinking of me naked! Ah ha! I’m not gay. ...You’re all gay.”
“We’re naht the ones fucking Knubbler ahn th’ soohfa.”
“Hows comes we ams gay an’ Knubblers amnst?"
Murderface pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed loudly. “Toki... Toki, pleasche. You’re being schtupid.”
“Why ams Toki stupids? You ams de one whats cons-tra-disks youself!” Toki whined plaintively.
“Becausche. Dick- I mean Knubbler’sch not gay.”
“Buts-”
In the type of slow, patient tone one might use to explain something to a particularly stupid toddler, Murderface said, “Knubbler’sch not gay becausche I’m not gay. Schinsche I’m not gay, I wouldn’t fuck schomeone who wasch.”
“Ohhh. Ja, dat ams makings sense now.”
With that mystery solved, Toki resumed inhaling his fish.
“I’m still, uh. Gonna burn that couch.”
And that was the final word on the subject.
So I was pretty fucked up by the time I actually woke up. (Two thirty this afternoon... Yeah. Oops.)
The one good thing to come out of this was that I wrote a drabble. Had to distract myself somehow. And, um, it kinda ate my afternoon. Again, oops.
Sofaklok
Pairings: Murderface/Knubbler (discussed)
Rating: PG-13 for swearing, sex talk
Summary: At breakfast, a mystery is solved.
Disclaimer: Nope, still don't own any of these guys.
“Breakfast” was a term defined loosely at Mordhaus. Yes, it was the first meal the members of Dethklok ate upon waking up...but it was usually served between noon and four PM.
On this particular day, as Charles was taking a quick break from contracts and phone calls to eat his lunch, five hung-over, bleary-eyed musicians wandered into the dining room, yawning and stretching, seeking breakfast. Half an hour later, having gotten some food in them, they were feeling human again and up to talking to each other in more than grunts and rude hand gestures. Somewhere along the line, the conversation had turned to Snakes ‘n’ Barrels.
Murderface offered up his usual comment on the subject: “Well, if you ever needed to figure out how to tell if schomeone’sch gay, juscht look at what they wore.”
“Fuck ahff,” Pickles mumbled around a mouthful of French toast.
“You may not like to hear it- but it’sch true.”
“Dood, Knubbler wears teight peants en’ shit, en’ you doohn’t call him gay cahnstantly.”
“That’sch becausche he’sch not.”
Pickles rolled his eyes. “Oh my gahd. Jest shet ahp en’ let me eat my French toast.”
Looking up from the unidentifiable fish...thing...on his plate, Toki chimed in, “But if Knubblers amnst gays, whys you fuckings him on de sofas yesters-day nights?”
In his office, Charles could have sworn he heard four jaws hit the floor. He decided it would be better for his sanity if he didn’t investigate.
Toki’s eyes were wide and innocent as he looked at his shocked bandmates. “Bees-cause I t’inked dat’s what “gay” ams means. If you ams fucks ot’er guys.”
Nathan took out his recorder. “Reminder: burn the couch. And, uh. Get it replaced.”
“Ahn... Ahn th’ soohfa...” Pickles muttered weakly. “Aw, dood, theat’s... Ew. Theat’s leike, too neasty fer words. I sit ahn theat soohfa.”
“Scho-fucking-what! You fuck your schkanky groupiesch on that schofa!”
“I knoohw. Baht none a’ them have leike, foot fahngus. En’ they bathe regularly so they smell okay. Unleike you.”
“Fuck you, Picklesch.”
“I t’ink I ams have de stomach-t’rows-ups,” Skwisgaar said quietly. He quickly got up from the table and fled the room as fast as he could without actually running.
“Uh, yeah, y’know... I’m not, uh. Hungry. At all. Anymore. Possibly, uh, ever.” Nathan pushed his cereal away from himself and paid full attention to his newspaper, looking slightly green.
“Theanks, Toki. Theat was really sahmthing I coulda gone without imeagining. Ya ruined my eappetite too. Theanks a tahn.”
“You welcomes, Pickle!” Toki smiled and went back to munching on his mystery fish.
After a few minutes of silence during which Murderface repeatedly stabbed the table, he burst out, “I’M NOT GAY!”
“Dude. No one said you were. No one said, uh, anything. Not for the past five minutes. We were too busy trying not to like, puke at the thought of you naked.”
“You were thinking of me naked! Ah ha! I’m not gay. ...You’re all gay.”
“We’re naht the ones fucking Knubbler ahn th’ soohfa.”
“Hows comes we ams gay an’ Knubblers amnst?"
Murderface pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed loudly. “Toki... Toki, pleasche. You’re being schtupid.”
“Why ams Toki stupids? You ams de one whats cons-tra-disks youself!” Toki whined plaintively.
“Becausche. Dick- I mean Knubbler’sch not gay.”
“Buts-”
In the type of slow, patient tone one might use to explain something to a particularly stupid toddler, Murderface said, “Knubbler’sch not gay becausche I’m not gay. Schinsche I’m not gay, I wouldn’t fuck schomeone who wasch.”
“Ohhh. Ja, dat ams makings sense now.”
With that mystery solved, Toki resumed inhaling his fish.
“I’m still, uh. Gonna burn that couch.”
And that was the final word on the subject.