fanfic anything- issue 6! it's about time!
This Issue- Somebody Dies!
I never used aynpnia in the last issue. Too bad. The Word of this issue of aypnia, another slightly different spelling of the same thing. I am going to do this one a dit differently. Wait, no i wont. I will not even bother writing it. I am going to do something else for a while. Like read Kennedy assassination theories. If i can work the Kennedy assassination into the story, i will. Wow. I wrote that over a month ago. I get tired of things way to easily. Not going to write more than 5 issues in a row anymore. Seems to be when my attention withers away. Right now i am watching Weekend At Bernie’s. What a morally repugnant movie. Funny though. So, on to the story. I hope to increase my readership
using cheap tricks, such as random character deaths. And random recoveries from death [i read a lot of comics]. Let me brainstorm instead of actually develop a plot. There could be a birth. Or a wedding. Or a character can graduate from high school. There are many ways to pretend significant events are occurring while maintaining the status quo. I promise you, a character will actually be offed within the confines of this issue. Our story today, which, incidentally, will not have a word of the issue [for the reason of the book i was getting them from is upstairs, and i am too lazy to go there], begins in a small coffee
shop somewhere in Europe, but probably not Ireland. It can not take place in Ireland because the main character [known in literary circles as the ‘protozoa’] is a Leprechaun, who have traditionally been hunted and eaten in Ireland, or something like that. “They make a damn fine cup of coffee in Europe,” the Leprechaun was saying. Let us give him a name, huh? How about Bowtie McFitznoodle [why the hell an i thinking about pasta?]. “Oh, that one is from Twin Peaks!” the avatar of Azathoth [the nuclear terror!], Arnold Ifukube. They were playing ‘guess the reference’ a favourite game of theirs from there
college days, when they were roommates. Their fraternity, Dagon Dagon Thule, was also graced with the membership of Htohba, the Great Old One and Lord of the 6 Unholy Fires! But i am getting carried away. We are not concerned with the unspeakable alumni of the Dark College Which Dwells in the Dark Pits of the Eternal Darkness. This is not much of a story, is it folks? I am real sorry. It is just that sometimes i feel like i am just wasting my time, no matter what i am doing. Do you ever get that feeling? Do you guys feel that same crushing hopelessness, surrounding you like a void, which causes your heart to explode, but you can even feel that. You cannot feel anything anymore. Because the capillaries in your head have exploded too. I mean, Santa Claus entered the diner, possibly but not necessarily followed by Jack O’Lantern, Funny Bunny, Frosty the Snowman, and Janus. In fact, let us have some fun and let YOU write some of the story! Santa entered the coffee shop followed by . That was all lot of fun, was it not? It is good to have fun. Hold on to dear life to whatever happiness you can find kids. Struggle in vain against the emptiness inside. We all end up dead and alone in the end. Santa walked up to their [i think this story had something about a leprechaun in it at some point] table and said with chuckle “Bowtie McFitznoodle, with your name
so bloody fucking stupid, won’t you join my assemblage of semi-retarded one-dimensional characters tonight.” “Hell no,” the diminutive fellow replied. Out of the expected sequence of events, a hail of flame pierced the ceiling of the shop. A man in a red suit climbed down and stood in front of our ‘heroes,’ who did not find this to be an emidiate concern to them. The mysterious creature looked very much like Santa Claus, except that he was composed completely out of burning charred remains. Yes, they were both burning and charred. I do not care how impossible that is. “Now, I have come to fulfill the promise stated earlier within this piece of low-quality fiction!” the being said, charring Arnold Ifukube to a cinder. “My body! I need that for staying alive,” Arnold
protested. But no pleas can save you in this absurd indifferent universe in which we and to a lesser extent they, exist. By which i mean, he was dead. Santa Claus erupted into mega-action, somehow making the malignant force leave. “No, my friend, my best friend. I must avenge him,” McFitznoodle said in a deplorably wooden performance cradling the dead remnants of his friend. I mean, i was not expecting much when i hired Joe Bob Baker for the part, but that is ridiculous. His best friend just died, put some bloody feeling into it. “We will avenge him, young man...as a team!” Santa Claus said in a premature dramatic ending. “Do you have health benefits?” the leprechaun asked. “Hell no! Odds are we won’t will to see tomorrow,” you know you said it, i do not want to write it. “Do not say won’t, say ‘won not.’ It is just basic proper English,” back to the leprechaun. But Santa Claus’ unstable mind had gone on a tangent. “Secret A-GENT man! Secret A-GENT man! He’s-a givin’ you a NUM-BA, an’ a-takin’ away your NAME!” he bellowed. “Dear lord, what have i gotten myself into?” Funny Bunny asked
herself. “Oh, shut up and write some bad poetry, you damn punk teenager,” Janus
grubbled as he stroked his beards. “I’m ten!” she protested, reminding us of the
unpleasant reality of the child abduction present in this story.
John...please death, take me now...DRK
"The Killer"- a bad teenage poem by Funny Bunny
love, a many spekled theif
cutting like a raser blade
love can only hurt and kill
but i can kill things too
like myself?
the end...?
I never used aynpnia in the last issue. Too bad. The Word of this issue of aypnia, another slightly different spelling of the same thing. I am going to do this one a dit differently. Wait, no i wont. I will not even bother writing it. I am going to do something else for a while. Like read Kennedy assassination theories. If i can work the Kennedy assassination into the story, i will. Wow. I wrote that over a month ago. I get tired of things way to easily. Not going to write more than 5 issues in a row anymore. Seems to be when my attention withers away. Right now i am watching Weekend At Bernie’s. What a morally repugnant movie. Funny though. So, on to the story. I hope to increase my readership
using cheap tricks, such as random character deaths. And random recoveries from death [i read a lot of comics]. Let me brainstorm instead of actually develop a plot. There could be a birth. Or a wedding. Or a character can graduate from high school. There are many ways to pretend significant events are occurring while maintaining the status quo. I promise you, a character will actually be offed within the confines of this issue. Our story today, which, incidentally, will not have a word of the issue [for the reason of the book i was getting them from is upstairs, and i am too lazy to go there], begins in a small coffee
shop somewhere in Europe, but probably not Ireland. It can not take place in Ireland because the main character [known in literary circles as the ‘protozoa’] is a Leprechaun, who have traditionally been hunted and eaten in Ireland, or something like that. “They make a damn fine cup of coffee in Europe,” the Leprechaun was saying. Let us give him a name, huh? How about Bowtie McFitznoodle [why the hell an i thinking about pasta?]. “Oh, that one is from Twin Peaks!” the avatar of Azathoth [the nuclear terror!], Arnold Ifukube. They were playing ‘guess the reference’ a favourite game of theirs from there
college days, when they were roommates. Their fraternity, Dagon Dagon Thule, was also graced with the membership of Htohba, the Great Old One and Lord of the 6 Unholy Fires! But i am getting carried away. We are not concerned with the unspeakable alumni of the Dark College Which Dwells in the Dark Pits of the Eternal Darkness. This is not much of a story, is it folks? I am real sorry. It is just that sometimes i feel like i am just wasting my time, no matter what i am doing. Do you ever get that feeling? Do you guys feel that same crushing hopelessness, surrounding you like a void, which causes your heart to explode, but you can even feel that. You cannot feel anything anymore. Because the capillaries in your head have exploded too. I mean, Santa Claus entered the diner, possibly but not necessarily followed by Jack O’Lantern, Funny Bunny, Frosty the Snowman, and Janus. In fact, let us have some fun and let YOU write some of the story! Santa entered the coffee shop followed by . That was all lot of fun, was it not? It is good to have fun. Hold on to dear life to whatever happiness you can find kids. Struggle in vain against the emptiness inside. We all end up dead and alone in the end. Santa walked up to their [i think this story had something about a leprechaun in it at some point] table and said with chuckle “Bowtie McFitznoodle, with your name
so bloody fucking stupid, won’t you join my assemblage of semi-retarded one-dimensional characters tonight.” “Hell no,” the diminutive fellow replied. Out of the expected sequence of events, a hail of flame pierced the ceiling of the shop. A man in a red suit climbed down and stood in front of our ‘heroes,’ who did not find this to be an emidiate concern to them. The mysterious creature looked very much like Santa Claus, except that he was composed completely out of burning charred remains. Yes, they were both burning and charred. I do not care how impossible that is. “Now, I have come to fulfill the promise stated earlier within this piece of low-quality fiction!” the being said, charring Arnold Ifukube to a cinder. “My body! I need that for staying alive,” Arnold
protested. But no pleas can save you in this absurd indifferent universe in which we and to a lesser extent they, exist. By which i mean, he was dead. Santa Claus erupted into mega-action, somehow making the malignant force leave. “No, my friend, my best friend. I must avenge him,” McFitznoodle said in a deplorably wooden performance cradling the dead remnants of his friend. I mean, i was not expecting much when i hired Joe Bob Baker for the part, but that is ridiculous. His best friend just died, put some bloody feeling into it. “We will avenge him, young man...as a team!” Santa Claus said in a premature dramatic ending. “Do you have health benefits?” the leprechaun asked. “Hell no! Odds are we won’t will to see tomorrow,” you know you said it, i do not want to write it. “Do not say won’t, say ‘won not.’ It is just basic proper English,” back to the leprechaun. But Santa Claus’ unstable mind had gone on a tangent. “Secret A-GENT man! Secret A-GENT man! He’s-a givin’ you a NUM-BA, an’ a-takin’ away your NAME!” he bellowed. “Dear lord, what have i gotten myself into?” Funny Bunny asked
herself. “Oh, shut up and write some bad poetry, you damn punk teenager,” Janus
grubbled as he stroked his beards. “I’m ten!” she protested, reminding us of the
unpleasant reality of the child abduction present in this story.
John...please death, take me now...DRK
"The Killer"- a bad teenage poem by Funny Bunny
love, a many spekled theif
cutting like a raser blade
love can only hurt and kill
but i can kill things too
like myself?
the end...?