(Untitled)

[ultra_ebola]

I've got a job. (And you can fuck off with your wageslave nine-to-five gripings before you even start, because it isn't, and I'm not.) I'm Dajve's new assistant. And before you all start thinking, 'ooh, Ultra is our very special pal, she'll get us autographs and photos and interviews', remember what happens when people ask me for favours, because

Comments

[neon_anthrax]

An unspecified hiatus of your making, sweetness.

And awww, look: all this attention seeking and I hadn't even realised I was playing any game. Must be all them hormones swimming about your system (dipshit Djave knows you've got something of a sell-by date, don't she?)... They've given you paranoia. I'd be touched if I wasn't disgusted.

[ultra_ebola]

Hear me say otherwise? Only gripe is your need to disappear off the radar. Didn't realise I was the only reason you got up in the morning. Bet you're still eating, though - empty crisp packets piled high near your bed.

Paranoia get fucked, Ne. I haven't been this in demand since prison, yeah? Seems like there's plenty who want me when you don't. No itch goes without scratching.

[neon_anthrax]

You're one to talk, fatty, I saw you trying to get up from that bean bag this morning, and don't think I didn't: like a beached whale trying to disco dance.

Yeah, you heard me: DISCO.

You're right, actually. Don't really want damaged goods... And there's apparently plenty scrabbling for my leftovers. Interesting point, that.

[ultra_ebola]

Moved out, shithead, so guess again. That'll be whatever dyke castoff you picked up down the docks. Unless you're stalking me now? Spying through the windows?

Name three, cos I guarantee they're fucking fictional.

[neon_anthrax]

You were, though, weren't you? So very predictable.

What, the three pop spastics clamouring for you? Well, Djave... Oh, you're right. They are fucking fictional.

[ultra_ebola]

You fucking ARE, aren't you? Ha! Neon fucking Kraftwerk, out spying on old fuckups. That's priceless. Does Techno know about your extracurricular habits? Wait, I'm being retarded - he left you too, didn't he. All alone, sweetness, with nothing and no-one to keep you warm at night except an electric blanket and your right hand. Which has seen better fucking days, let me tell you. And you never were any good at finding the sweet spot, yeah?

Sorry - I thought 'leftovers' was your pet name for your snatch.

[neon_anthrax]

You know what? FUCK THIS.

I've had it up to my left eyeball with you and your pathetic back-chat, yeah?

I made you. TWICE fucking over. It was a long, hard slog to drag you up by your shitty, mousey feather-cut to the higher realms, but I did it.

Everything I touch turns to fucking gold, so you dance along your merry way, little girl. It's time to trade in sagging tits for fresh blood, yeah?

You've had your fucking last chance, my pet.

[ultra_ebola]

Oh, Neon. I thought my last last chance was my last chance? You're so fucking predictable, really. You hand out ultimatums like they're going out of style. (And by the way, if you're wondering what 'out of style' means, find a shiny surface. Your rapidly expanding belly might do it.)

You already said we were over, yeah? What's this? Double dog dare over? Super secret probation over? You've got nothing left, girlstuff. You're dead and gone and buried and even the worms aren't interested.

I'll see you from the up and up. Good luck with the search. Don't forget to check mental hospitals and STI clinics.

[neon_anthrax]

I never said we were over, yeah?

[ultra_ebola]

You can spawn on your own. Permanently.

Could have fucking fooled me.

[neon_anthrax]

Yeah? I was under the impression that it wouldn't get to that stage, myself.

But don't worry: your decision'll no doubt be a fuck-load easier now.

[ultra_ebola]

Shows what you know, doesn't it. Might have fucking 'made me' but you don't know me. You don't know fuck all, Neon, and I wish I'd never fucking met you.

Kraftwerk Orange: over.

Your fat fucking arse: ditched.

Have a nice life, yeah. I know I will, without all of your fucking bullshit.

Now fuck off, you cunt.

[neon_anthrax]

Hey, hey, Ultra? Listen carefully....

That's the sound of you ruining the best thing in your life. And no one caring.

[ultra_ebola]

Oh, sweet replies. You seem to.

[neon_anthrax]

Aw, still typing. Doesn't this count as my bullshit?

Tut tut, girl: breaking your self imposed Neon-fast only a second after proclaiming it, yeah? Smacks of addiction, that.

[ultra_ebola]

See we're going to have a problem with the last word here, yeah. But pissing you off is addictive. Plus, I work up a sweat for the main event.