Today you, indeed all adorable birds, will take wing and watch as the deformed members of The Great Society Which Hurls Grains At Our Feet rebels against The Society Of Those Who Force Us From One Section of Concrete to Another. The deformed members of The Great Society Which Hurls Grains At Our Feet will strike swiftly, while Those Who Force Us From One Section of Concrete to Another will be entirely unprepared. It will be a bloodbath, body parts strewn everywhere.
When the dust settles, after a day of harsh fighting, the Great Stone City will be littered with delicious corpses for you and your friends to eat, and there will be no more Society of Those Who Force Us From One Section of Concrete to another to boss you around and tell you what to. Your first act will be freeing all the imprisoned adorable birds, as well as many of the less adorable birds. Then you’ll just hang out with the crows and eat some dead bodies, enjoying the feeling of being in charge for the first time since the beginning of the Holocene era.
You’ll treat each day of freedom as a gift, letting your songs echo through empty streets, wheeling as high as you can in the sun and then resting on rooftops, occasionally watching as the Societies still battle on your streets, grinning madly as you wait to see if the one who lives will be One Who is Tasty or One Who is Foul. You will cock your heads in the sun and watch them fret below you with no idea of how wonderful it is to fly freely, to catch insects in their beaks and gobble them still living and writhin, and to poop while moving at incredible speeds.
You will carry us into a new golden age.
Congratulations Adorable Birds!
Showing posts with label sewer mutants. Show all posts
Showing posts with label sewer mutants. Show all posts
Saturday, September 18, 2010
Friday, September 17, 2010
Congratulations on Surviving the Mutant Uprising!
Most people will be taken entirely by surprise. When the mutants come, following the incursion of He Who Is Far Too Funky into their den, they’ll strike swiftly and mercilessly. They’ll die in droves because of the superior strength and agility of many topsiders, as well as our proficiency with firearms, but it won’t be enough to stop them. They’ll be legion, and a lot of our society-members will be super obese.
But you’ll be one of the lucky ones. You’ll be out jogging when they hit. You’ll be moving through the dawn along the riverside, enjoying the feeling of cooling dew on your skin as you lope gracefully across the city. You’ll be halfway through your run, perfectly warmed up. It’ll be your most peaceful, most aware moment of the day.
You’ll be watching the ass of a female jogger in front of you, wondering if she’s wearing underwear, when a flash of motion draws your attention away from her ass, away from the river, into the city. It’ll be a blur of gray and brown, and at first you’ll think it’ll be an especially energetic homeless person, but it’ll be moving far too steadily. It will just seem wrong.
That’s when you’ll notice the obese guy who always flips you off in the morning running his little stumps off. He’ll round the corner huffing and puffing wordlessly, his mouth a grimace of fear. At his heels there will be a trio of shambling forms which could only be called remotely human. They’ll have clawing hands, rippling masses of mean looking teeth and feverish eyes.
They’ll close on your daily antagonist in seconds and fall upon him, their hands ripping as his flesh while their teeth dig into him and tear out big chunks of flab and bloody meat. They’ll choke it down like it’s the sweetest meal they’ve ever tasted, even though you’re pretty sure that guy showers in pure dog shit. And then you’ll slow in your run to get a better look and they’ll pause in their eating. They’ll look at you. And they’ll scream.
They’ll move towards you in a furious burst of energy, surging towards you like rats normally do when you’re getting on the subway. But you’re a runner, and you’ll be swift, take off sprinting towards the cute girl in front of you. As you reach her you’ll grab her arm and carry her forward, whispering in her ear, breathlessly.
“Fucking run.”
“What the fuck?” she’ll say, looking at you and then looking back. When she catches sight of those shambling mutants behind you her eyes will go wide and you’ll barely hear her say “Shit” before her footfalls rush up to yours and the two of you pound pavement, looking for any way off the street, any way away from the mass of teeming street people who seem to be roaming the city this morning, devouring any who are unwary.
You’ll run for blocks and blocks looking for a way out, feeling and hearing more than seeing a steadily growing mass of gnashing teeth just a few meters behind you. You’ll be faster, but these people, if they can be called that, they’ll feel relentless. Tireless.
Your break will finally come when a young man smoking on his fire escape on the second floor of an apartment building sees you. He’ll shout at you as he drops the fire escape ladder down to you.
“Get the fuck over here!”
You’ll grab the girl’s hand and run towards the escape, letting go to leap up on to the rungs and climb faster than you’d ever thought you could’ve. You’ll climb with your upper body, thinking “god I hope I don’t kick her in the face” as you glide up the steel.
When you reach the top you’ll reach back down for the girl and grab her wrist, hauling her up the last few feet while the smoker pulls up the ladder in one practiced movement.
“Fuck,” you’ll say, bent over and panting, watching the mutants leap at the ladder, clawing. They won’t be able to reach it. They’ll be too bent, too forelorn, and before long they’ll start to head off, staring at you as they do it as if to mark you.
“You’re lucky my roommate’s a dick,” the smoker will say as they depart. “Otherwise I wouldn’t be out here so much.”
The girl will shake her head in agreement. “We’re lucky you haven’t quit yet.”
The young man will shrug as the lot of you watch the chaos beneath you, watching people die like animals, waiting for someone to come close, close enough that you can save them.
Congratulations on Surviving the Mutant Uprising!
But you’ll be one of the lucky ones. You’ll be out jogging when they hit. You’ll be moving through the dawn along the riverside, enjoying the feeling of cooling dew on your skin as you lope gracefully across the city. You’ll be halfway through your run, perfectly warmed up. It’ll be your most peaceful, most aware moment of the day.
You’ll be watching the ass of a female jogger in front of you, wondering if she’s wearing underwear, when a flash of motion draws your attention away from her ass, away from the river, into the city. It’ll be a blur of gray and brown, and at first you’ll think it’ll be an especially energetic homeless person, but it’ll be moving far too steadily. It will just seem wrong.
That’s when you’ll notice the obese guy who always flips you off in the morning running his little stumps off. He’ll round the corner huffing and puffing wordlessly, his mouth a grimace of fear. At his heels there will be a trio of shambling forms which could only be called remotely human. They’ll have clawing hands, rippling masses of mean looking teeth and feverish eyes.
They’ll close on your daily antagonist in seconds and fall upon him, their hands ripping as his flesh while their teeth dig into him and tear out big chunks of flab and bloody meat. They’ll choke it down like it’s the sweetest meal they’ve ever tasted, even though you’re pretty sure that guy showers in pure dog shit. And then you’ll slow in your run to get a better look and they’ll pause in their eating. They’ll look at you. And they’ll scream.
They’ll move towards you in a furious burst of energy, surging towards you like rats normally do when you’re getting on the subway. But you’re a runner, and you’ll be swift, take off sprinting towards the cute girl in front of you. As you reach her you’ll grab her arm and carry her forward, whispering in her ear, breathlessly.
“Fucking run.”
“What the fuck?” she’ll say, looking at you and then looking back. When she catches sight of those shambling mutants behind you her eyes will go wide and you’ll barely hear her say “Shit” before her footfalls rush up to yours and the two of you pound pavement, looking for any way off the street, any way away from the mass of teeming street people who seem to be roaming the city this morning, devouring any who are unwary.
You’ll run for blocks and blocks looking for a way out, feeling and hearing more than seeing a steadily growing mass of gnashing teeth just a few meters behind you. You’ll be faster, but these people, if they can be called that, they’ll feel relentless. Tireless.
Your break will finally come when a young man smoking on his fire escape on the second floor of an apartment building sees you. He’ll shout at you as he drops the fire escape ladder down to you.
“Get the fuck over here!”
You’ll grab the girl’s hand and run towards the escape, letting go to leap up on to the rungs and climb faster than you’d ever thought you could’ve. You’ll climb with your upper body, thinking “god I hope I don’t kick her in the face” as you glide up the steel.
When you reach the top you’ll reach back down for the girl and grab her wrist, hauling her up the last few feet while the smoker pulls up the ladder in one practiced movement.
“Fuck,” you’ll say, bent over and panting, watching the mutants leap at the ladder, clawing. They won’t be able to reach it. They’ll be too bent, too forelorn, and before long they’ll start to head off, staring at you as they do it as if to mark you.
“You’re lucky my roommate’s a dick,” the smoker will say as they depart. “Otherwise I wouldn’t be out here so much.”
The girl will shake her head in agreement. “We’re lucky you haven’t quit yet.”
The young man will shrug as the lot of you watch the chaos beneath you, watching people die like animals, waiting for someone to come close, close enough that you can save them.
Congratulations on Surviving the Mutant Uprising!
Thursday, September 16, 2010
Congratulations on Getting Absurdly Funky!
Uh. Oh yeah. Shit’s getting out of control. The concrete slapping your sneakers, the bitches dishing looks like they’s on sale, the haters stopping just to pay the love they owe, shit’s fucking bananas for you right now.
Shit’s so bananas that when you miss that open manhole and tumble downward, into a hellish New York subway filled with terrible, terrible subhuman mutants who reach out towards you to grab you and start ripping your flesh apart the moment they make contact they’re all gonna hop back and say “Daaaamn.”
Then they’ll pitch you upwards in a fit of coordinated dancing, launching you out of the manhole and back on to the relative safety of the street where you’ll land between two ladies who will turn, give you the once over and go “Oh snap!” taking an extra moment to admire your funkiest of asses.
Then you’ll strut into the bank, drop a gun on the counter and tell the teller to fill up one of those fly ass bags with money. She’ll be so taken by your urban vernacular and forthright manner that she’ll just fill that bag right up for you without any trouble or dye tablets and you’ll walk out, whistling, into the street, drawing every eye towards you, including a few poking up from underneath the street, where word of how funky you are is quickly spreading and likely to spark a mutant uprising.
Congratulations on Getting Absurdly Funky!
Shit’s so bananas that when you miss that open manhole and tumble downward, into a hellish New York subway filled with terrible, terrible subhuman mutants who reach out towards you to grab you and start ripping your flesh apart the moment they make contact they’re all gonna hop back and say “Daaaamn.”
Then they’ll pitch you upwards in a fit of coordinated dancing, launching you out of the manhole and back on to the relative safety of the street where you’ll land between two ladies who will turn, give you the once over and go “Oh snap!” taking an extra moment to admire your funkiest of asses.
Then you’ll strut into the bank, drop a gun on the counter and tell the teller to fill up one of those fly ass bags with money. She’ll be so taken by your urban vernacular and forthright manner that she’ll just fill that bag right up for you without any trouble or dye tablets and you’ll walk out, whistling, into the street, drawing every eye towards you, including a few poking up from underneath the street, where word of how funky you are is quickly spreading and likely to spark a mutant uprising.
Congratulations on Getting Absurdly Funky!
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