WARNING: DO NOT READ THIS IF YOU ARE EASILY FRIGHTENED BY WORDS!
Contents:
The Drunk Chronicles
- Mo’ bunny, Mo’ problems.
- Bunny Tales
- The misadventures of gender reassignment surgery
- The inexorable rise of Darth Fyurie
<><><><><> The Secret Tome of Clinically Depressing Revelations <><><><><>
SECTION 1:
Book 14 Part 12 Chapter 12 The day where I may or may not have lost an argument to a dust bunny. Actually I didn’t. Because dust bunnies don’t talk. There, you can skip this chapter now. NO!!! Please don’t. I was joking. No I wasn’t! Why don’t you LOVE ME?!
For all the trouble I went through to get one, I couldn’t get this blasted Alchemical Transmuter to work. I ended up spending the better part of lunch trying to convince it to transmute something; Alchemically or otherwise.
I tried shaking it; Heard a startled gasp from inside but not much else.
I tried rubbing it; An overly-familiar genie popped out and started singing. I instantly wished he disappeared.
Perhaps if I tried whacking it?
A helpful voice came out of the bushes behind me, “Tried reasoning with it yet? Rarely works but when it does, you get to act all smug-like.”
The voice had a somewhat sad quality to it, jaded but defiantly dignified. Like a retired politician who wished he had burst into song more often. (Note: He sounds just like Marvin the maniacally depressed robot. Entirely improbable but mostly coincidental I assure you.)
I spun around to face him. It was a bunny. Nondescript, perfectly average and intolerably adorable. I might just eat him whole. And my parents laughed when I packed that spice rack.
“Aww<3 It’s so cute!” I couldn’t help but furiously pet him.
“Pet me again and I won’t hesitate to nibble off an ear.”
“Wha-? It talked!”
“Afraid not. You see, my ability to speak is just your feeble mind’s attempt at a coping mechanism for your debilitating loneliness and is but a projection of your inner subconscious repressed by your inability to coherently express your mental anguish that stems from your intense dissatisfaction with your vagabond ways, chronic abject poverty and the crushing guilt of being a complete waste of computer RAM. Also, you’re completely pickled.” There was a noticeable stress on the word “pickled”.
Not wanting to lose out to a bunny(and not knowing what a computer was), I started fumbling for something smart to say.
“W-W-Well, your waggly tail is a psychic misinterpretation of your inner beastling that seeks to negatively reassert its gamma-male nature in the face of the infinitesimal vacuosity of your existentially-crippled psyche. Also, you’re a bunny. A DUST bunny might I add. The WORST kind.”
“At least one of those words were made up you know. And, borderline racist. We dust bunnies are a perfectly deeee-lightful lot.”
Godvilledex part 4: Dust bunnies are in fact the second most racist things in Godville. Those bas#*!ds.
There was a moment of tense silence as I decided how best to approach the increasingly embarrassing conversation.
“Want a cookie?”
“If it isn’t any trouble.” He hesitantly pounced on the cookie and heartily nibbled at it.
bq. Notes: If you’re wondering what word was made up in Fyurie’s monologue, it’s “vacuosity”. Which is ironic because the word she was looking for was “vacuity”. Probably something she should know more about…
Book 14 Part 12 Chapter 3204i The day where I had a nearly epic showdown maybe.
“Hey, shouldn’t I be fighting you?”
“That sounds like such a chore. Can’t I just admit defeat and follow you around while obsequiously listening to your every whine. I’ll even make witty conversation if I’m feeling particularly sarcastic- or if you’re particularly drunk.”
“But-”
“Yes, yes, you’re quite right. In avoiding combat we assault the very foundation of the hero-monster relationship and undermine its delicate dynamics. Existential crises and bed-wetting would be forthcoming. I cannot deal with anymore depressed creatures wallowing about me. Depression is the right of the enlightened. Not plebeian races and obtuse heroes-such as yourself.”
“How about I make a grammar error and you can make fun of it? And then I’ll finish off with a dramatic death scene. Win-win. That should provide enough ammo for you to used.”
“Hah! You’z using used wrongly!”
In a flurry of movement, despite being severely injured by the irony, the bunny spun about himself, threw his arms up into the air and sprawled onto the floor. He looked up into the distance and fixed his gaze on something, somewhere far away and weakly reached out to it with its tiny paws. I started to turn in the same direction to see what was so interesting but was startled by the bunny’s abrupt start of his (over-dramatic) monologue.
“Oh the shame! How it burns away at the mortal coil! Alas, I am bested by the towering monolith of intellect that is Fyurie. Oh, how I beg -nay grovel! -that you allow me a new lease on life and let me live on in humiliating servitude to you whilst you quest for such higher purposes and that you may deem them worthy of your greatness.”
I stood there, waiting to see if there was more.
(The bunny’s eyes darted in my direction and harshly whispered “That’s your cue!”)
“Are you making fun of me?”
“N- no?”
“Whatever…Yay! I have a new pet! Now can I pet you?”
“No. And wh –is that a spice rack?”
“This is just make-up silly-billingsly. I‘m thinking Sunset Curry!”
“Well, I hope you like diarrhoea with your curry.”
Godvilledex part (j45): His nickname was in fact “Dire-rear” because he was known for his aversion to danger. He once ran away from a puddle for fear of drowning. He also likes running in the park and pretending to listen to TED-talks while nodding pretentiously.
Book x Part x! Chapter x/π Aka the misadventures of gender reassignment.
Dramatis personae:
1. Oy the Obnoxious Dust Bunny
2. Fyurie the unlikely Hero{|ine}
3. Greg the shifty-eyed surgeon.
4. Kim Gung Bin the exotic Nurse/ part-time “masseuse”
Bunny(B): “Have you considered becoming a man?”
Kim Gung Bin(K): Uh- No. (B notices a wrinkling of her nose as she replies.)
B: Not you. No one’s talking to you. Keep rubbing. Harder. HAR-DER. Does “harder” have a different meaning wherever you’re from human?
K: Starts mumbling gibberish Looks away. Angrier gibberish
B: Well?
Fyurie(F): I have wondered what being having a tail would be like. Does that count?
B: Do human males have tails?
F: Um… yeah, a front tail?
B: What would they do with a front tail? Do they get flies down their fronts? How bothersome.
F: Well maybe not flies. Maybe they swat other stuff?
K: Ugh. Drunks. Why me?
F: Why do you ask? Are you thinking of becoming a male too?
B: W-What?! I AM MALE. (Looks away offended.)
F: Are you sure? I thought all Dust bunnies were girls. And all Sun dogs were boys. And all Shyborgs were – well, borgs.
B: And all humans cripplingly inadequate?
Before B could start a another of his pseudo-intellectual rants, Greg(G) walks into the “massage” parlour. B notices his hands. They were oddly smooth. He could tell, even as they were juggling knives. And strangely delicate. Apart from a missing middle-finger, they were perfection.
B: You. You’re not a drunk hero are you?
G: Nope. Just drunk. But some people do call me their hero sometimes. Hahah!(His loud guffaw startled Fyurie as she choked on a cucumber slice.)
B: Your hands. From their dexterity, I’d say you belonged to that wandering circus that’s in town. But your clothes… They’re too sharp for a simple performer. And you have a certain air of arrogance. You must be… A DELUDED HAND MODEL!
G: Surgeon. The answer is deluded SURGEON. And I couldn’t help but overhear your conversation about being a Man. Are you interested?
B: Why yes! I’m quite interested in making Fyurie into a Man. It should be quite a time-saver. Not having to queue at the toilet, or picking the perfect dress, or her face. Oh god HER FACE.
G: Well, if you put it that way, lets get started! Kim, テーブルを準備!
Kim Gung Bin: I’m Korean you racist.
B: Hey! That’s my job! Kim, 含漱的海龟!
Kim Gung Bin: I speak Engrish you undercooked side-dish! Ich bitte dich sowohl durch eine filetiert zu werden Sycophantom! (Incoherent grumblings.)
Fyurie: I thought you were Korean. Why are you speaking European?
K: Whatever, let us gut this dumb girl. (At this point K flips the massage table over and it transforms into an operating table. A lone spotlight appears and illuminates Fyurie while the other lights dim.)
F: Wait. What?!
Book ∫x dy Part i/1 Chapter µ The rise of Darth Fyurie.
Fyurie, in a haze of drugs and hormones wakes up in an abandoned room. A single beam of light pours in from the open window, revealing the rubble around him. But even then, he could see that he was still in the operating room cum massage parlour. He wipes a layer of dust from his face. “How long have I been asleep?”
An obnoxious voice, no doubt that of a dust bunny answered from the darkness, “About 2 hours. That dust is from the construction they were doing after the procedure. How are you feeling? Manly?”
“Well, [insert sports reference].”
“Why are you speaking in brackets? Is that normal for a man? We’ll worry about that later. Come on. You have a quest to finish. Let’s go handsome. Also, we changed your name to Darth Fyurie."
“Who is this “We”? You and that doctor?"
“Nope. Me and Kyrin. He gave you a nice tattoo while you were out.”
Oy lifted up Darth Fyurie’s operating gown to reveal a fresh new tattoo sprawled across his chest, making a contented smile.
“YOU did this didn’t you? DIDN’T YOU?!” Darth Fyurie leaps from the table and whips out his lightning bolt cutter +84 and starts violently shaking it in front of Oy.
“I never! How could you accuse me of such an indelicate act. Barbaric. I hate tattoos. Think of all the hepatitises you could get. Hepatitis A, B and even F probably! No, this is clearly a divine sign from Mr Divine himself. Are you denying His Great Wisdom?”
“N-No. Of course not.” He lets out a defeated sigh, climbs off the table and goes off with his new name, a dubious tattoo and a significantly higher risk of testicular cancer. Yay, manhood.
~
Hi fellow Gods and Goddettes!
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Love,
HAH! I was never gonna tell you my name. Disappointed? Deal with it, you AWESOME PERSON YOU!