Welcome welcome my children. This is THE REAL, VERIFIED @Keif' Richards comin' at you with some more capital "T" Truth bombs (loud explosion sound effects). As the one and only voice of drug users globally, I have a responsibility; that responsibility is to regurgitate the most critical information; my knowledge, my experience, my philosophy; into the open beaks of our society, as does the Adult Emperor Penguin to Baby Emperor Penguin. Come on Penguin, I even included a Penguin reference in the story, how about some of that sweet publishing cash. What say you let yours truly, wet... his beak a little? But the crown weighs heavy, as they say. The constant clamor for more blog posts, more stories... more wisdom... my Gmail overfloweth. Still, this is important work. Continuing on from part 3 - The Mission to Fuck Criss Angel.
"Have you ever been photographed before?"
A short, stout man with an effeminate Southern accent was speaking to me. I had been working odd hours and finding sleep wherever I could. I looked up, rubbing my eyes. The man wore an unbuttoned dress shirt. Around his ample waist, a purple sash. A pink bandana on his head was complimented by a filthy eye patch. I realized only too late, I was on the strip and actively being groomed by a modern day pirate. On his waist was a scimitar, wooden yes, but still a perfect instrument for beating the shit out of someone. The pirate's eyes met mine and in them I saw the wild lust of a man who had been at sea for too long. His confidence; yes, it was clear this man had raped before, and would rape again.
Just then, out of the corner of my eye, I saw two uniformed police officers. I was saved. In that moment, I juked my would-be rapist whilst howling like a little girl for help. The officers turned around and I noticed a wry smile on their faces. "Where do you think you're going handsome?" said one of the cops, apparently having the exact same, weird, effeminate Southern accent of the pirate. "Did 3 gay dudes from New Orleans move up here just to cosplay and rape?" I didn't have time to ponder. My transgressors surrounded me and moved in slowly. I clenched my butthole as hard as I could. Then, I laughed, "isn't this town just whacky?".
I woke up in the office with my head on the keyboard. It was ~4am and my partner @Godjilla was busy with her crochet work. We had to start getting ready to wake people up. You have to make coffee, set out the free food if we have any, clean the tables off and make sure the laundry is straight for the day, among other record keeping. The place was only half-full. The absence of a large portion of our normal census provoked immediate dread and anxiety. Weird shit had been happening among not just us, but other non-profit operations of a similar nature.
For the record, this is all fiction, I'm not at all implying that any of what I'm writing is real or really happened, so there.
This story will continue momentarily, stay tuned.
"Have you ever been photographed before?"
A short, stout man with an effeminate Southern accent was speaking to me. I had been working odd hours and finding sleep wherever I could. I looked up, rubbing my eyes. The man wore an unbuttoned dress shirt. Around his ample waist, a purple sash. A pink bandana on his head was complimented by a filthy eye patch. I realized only too late, I was on the strip and actively being groomed by a modern day pirate. On his waist was a scimitar, wooden yes, but still a perfect instrument for beating the shit out of someone. The pirate's eyes met mine and in them I saw the wild lust of a man who had been at sea for too long. His confidence; yes, it was clear this man had raped before, and would rape again.
Just then, out of the corner of my eye, I saw two uniformed police officers. I was saved. In that moment, I juked my would-be rapist whilst howling like a little girl for help. The officers turned around and I noticed a wry smile on their faces. "Where do you think you're going handsome?" said one of the cops, apparently having the exact same, weird, effeminate Southern accent of the pirate. "Did 3 gay dudes from New Orleans move up here just to cosplay and rape?" I didn't have time to ponder. My transgressors surrounded me and moved in slowly. I clenched my butthole as hard as I could. Then, I laughed, "isn't this town just whacky?".
I woke up in the office with my head on the keyboard. It was ~4am and my partner @Godjilla was busy with her crochet work. We had to start getting ready to wake people up. You have to make coffee, set out the free food if we have any, clean the tables off and make sure the laundry is straight for the day, among other record keeping. The place was only half-full. The absence of a large portion of our normal census provoked immediate dread and anxiety. Weird shit had been happening among not just us, but other non-profit operations of a similar nature.
For the record, this is all fiction, I'm not at all implying that any of what I'm writing is real or really happened, so there.
This story will continue momentarily, stay tuned.
