DOAKES: to elaborate on the second, bonus-story that you're in: you're basically a half retarded pet chimp. You have a pet severed scalp, which you pet the hair of; your true face is a series of reduced features - nose and ears cut off, brows shaved; your eyes are nearly blind, the lids being super glued shut; mouth tethered with metal wire- you can only express yourself through your masks. You are my loving "ginger boy" and at night we cuddle in bed alongside the recent corpse of whoever we have killed. You like having your asshole sucked, and the wild tongue lashing death spasms of a victim leasing your hoop causes you to moan in your characteristic low, groaning sound. In your chest is a glass bottle of milk embedded - when youre good, i unzip a zipper stitched into your flesh and cram some cookies into the wound, which fall into the milk, and you merrily and quite excitedly clap your hands and chirp and bounce and thrash all around, watching as the cookies dissolve and break apart in the jug of milk, inside you. I don't know why you like it so much - you just do.
No man, you're just like me, I guess. I don't get sleepy - I get fucking jazzed. I assume you're in the middle of how it should be, and where I am at. You could always try smoking more, and snorting some, too. Or, if possible, getting pods and making tea. Just don't die.
I am not doing it out of addiction, I am doing it for character research for a book I am writing. I guess the only explination is that we are wizards. Speaking of which, we need to restart converting the masses to the Church of Terrordactylus again.
Loving the stories brah! I don't think I've read anything this epic since I read "Curious George gets Pizza". Haha just kidding good job man.
Careful with that. And now, confess you are older than you say. Lies make child Jesus cry Oh, wait, you don't give a fuck about that...
