The first Official Selkath.com Competition.

[JensenBakura]

Ok...I'm giving myself a pay rise in Spetember, and I'm bored. And I like it here, and I want to give something back.

I'm going to give a month's free SWTOR subscription (when the game comes out) to the Selkath.com member who writes the best "moment-in-the-life-of" short story about the odd-couple in my signature.

The only rule is that it can't be longer than 300 Words.

Go!

[pano]

Haha, Baraja is totally going to win this.

[Qual]

Great idea. I shall think long and hard about this.

[JensenBakura]

[quote=""salo_pano""]Haha, Baraja is totally going to win this.[/quote]

Possibly...he'll have to work real hard to overcome my natural bigotry towards anything vaguely spanish (I was born in portugal). I'm only English via immigration.

I'm serious by the way.

[lovebus]

Chapter One The Hit

The common misconception of God is that He is an old man with a long flowing gray beard who wears a toga and sandals, sits on a massive cloud of infinite wisdom and patience and actually enjoys mankind’s representation of a heaven where everyone sings and goes to church in order to prostrate themselves 24 hours per day 7 days per week. The fact is God is a weird blue thing still going through puberty. His voice cracks constantly and the hair on His face is regulated to a patchy mustache that has three or four obscenely disproportionately long hairs poking through laughable stubble. He can’t stand church anymore than the next guy and wonders why people have created a heaven where all they do is sing and go to church, when most people in fact, can’t sing, and have to be dragged to church for one hour on one day out of the week. He occasionally thinks about gathering a group of zealous Christians and bringing them to heaven just so they can experience what essentially amounts to the first week of tryouts on American Idol, except everyone is wearing their tightest dress clothes and has to pray for the good fortune of the contestants after they have finished their painful attempts at singing. He also insists on being the Dungeon Master when He gathers Luck, Fear, Opportunity, and His best friend Keith for their weekly game of Dungeons & Dragons (Keith, of course, being widely regarded as the biggest douchebag of all time; I mean, honestly, who rolls a palladin). God had tried playing a level fourteen dual scimitar wielding Dragonborn Ranger, but Opportunity had teased Him so
mercilessly about His lack of ballistic skill rolls that He decided to do what He did best: rule the fate of the other players from behind a cardboard wall littered with cabbage patch doll stickers. He has a penchant for Sprite and Slim Jims and swears there is nothing more divine than swiggin' some Sprite while a partially chewed piece of peppered jerky still lingers on His tongue. His acne is quite disturbing and is one of the most discernable reasons for His inordinate amount of vengeful wrath. He does, however, wear sandals...with socks.

He was pacing nervously between rows of mini-vans, sports-cars and hatch-backs when he heard a faint *pop* like the sound an air rifle makes when the shooter is hoping against hope they really didn't hit that squirrel. Death appeared suddenly in a wisp of fog, mere feet from God; the cold moisture of the mist hardening her nipples to orange juice making capacity. Death couldn't have been more naked; it was how she did business. She enjoyed how phrases like “supple," "honey-laden," and "holy shit," usually escaped the dying person's lips at the same time to sound
like the quintessential last breath; a breath those close enough to hear mistook for the same sound of a septuagenarian Burger King drive-thru attendant, breathing heavily into a muffled microphone stuck on max reverb. Death had always used her beauty to ease the passing of the unfortunate ones making their journey to the “other side.” She had convinced herself that if the dying person could see her in all her naked glory, and relived their favorite memories as they died - even if they were being slowly chewed to little bits by the grinding jaws of a casually famished shark- dying wouldn't be so bad. She's wrong about this. No matter how many wonderful memories are relived in the brief moments a person spends dying; the pain is far too absolute. And despite how beautiful she was, most women and not
too few men would have rather been led to the afterlife, and awkward places beyond, by a naked Viggo Mortenson.

She took a deliberate step towards God, savoring the cool morning moisture on her thighs. Her strawberry blonde hair was matted with sweat, sticking to the sides of her face in a pattern any airbrush artist would have contemplated a career change for not being able to emulate. Her body glistened in the first rays of the morning Sun, whose beams intentionally passed over other objects in the environment just to illuminate her first. God noticed his presence was intentionally disregarded and made a mental note to increase the number of eclipses next year. He traced the curves
of Death’s body from her taut stomach to her breasts, catching Himself lingering on her chest a bit too long before he met her eyes.


"Are you blushing?"


Death tossed her hair like the anorexic kids in the Vanity Fair ads did, and pretended to bite the edge of her nails, flicking her tongue over her finger in the most erection inducing gesture she could manage. She and the Norse goddess Freya had a running competition on who could get God the most turned-on. They knew God was infatuated with both of them; Freya had actually walked in on Him masturbating to pictures she and Death had taken of each other during a trip to Thailand. God had gotten pissed about his tech service from Dell which meant Death was there to collect after the tsunami, and Freya to re-build. Luckily, Freya’s presence went unnoticed when she stumbled in on God; the suction noise of Vaseline coupled with the impressively blinding speed of God’s wrist created enough noise to cover up Freya’s gasp of shock and subsequent laughter as she *popped* next to Death and enlightened her on their newfound opportunity of reciprocal torment. As neither could stand the mental image of actually fulfilling His fantasy, they enjoyed teasing Him relentlessly. God lowered his head, suppressed a smile, and stared at his sandals.


"Why do you smell like hay?"


"Long story hun. Do you have a towel? My face is a little sticky."

"I..."

Random images of Death in a variety of triple X scenarios flooded God’s imagination. Jealously was threatening to overcome His libido; anger started to well inside Him, his ears turned red, and somewhere in Chad a case of spontaneous combustion was baffling local authorities. After all they had been through and she still treated Him like He was a punk kid. Death picked up on how uncomfortable God was and cracked a smile.


"I don't know why you insist on meeting here. It's not the Garden of Eden anymore hun, it's just

a fucking Honda dealership."


There was always a pain in her chest every time Death cursed. It was simply part of the make-up God had imparted to all of the Intangibles. Cursing is not necessarily forbidden when talking with God; He is actually a little embarrassed by the fact He isn't allowed to curse for reasons only known to Him and the One who forbids Him from doing so. Being a vengeful little prick, He made sure others knew He didn't appreciate the latent mocking of his inability to partake in "grown-up" vocabulary by causing chest pains in other deities, one of his many “talents” that has resulted in a severe lack of friends.


"I have a job that needs to be done. Werner and his daughter. You know her right?"


"Yeah, sweet girl. We've talked a bit. She has a good head on her shoulders. I’m actually pretty

fond of her. Why do you want them dead?"


"He knows how to kill me. I'm afraid he will, or has already passed that knowledge on to his

daughter. More importantly, I think he is going to pass that knowledge on to everyone."


"You think? You mean you aren’t sure? What the hell man!?”


“It isn’t exactly something I wanna risk okay?”


“So, what then, you die, end of the world type shit?"


"No, the world goes on, I just die. And I don't wanna."


Death winked. "But you'll get to spend more time with me."


God shuffled away from Death, His face reddening a deeper shade than His profane acne. He put both of His hands in the pockets of His weird baggy diaper thing.


"It was bad enough Werner created those buttholes with increased brain control. That darn

injection has been nothing but a big middle finger to the natural order of things.”


“Good thing it only works on a select few huh?”

Death bent down to pick up a rock that had found its way into the row of civic hatchbacks, looking through the space between her legs to make sure God had noticed she hadn’t bent at the knees. His mouth was open. Death arched her back as she slowly regained her posture; she turned and winked again. God wiped His brow with the back of His hand, surprised He had started to sweat.


“If he can teach everyone how to use the other ninety percent of their brain without that

injection, people will eventually learn how to destroy me, whether they want to or not. I can't

have that."


She placed the rock precariously on the top of the car, unnecessarily standing on her tip-toes, thinking to herself a rock in the middle of the car’s roof would confuse generic car salesman number 4 of its origins. She loved fucking with random people's minds.


"Aww, now why would anyone want to kill you? You’re such a nice kid!”

Intentional sarcasm was one of Death’s more copacetic attributes. God grimaced when He worked out the insult.


“Why don’t you just kill them yourself if you want them dead so badly? You know I can’t actually

cause someone to die, I can just be there when it happens.”


“I can’t do that.”


Death suppressed a chuckle.

"What are you talking about? You’ve been murdering people for millennia you fucking sadist. The

shit I’ve seen you do actually makes ME blush.”


"I…I can’t tell you, just get it done will ya?"

God was getting frustrated; Death was pushing all of His anger buttons and she had the unfortunate ability to turn him on while she did.

"Well since you asked so nicely…”

Death stared into God’s eyes and gave Him a slow, deliberate smile as she seductively traced her top lip with her tongue, commanding Him to follow her eyes down to his crotch. God realized what she meant by asking nicely and ashamedly turned his back to her, vigorously trying to dry the wet spot that had appeared on the front of his diapers.


"I…uh…"

God balled His fists and began muttering incoherently as he vanished. *POP!*


"Fucking little prick. I hope Werner does tell the world, or at least leaves a note or something.

This place would be a helluva lot more fun without that shit eating pus ball around."


Death's chest was pounding, but she laughed when she thought of how big a kick Freya was gonna get out of her latest encounter with the king of douche-baggery. She would have to pull out all the stops if she was to figure out why God didn't kill Werner Himself; the oddity of Him actually NOT wanting to kill someone worth some attention.









i know, i know, tl;dr

[Qual]

[quote=""JensenBakura""]The only rule is that it can't be longer than 300 Words.[/quote]

[lovebus]

[quote=""lovebus""]
i know, i know, tl;dr[/quote]

[JensenBakura]

[quote=""lovebus""][quote=""lovebus""]
i know, i know, tl;dr[/quote][/quote]

Cheater!

http://smellslikehay.wordpress.com/

[lovebus]

[quote=""JensenBakura""][quote=""lovebus""][quote=""lovebus""]
i know, i know, tl;dr[/quote][/quote]

Cheater!

http://smellslikehay.wordpress.com/[/quote]


rofl!! hey...i substituted some words!! besides...i thought i might actually get constructive criticism for once

[lovebus]

Death hadn’t noticed the large blue elephant thingy in diapers walking behind her until she smelled him.
“Got a smoke?”
“Fuck off.”
“Seriously. Look, I know you’re sexy and what not and obviously pissed off about something, but I just spent the last 3 days in a dark fucking pit of a place playing a fucking keyboard for drunk aliens that DON’T TIP FOR SHIT! So, can I please have a fucking cigarette?!”
It was the keyboard part that caught her attention. She was here for a keyboardist. Up to that point she had been content to keep her face in the direction the smell wasn’t; but when she turned to face him recognition dawned on her face and her mouth slowly formed a sly grin.
“Finally warming up to me?”
“You could say that…”
Death turned her gaze back to the horizon and transported both her and the large blue elephant thingy in diapers to the astral plane. Piercing jets of blue and purple surrounded them. The air was thick with color. It tasted like fresh linen.
“What. The. Fuck.”
“Look, you’re dead. This is apparently you’re heaven. Grats on the linen smell cause you fucking stink. You should take care of that.”
“What. The. Fuck.”
“Suck it up. You’re dead. Decorate how ya want. I gotta go.”
“Can’t I at least get the fucking cigarette?!”
“I don’t smoke douche bag, you do. Make it happen.”
Death gave the large blue elephant thingy a wink and a cigarette appeared in the large blue elephant thingy’s hand.
“Finally.”
“There’s no fire in the afterlife ya know. Have fun with that.”
“What. The. Fuck.”



there....273

[JensenBakura]

[quote=""lovebus""]Death hadn’t noticed the large blue elephant thingy in diapers walking behind her until she smelled him.
“Got a smoke?”
“Fuck off.”
“Seriously. Look, I know you’re sexy and what not and obviously pissed off about something, but I just spent the last 3 days in a dark fucking pit of a place playing a fucking keyboard for drunk aliens that DON’T TIP FOR SHIT! So, can I please have a fucking cigarette?!”
It was the keyboard part that caught her attention. She was here for a keyboardist. Up to that point she had been content to keep her face in the direction the smell wasn’t; but when she turned to face him recognition dawned on her face and her mouth slowly formed a sly grin.
“Finally warming up to me?”
“You could say that…”
Death turned her gaze back to the horizon and transported both her and the large blue elephant thingy in diapers to the astral plane. Piercing jets of blue and purple surrounded them. The air was thick with color. It tasted like fresh linen.
“What. The. Fuck.”
“Look, you’re dead. This is apparently you’re heaven. Grats on the linen smell cause you fucking stink. You should take care of that.”
“What. The. Fuck.”
“Suck it up. You’re dead. Decorate how ya want. I gotta go.”
“Can’t I at least get the fucking cigarette?!”
“I don’t smoke douche bag, you do. Make it happen.”
Death gave the large blue elephant thingy a wink and a cigarette appeared in the large blue elephant thingy’s hand.
“Finally.”
“There’s no fire in the afterlife ya know. Have fun with that.”
“What. The. Fuck.”



there....273[/quote]

Pretty good...your submission has been noted.

[badfo]

Orky the Opulent Ortolan knew one thing: double penetrating Mandotard Fuckgirl with his cock and cocktrunk was much easier than using a boomerang.

[IgnorantGavyyn]

Mandochick blew Baraja.

That is all.

[kaheynu]

OK, I'll take a poke.

Mandalorian bounty hunter Bitta Scherne (known as Bitch'ika to her friends) knelt on a ledge outside the Jedi temple. She'd removed her helmet to enjoy the cool Coruscant breeze in her ragged red hair, even though it put her out of touch with her backup.

Lord Angron and his Twi'lek personal assassin crossed below her. As Angron dispatched the Republic troops with contemptuous ease, the Twi'lek looked up at Bitch'ika and nodded once. Bitch'ika donned her helmet.

"...and quit starting at that wormhead bitch already, she's a TOTAL slut!" Her backup, a deep blue Ortolan who went by Baraja, shouted into his mic.

"Easy, Baraja. You know blue's my favorite color," she murmured back. She activated her jets and leapt to a high window.

"Yeah yeah, I hear ya. Watch your right!" She drew her pistol and dropped the Republic soldiers closing on her. However, her mind was not on her task.

"Hey Baraja... after this mission, you wanna, maybe do the trunk thing?" She sounded embarrassed. Her fair skin flamed beneath her armor. Normally Bitch'ika didn't have much to do with males of any kind... but the Ortolan could do things with that trunk that made even the most dedicated muff diver weep.

"You liked that, huh?" Baraja chuckled. "I can probably manage... just make sure and kill a bunch of Jedi for me."

Bitch'ika's knees grew weak and her panties grew damp as she mercilessly burned her way through the upper levels of the temple. She didn't even register the faces of her foes, just blasted and burned her way through. Through the bodies that stood between her and the one true object of her desire. She could feel his blue girth inside her already.

Many Jedi died, but Bitch'ika didn't even notice. When the Twi'lek was hurled against a column by a Jedi master, she barely registered it. All that mattered was Baraja and his trunk of infinite pleasures. Her breath was ragged, her pulse hammered, her labia burned.

In a haze of smoke and desire, the battle ended. The Temple had been razed, its guardians dead.

"You better be ready, blue boy" she moaned into her helmet mic. "I want that trunk all the way back to Korriban."

...

Didn't keep up with my word count, but I'm not displeased with the results.

[pano]

That was hot. I lol'd at Bitch'ika, dedicated muff diver, and burning labia.

Well done, brother kaheynu!

[kaheynu]

Glad you liked it. Think I got a winner on my hands, brother salo?

[JensenBakura]

keep 'em coming...

[pano]

[quote=""kaheynu""]Glad you liked it. Think I got a winner on my hands, brother salo?[/quote]
Baraja is pretty handy at the old fan-fics.

If he ever comes back, I wouldn't count him out.

[Sigmarsson]

[quote=""salo_pano""][quote=""kaheynu""]Glad you liked it. Think I got a winner on my hands, brother salo?[/quote]
Baraja is pretty handy at the old fan-fics.

If he ever comes back, I wouldn't count him out.[/quote]

What the hell happened to him?

[Qual]

[quote=""Sigmarsson""]What the hell happened to him?[/quote]

He'll be back - he hasn't been sighted since Spain lost to the US. Might still be getting over the shame.

[JensenBakura]

[quote=""kaheynu""]OK, I'll take a poke.

Mandalorian bounty hunter Bitta Scherne (known as Bitch'ika to her friends) knelt on a ledge outside the Jedi temple. She'd removed her helmet to enjoy the cool Coruscant breeze in her ragged red hair, even though it put her out of touch with her backup.

Lord Angron and his Twi'lek personal assassin crossed below her. As Angron dispatched the Republic troops with contemptuous ease, the Twi'lek looked up at Bitch'ika and nodded once. Bitch'ika donned her helmet.

"...and quit starting at that wormhead bitch already, she's a TOTAL slut!" Her backup, a deep blue Ortolan who went by Baraja, shouted into his mic.

"Easy, Baraja. You know blue's my favorite color," she murmured back. She activated her jets and leapt to a high window.

"Yeah yeah, I hear ya. Watch your right!" She drew her pistol and dropped the Republic soldiers closing on her. However, her mind was not on her task.

"Hey Baraja... after this mission, you wanna, maybe do the trunk thing?" She sounded embarrassed. Her fair skin flamed beneath her armor. Normally Bitch'ika didn't have much to do with males of any kind... but the Ortolan could do things with that trunk that made even the most dedicated muff diver weep.

"You liked that, huh?" Baraja chuckled. "I can probably manage... just make sure and kill a bunch of Jedi for me."

Bitch'ika's knees grew weak and her panties grew damp as she mercilessly burned her way through the upper levels of the temple. She didn't even register the faces of her foes, just blasted and burned her way through. Through the bodies that stood between her and the one true object of her desire. She could feel his blue girth inside her already.

Many Jedi died, but Bitch'ika didn't even notice. When the Twi'lek was hurled against a column by a Jedi master, she barely registered it. All that mattered was Baraja and his trunk of infinite pleasures. Her breath was ragged, her pulse hammered, her labia burned.

In a haze of smoke and desire, the battle ended. The Temple had been razed, its guardians dead.

"You better be ready, blue boy" she moaned into her helmet mic. "I want that trunk all the way back to Korriban."

...

Didn't keep up with my word count, but I'm not displeased with the results.[/quote]

I was actually surprised at the general seriousness of the tone until:

but the Ortolan could do things with that trunk that made even the most dedicated muff diver weep.

Then I remembered this was Selkath.com

Your about 70 words over...so you can leave it as is, or edit it. Right now, your official entry is as follows, minus the red:

Mandalorian bounty hunter Bitta Scherne (known as Bitch'ika to her friends) knelt on a ledge outside the Jedi temple. She'd removed her helmet to enjoy the cool Coruscant breeze in her ragged red hair, even though it put her out of touch with her backup.

Lord Angron and his Twi'lek personal assassin crossed below her. As Angron dispatched the Republic troops with contemptuous ease, the Twi'lek looked up at Bitch'ika and nodded once. Bitch'ika donned her helmet.

"...and quit starting at that wormhead bitch already, she's a TOTAL slut!" Her backup, a deep blue Ortolan who went by Baraja, shouted into his mic.

"Easy, Baraja. You know blue's my favorite color," she murmured back. She activated her jets and leapt to a high window.

"Yeah yeah, I hear ya. Watch your right!" She drew her pistol and dropped the Republic soldiers closing on her. However, her mind was not on her task.

"Hey Baraja... after this mission, you wanna, maybe do the trunk thing?" She sounded embarrassed. Her fair skin flamed beneath her armor. Normally Bitch'ika didn't have much to do with males of any kind... but the Ortolan could do things with that trunk that made even the most dedicated muff diver weep.

"You liked that, huh?" Baraja chuckled. "I can probably manage... just make sure and kill a bunch of Jedi for me."

Bitch'ika's knees grew weak and her panties grew damp as she mercilessly burned her way through the upper levels of the temple. She didn't even register the faces of her foes, just blasted and burned her way through. Through the bodies that stood between her and the one true object of her desire. She could feel his blue girth inside her already.

Many Jedi died, but Bitch'ika didn't even notice. When the Twi'lek was hurled against a column by a Jedi master, she barely registered it. All that mattered was Baraja and his trunk of infinite pleasures. Her breath was ragged, her pulse hammered, her labia burned.

In a haze of smoke and desire, the battle ended. The Temple had been razed, its guardians dead.

"You better be ready, blue boy" she moaned into her helmet mic. "I want that trunk all the way back to Korriban."

[kaheynu]

Bitch'ika didn't give it away?

I'll slim it down and repost, the last paragraphs really bring it together I think.

[kaheynu]

Fuck yeah, 299. (at least I HOPE it's 299)

Mandalorian bounty hunter Bitch'ika knelt on a ledge outside the Jedi temple. She'd removed her helmet to enjoy the cool Coruscant breeze through her ragged red hair, though it put her out of touch with her backup.

Lord Angron and his Twi'lek assassin crossed below her. As Angron dispatched the Republic troops with contemptuous ease, the Twi'lek looked up at Bitch'ika and nodded once. Bitch'ika donned her helmet.

"...and quit starting at that wormhead slut already!" Her backup, a blue Ortolan called Baraja, shouted into his mic.

"You know blue's my favorite color," she murmured back. She activated her jets and leapt to a high window.

"Yeah yeah, I hear ya. Watch your right!" She drew her pistol and dropped the Republic soldiers closing on her. However, her mind was not on her task.

"Hey Baraja... after this. you wanna do the trunk thing?" Her fair skin flamed beneath her armor. The Ortolan could do things with that trunk that made even the most dedicated muff diver weep.

"You liked that, huh?" Baraja chuckled. "Sure. Just make sure and kill a bunch of Jedi for me."

Bitch'ika's panties grew soaked as she mercilessly burned her way through the temple. She blasted through the bodies that stood between her and the object of her desire. She could feel his blue girth inside her already.

Many Jedi died. Bitch'ika didn't even notice. When the Twi'lek was hurled against a column by a Jedi, it barely registered. All that mattered was Baraja and his trunk of infinite pleasure. Her breath was ragged, her labia burned.

In a haze of smoke and desire, the battle ended. The Temple had been razed, its guardians dead.

"You better be ready, blue boy" she moaned. "I want that trunk all the way back to Korriban!"

[JensenBakura]

[quote=""kaheynu""]Fuck yeah, 299. (at least I HOPE it's 299)

Mandalorian bounty hunter Bitch'ika knelt on a ledge outside the Jedi temple. She'd removed her helmet to enjoy the cool Coruscant breeze through her ragged red hair, though it put her out of touch with her backup.

Lord Angron and his Twi'lek assassin crossed below her. As Angron dispatched the Republic troops with contemptuous ease, the Twi'lek looked up at Bitch'ika and nodded once. Bitch'ika donned her helmet.

"...and quit starting at that wormhead slut already!" Her backup, a blue Ortolan called Baraja, shouted into his mic.

"You know blue's my favorite color," she murmured back. She activated her jets and leapt to a high window.

"Yeah yeah, I hear ya. Watch your right!" She drew her pistol and dropped the Republic soldiers closing on her. However, her mind was not on her task.

"Hey Baraja... after this. you wanna do the trunk thing?" Her fair skin flamed beneath her armor. The Ortolan could do things with that trunk that made even the most dedicated muff diver weep.

"You liked that, huh?" Baraja chuckled. "Sure. Just make sure and kill a bunch of Jedi for me."

Bitch'ika's panties grew soaked as she mercilessly burned her way through the temple. She blasted through the bodies that stood between her and the object of her desire. She could feel his blue girth inside her already.

Many Jedi died. Bitch'ika didn't even notice. When the Twi'lek was hurled against a column by a Jedi, it barely registered. All that mattered was Baraja and his trunk of infinite pleasure. Her breath was ragged, her labia burned.

In a haze of smoke and desire, the battle ended. The Temple had been razed, its guardians dead.

"You better be ready, blue boy" she moaned. "I want that trunk all the way back to Korriban!"[/quote]

298 actually - but no matter...it counts.

Looking forward to more submissions.

Yes...submit to me...

[Ghangis]

It was a lazy day for Baraja. He had gotten so bored that he decided to order a giant fan, place it outside his window, then stand behind it whilst holding his giant blue ass-cheeks open. The absolutely foul stench then blew all the way throughout Coruscant, stopping everybody in their tracks. Soon every building was filled to capacity and not a soul was seen wandering the streets.

His tight ass-hole had soon become so dry that a brown liquid started to drip from it. This didn't bother Baraja however, he had already fallen asleep. The liquid continued to drip and drip, until the carpet was completely soaked in his own ass-juices. He woke suddenly, and noticed the mess. He removed his hands from clenching his ass, and started to cry in his own humiliation. He knew that his lover, Gertrude, was soon to come over. There was no way he could hide the mess before she arrived. He was doomed.

In the corner, drenched in a foul brown liquid and crying, Baraja sat. He could hear his lover walking up the steps, with a knock at the door soon following. "Baraja Boo, honey, it's me" Gertrude yelled, "It's me baby, open the door!" He continued to sit in his own tears and scat. "I know you're in there, you big blue fuck!" She continued to yell. He eventually realized that he had to open the door and confront his fears. So he slowly started to stand up, with fear beating in his heart.

Suddenly he slipped on his juices and fell, busting his jaw right open. Now, not only was he drenched in shame, but in blood and pain. Everything seemed to go white for him at that moment. He was dying, and had no one to blame but himself.