How the fuck should I know?

Rainbows, unicorns, customers, clients, ponies, dicks, shit like that. Stickman comics where Grant's character always wears a dress.

Thursday, April 3, 2014


 Once again, I have no idea what the card is or where the story will go until I flip it.

Chapter Two


     He jolted awake, the feeling of a hundred thousand volts of electricity coursing through his nervous system.  It was like that sometimes, when the pills wore off.  He reached for the booze as his arm convulsed knocking his pills onto the greasy, stained carpet. He was hands and knees on the carpet picking up pills and brushing them off when he realized he wasn't sure of the carpet's original colour. No decorator in their right mind would willingly choose this putrid shade of greasy, grayish-brown.  He was fairly certain the small ochre spots were a recent addition as well.  He swished the booze around in his mouth and thought back to the first time he had staggered across the threshold, trying to remember the colour of the carpet.  

     "I'll take the fish".  What is she going to do with those goddamn fish? he thought to himself.  She looked thin, maybe she planned on eating them.  He discarded that thought as he watched her carefully heft the bowl and head towards the door.  It looked heavy, made of good thick glass with no blemishes he could see.  Maybe she's dumping the fish and hocking the bowl for credits, maybe she... "If you aren't going to open the door", an exasperated voice said, "get out of the way."  He snapped back to the present, his train of thought disrupted.  "This thing isn't as light as it looks" she said, as he backed out the door holding it for her to sidle through.  He lit a cigarette and popped a couple pills as he watched her waddle away, careful not to slosh too much water out.  He checked his watch and headed in the opposite direction, eager to meet his landlord and get the keys.  His last apartment had burned down and he was eager for a couch he could call his own.  He was halfway down the block when a shriek pierced the night air.  "NOOOO WAAAAIIIT!" shrilly echoing down the empty streets.  He was nearly to the mouth of the alley by Ernie's before he realized he had ran towards the shriek.  Why, what are you going to do?  You aren't brave, you aren't a fighter. Numbers, codes, crypto that's your thing.  Indoorsy and non-confrontational.   He didn't, couldn't stop.  Rounding the corner he saw a blur of neon, heard the sibilation of springsteel cutting through the air.  The unmistakable crunch of bone turning to powder and the whimpering groans of men that would most likely walk with a limp for the rest of their potentially short lives. Seconds later she stood bent over catching her breath, the springsteel baton hanging from a lanyard at her wrist, unconscious and barely conscious bodies writhing in a circle and in the center of it all those goddamn fish.

   Don't do it, don't ask.  She is obviously trouble. DON'T. DO. IT.  "So, um, do you need like a place to crash or something?" Goddamnit you idiot.  "I just got this place, haven't been there yet, but it's furnished"  She nodded and muttered "thanks" as she hefted the fish back up.  "We should probably get moving before somebody you can't take down shows up"  She smirked as he continued.  "If you could do whatever it is you just did, why did you scream?"  "I needed time to set down the fish."  It began raining as they neared his new building, the landlord was standing under the shabby awning, sweating in the cool night air and scratching furiously.  Another junkie landlord, shouldn't have any issues as long as the credits come in on time.  They made their way up the sagging stairs, him swaying slightly from the handful of pills, her taking wide steps carrying those goddamn fish, and found the door. It swung open on protesting hinges.  Light from the hallway illuminated a swath of carpet inside.

Yes, the ochre spots were definitely new.


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