Saturday, September 29, 2007
...
whats the point of writing something, of taking all this time and effort to create something, that people never look and never appreciate?
Wednesday, September 26, 2007
Upcoming Federal Elections
She looked up. The reflection of the American flag stained her dry eyes. They were eyes where patriotism had died a bloody death; eyes that should have been brimming with tears at the sight that met their gaze. She was born into a generation where tabloid magazines held more value than the honour of ones country. It was the same country where political infidelity was once the equivalent of religious blasphemy. Not anymore. Maybe not ever. Maybe politics never mattered. Maybe she was wrong. Thick makeup lined her eyes, smeared at odd angles from wiping away sweat from the heat. The youth of the nation did this; they killed liberty; they rendered the struggle for freedom futile. Her heart melted with pleasure at the sight before her. Was she a criminal or a patriot? Like so many other things, it did not matter. This was her brief but bittersweet victory.I made an explicit effort to post this at 11:11 but I missed it. x_____x
(img src: ACLU/American Civil Liberties Union, 1920 - Present.)
Wednesday, September 19, 2007
i will give this a name later today.
year (2013), original names (blermon, wittbutt), plastic surgery, failed surgery; ideas by jasmine & [dave]
The day, much like the Planet Earth in decay, looked monochromatic and bleak. The one bright, shining star was Blermon's appointment with the plastic surgeon, Dr. Wittbutt. Located on 312 Westwing Boulevard, his clinic was small and ancient. It had most likely survived the Apocalypse and Jesus' Second Coming three months ago and, much like the rest of the Westwing District, had remained practically untouched by the space invaders.
Blermon walked in through the front door, appearing confident of the choice he had made, and seeing no receptionist, nor patients, walked into Wittbutt's small office. It was cramped and dishevelled. There was an overgrown plant in the corner and a tasteless painting on the wall. Wittbutt turned to look at him, eyes wide with surprise and mouth slightly agape. Following the initial shock Wittbutt asked Blermon to sit down, in English, much to Blermon's relief. He had not picked up the foreign languages of Quadrant 62 and Sector 59 yet.
"Dr. Wittbutt…" Blermon began
"Please, call me Vexxor Argon. Never speak that name again." Wittbutt was grim.
"Very well then. My name is Xenos Niobium." Blermon lied, using an alias as well. "To the topic at hand, I would like to have a sex reassignment surgery. I would like to become a female."
"Why?! Why would you do that?! Why?" Argon seemed utterly at a loss to understand Xenos 's reasoning. Taken aback, Xenos now felt judged and scrutinized under Argon's beady, rat-like eyes.
"I heard you were the best in the business," Xenos tried to explain, a little flustered now, "and I –"
Argon interrupted, "– I'm the only one in the business." He spoke rather solemnly with an air of experience and loss.
"But…what happened?" Xenos watched Argon, frightened yet curious. The end of the world had strange effects on people. The Regeneration upon the landing of androids from Sector 59 in particular had weeded out the weak and forced a Genesis in mankind once again. Xenos knew without a doubt that Argon had been one of the weak who had slipped through the cracks.
"Since Jesus’ Second Coming three mere months ago," Argon seemed deep in thought as he looked out the window, "the world lies in ruin, we need to rely on jetpacks –"
"– This doesn’t answer my question…" Xenos interrupted as politely as he could.
"Please sir, let me continue. Like I was saying, Quadrant 62 and Sector 59…They came here with a specific goal. They knew we would be vulnerable. They knew after Jesus came, as Revelations had outlined, they would get their chance to strike.
"Revelations?" Xenos did not understand this reference.
"Revelations was the final chapter of a fictitious, yet psionic, novel. It was quite a read." Argon clarified. "But as I was saying, they came, and they killed the truly skilled members of the human race; the plastic surgeons. I no longer practise the art myself, for fear of being caught by the androids, among other things."
"I don't understand…" This conversation was breaking Xenos' heart. Would he never become a woman? His aspirations to be like his sisters, gone to waste. "Please, Doctor, you have to do this for me. I won't tell anyone."
"I can't." Argon stated rather bluntly. "If you do not understand what I am saying, let us step into my time portal, inspired by Doctor Who's TARDIS, of course, to a time when plastic surgeons were plentiful and transsexuals roamed the streets."
"Doctor who?" Xenos was lost again.
"Indeed." Argon replied as he got up and walked to a locked closet labelled "NEMESIS".
Xenos followed, a bit wary of this broken down closet. They stepped in and felt cramped for only a moment before they were whisked away to another realm. As they stepped out of the closet, a scene began to form. Young Argon was sitting behind his desk, things somewhat more organized and looking slightly cleaner. There was no tasteless painting and the plant was smaller and neatly pruned.
"Where are we?!" Xenos asked, absolutely shocked by the minor changes in atmosphere.
"We're in my office, 6 years ago in the year 2007. There had not been an invasion, the space vessels of Quadrant 62 and Sector 59 had not yet landed. My closet was used only for my coats. The galaxy was at peace and the Apocalypse was but a myth. I was an amateur in the business when I got my first big break…" Argon trailed off and directed Xenos' eyes to the scene before them.
A very young man with orange hair wearing an outfit that was no longer popular walked into the office. "Yo Wittbutt, I need a surgery. I gotta have my sack cut off man." The man spoke as though the matter were of utmost importance.
"Oh, I see," Young Argon was rather nervous and hesitant, "let's step into the, uh, operation room…" Argon spoke as we walked to the door at the end of the office.
Confusion spread over the patients' incompetent face. "Ain't chu gonna do no exam?"
"I see no need," Young Argon read sheets off a clipboard, "you look healthy. It will be just fine." Xenos peered over Young Argon's shoulder and saw that the sheets in the clipboard were blank.
"Aight, aight. I'm down." The patient spoke a language that was incomprehensible to Xenos. He and Argon followed Young Argon and the patient into the operation room. There was a mattress on the floor.
"Please lie down," Young Argon told the patient while removing his belt, "and I will strap you down."
The patient jumped back, "yo, yo, yo I ain't like that!"
"Please, sir, it will be fine…!" Young Argon tried to reassure the patient while pushing him down onto the mattress.
"Ain't chu gonna give me no am-phet-a-mines or such?" The patient asked, carefully pronouncing each syllable of what was most likely the only adult word he knew.
"No need. Like I said, it will be fine," Young Argon said recklessly while strapping the patient down with his leather belt. "Are you ready?"
"Yee. Let's do this." The patient was more than enthusiastic.
Young Argon pulled a dirty scalpel out of his back pocket and wiped it on his sleeve. "Excellent. Let us begin."
Old Argon forced Xenos out the door and away from the screaming patient of the past. "It all went downhill from there." Argon spoke with a hint of sadness.
"What does that have to do with the Apocalypse?" Xenos asked as they walked to the closet.
"Nothing really," Argon was speaking louder to drown out the screams of pain coming from the operation room, "but this is the reason why I can't operate on you. I've set such a poor example, and along with the aliens, it has all come down to this final frontier. The world must live with the genders they were born into." They stepped into the closet and returned to the cluttered office with the tasteless painting and overgrown plant.
"Well…I supposed I could always return to being a drag queen." Xenos contemplated as he exited the closet behind Argon.
"I believe that solution benefits everyone. Thank you for being so understanding, Xenos." Argon seemed to want to speak kindly but was rushing Xenos out of his office.
Xenos pushed away Argon and turned to face him. "Wait. Doctor, I've wanted to ask you since we first met but…what's your favourite word?"
"'Hermaphrodite', Xenos. It's 'hermaphrodite'." Doctor Argon did not even need to think about the answer.
"Oh…" Xenos replied as, with one final shove, he was forced out of Vexxor Argon's office and into the bland waiting area of the clinic.
Story by reconstruction site & lollerskater.
The day, much like the Planet Earth in decay, looked monochromatic and bleak. The one bright, shining star was Blermon's appointment with the plastic surgeon, Dr. Wittbutt. Located on 312 Westwing Boulevard, his clinic was small and ancient. It had most likely survived the Apocalypse and Jesus' Second Coming three months ago and, much like the rest of the Westwing District, had remained practically untouched by the space invaders.
Blermon walked in through the front door, appearing confident of the choice he had made, and seeing no receptionist, nor patients, walked into Wittbutt's small office. It was cramped and dishevelled. There was an overgrown plant in the corner and a tasteless painting on the wall. Wittbutt turned to look at him, eyes wide with surprise and mouth slightly agape. Following the initial shock Wittbutt asked Blermon to sit down, in English, much to Blermon's relief. He had not picked up the foreign languages of Quadrant 62 and Sector 59 yet.
"Dr. Wittbutt…" Blermon began
"Please, call me Vexxor Argon. Never speak that name again." Wittbutt was grim.
"Very well then. My name is Xenos Niobium." Blermon lied, using an alias as well. "To the topic at hand, I would like to have a sex reassignment surgery. I would like to become a female."
"Why?! Why would you do that?! Why?" Argon seemed utterly at a loss to understand Xenos 's reasoning. Taken aback, Xenos now felt judged and scrutinized under Argon's beady, rat-like eyes.
"I heard you were the best in the business," Xenos tried to explain, a little flustered now, "and I –"
Argon interrupted, "– I'm the only one in the business." He spoke rather solemnly with an air of experience and loss.
"But…what happened?" Xenos watched Argon, frightened yet curious. The end of the world had strange effects on people. The Regeneration upon the landing of androids from Sector 59 in particular had weeded out the weak and forced a Genesis in mankind once again. Xenos knew without a doubt that Argon had been one of the weak who had slipped through the cracks.
"Since Jesus’ Second Coming three mere months ago," Argon seemed deep in thought as he looked out the window, "the world lies in ruin, we need to rely on jetpacks –"
"– This doesn’t answer my question…" Xenos interrupted as politely as he could.
"Please sir, let me continue. Like I was saying, Quadrant 62 and Sector 59…They came here with a specific goal. They knew we would be vulnerable. They knew after Jesus came, as Revelations had outlined, they would get their chance to strike.
"Revelations?" Xenos did not understand this reference.
"Revelations was the final chapter of a fictitious, yet psionic, novel. It was quite a read." Argon clarified. "But as I was saying, they came, and they killed the truly skilled members of the human race; the plastic surgeons. I no longer practise the art myself, for fear of being caught by the androids, among other things."
"I don't understand…" This conversation was breaking Xenos' heart. Would he never become a woman? His aspirations to be like his sisters, gone to waste. "Please, Doctor, you have to do this for me. I won't tell anyone."
"I can't." Argon stated rather bluntly. "If you do not understand what I am saying, let us step into my time portal, inspired by Doctor Who's TARDIS, of course, to a time when plastic surgeons were plentiful and transsexuals roamed the streets."
"Doctor who?" Xenos was lost again.
"Indeed." Argon replied as he got up and walked to a locked closet labelled "NEMESIS".
Xenos followed, a bit wary of this broken down closet. They stepped in and felt cramped for only a moment before they were whisked away to another realm. As they stepped out of the closet, a scene began to form. Young Argon was sitting behind his desk, things somewhat more organized and looking slightly cleaner. There was no tasteless painting and the plant was smaller and neatly pruned.
"Where are we?!" Xenos asked, absolutely shocked by the minor changes in atmosphere.
"We're in my office, 6 years ago in the year 2007. There had not been an invasion, the space vessels of Quadrant 62 and Sector 59 had not yet landed. My closet was used only for my coats. The galaxy was at peace and the Apocalypse was but a myth. I was an amateur in the business when I got my first big break…" Argon trailed off and directed Xenos' eyes to the scene before them.
A very young man with orange hair wearing an outfit that was no longer popular walked into the office. "Yo Wittbutt, I need a surgery. I gotta have my sack cut off man." The man spoke as though the matter were of utmost importance.
"Oh, I see," Young Argon was rather nervous and hesitant, "let's step into the, uh, operation room…" Argon spoke as we walked to the door at the end of the office.
Confusion spread over the patients' incompetent face. "Ain't chu gonna do no exam?"
"I see no need," Young Argon read sheets off a clipboard, "you look healthy. It will be just fine." Xenos peered over Young Argon's shoulder and saw that the sheets in the clipboard were blank.
"Aight, aight. I'm down." The patient spoke a language that was incomprehensible to Xenos. He and Argon followed Young Argon and the patient into the operation room. There was a mattress on the floor.
"Please lie down," Young Argon told the patient while removing his belt, "and I will strap you down."
The patient jumped back, "yo, yo, yo I ain't like that!"
"Please, sir, it will be fine…!" Young Argon tried to reassure the patient while pushing him down onto the mattress.
"Ain't chu gonna give me no am-phet-a-mines or such?" The patient asked, carefully pronouncing each syllable of what was most likely the only adult word he knew.
"No need. Like I said, it will be fine," Young Argon said recklessly while strapping the patient down with his leather belt. "Are you ready?"
"Yee. Let's do this." The patient was more than enthusiastic.
Young Argon pulled a dirty scalpel out of his back pocket and wiped it on his sleeve. "Excellent. Let us begin."
Old Argon forced Xenos out the door and away from the screaming patient of the past. "It all went downhill from there." Argon spoke with a hint of sadness.
"What does that have to do with the Apocalypse?" Xenos asked as they walked to the closet.
"Nothing really," Argon was speaking louder to drown out the screams of pain coming from the operation room, "but this is the reason why I can't operate on you. I've set such a poor example, and along with the aliens, it has all come down to this final frontier. The world must live with the genders they were born into." They stepped into the closet and returned to the cluttered office with the tasteless painting and overgrown plant.
"Well…I supposed I could always return to being a drag queen." Xenos contemplated as he exited the closet behind Argon.
"I believe that solution benefits everyone. Thank you for being so understanding, Xenos." Argon seemed to want to speak kindly but was rushing Xenos out of his office.
Xenos pushed away Argon and turned to face him. "Wait. Doctor, I've wanted to ask you since we first met but…what's your favourite word?"
"'Hermaphrodite', Xenos. It's 'hermaphrodite'." Doctor Argon did not even need to think about the answer.
"Oh…" Xenos replied as, with one final shove, he was forced out of Vexxor Argon's office and into the bland waiting area of the clinic.
Story by reconstruction site & lollerskater.
Wednesday, September 12, 2007
an (re) ev (de) volution in language: pt 2.
if i could retcon, i totally would. if only we could go back in time. i regret ever meeting that obesogenic 1661. b.tch tried to gank me some gank. almost got booked for sh.t that wasn't worth it. i found out when i got home and tried to smoke it. "no noising", my mother screamed as i cried over my hard earned money gone to waste OVER GANK.
the end.
the end.
Monday, September 10, 2007
an (re) ev (de) olution in language.
yo, y u gotta b all up in ma grill?????? dun make me pop a cap in yo ass.
Do you feel as awkward reading this as I did writing it? I think not.
Do you feel as awkward reading this as I did writing it? I think not.
Friday, September 7, 2007
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