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Gus Savoie's picture

Gaggleplexy. This is the new term that Doc is using to describe the state he is in. He sits there, legs crossed, eyes crossed, testicles crossed. He is urgently grunting in extreme pain. We do not raise an arm to assist him. We can't, physically - we're goofed out and thinking this is the funniest thing we've ever been too paralyzed with mirth to do anything about.

"Maybe you should call the doctor, doc?" Chimed agree-bot from under the kitchen sink, where Tang had locked him earlier for pissing off Timbot to the point of Timbot ripping Tang's hairpiece off and rubbing it in the sweaty crack of his greasy unwashed ass. Tang left after that for a Popsicle and some Zero soft-cycle detergent to care for his soiled hairpiece. That was another story entirely, Tang and his fucking hair. You'd think the fucker wore the thing he fawned over it so much. It was like a pet rock, I guess is how you'd describe it without wanting to have Tang committed. Still, he was a fucking brilliant navigator when it came down to it.

Doc's face was turning purple now, but he was laughing too hard to help himself. Tears were rolling down his abundant cheeks and into his stained collar.
"Doc, shall I call the emergency medical care line?" asked Agree-bot. Finally the moment melted as darts of frozen panic slit Doc's veins.

"FUCK NO!" He thundered and then immediately grasped a testicle betwixt each of his thumbs and forefingers and reversed their positions, choking back a wail of displeasure with the willpower of a thousand Ghandis. It's amazing what fear of being discredited professionally can arouse in a doctor.

"Where the fuckstrangler is Tang?" He muttered, between ragged gasps. "That fucking assbot is wiping dogshit all over my fucking buzz. Who they fuck puts netcons into a fucking toy like that? This is serious shit we're into here!"

Ah fucking doc is working himself up into one of those oratory rages again. Time to shoot down his kamikazes over the ocean.

"Not to dip my cock in your ginger-ale, doc - but shut the fuck up and pass me the gasser." Seems my paralytic frenzy had also elapsed. Time to remedy that. "We need some tuning too, we've lost 3 bars since the last go."

Seriously - these things keep crawling out of my ass and onto the page. There seems to be a thread in there somehow, but otherwise frustrating as hell. It's like trying to bottle farts in a windstorm.

kelson.philo's picture


fukityfukityfukityfuThat's all folks!


You've definitely got a world here waiting to be explored.

Better out than in...

It still counts as writing, and I can't help but be intrigued now.