Post by Not yet on Nov 26, 2006 6:12:30 GMT -5
Dirt shakes and grass quivers. Some drunken idiot sits still as stone on this sunday morning as a hole in the earth appears in the middle of England. Flames lick from the abominable cavity and purplish swirls of energy foam out. With a rather loud pop a young, and severely burnt, teenager appears from the break in the ground and pulls himself onto the lawn.
Drunken weirdo: What the fuck!!?
Kevin the Pyromaniac claws his way past the last few inches to his freedom from hell. His spiked green hair smoldering in the dreary english sunlight.
Kevin: Oh fuck.
He lays on his back for a few moments as his eyes readjust to reality. The drunken weirdo (who the fuck gets drunk on a sunday morning?) stands up from his bench and creeps over to the smoking escapee.
Drunk: Hey man, are you ok?
Kevin: Yes, I am quite alright now.
Kevin the Pyromaniac swiftly clasps his hands over his hands. He tries to say something else.
Kevin: The rain in spain falls mainly on the plane.
His eyes widen in shock, where were the misspellings? The tildes and ones? What was happening?
Kevin: Where the hell am I?
Drunk: This is Nottinghamshire... in England. My name's Dave.
Kevin: I don't give a fuck what your name is! God you stink, you should go take a shower.
Drunk: Shut up, you're just a figment of my imagination! People don't just appear out of holes in the ground.
Kevin: Ugh, do I really have to talk to you? I just came back from hell and it seems like Satan has stopped me from talking like a normal person and made me all incomprehensible like you. And why the hell am I in England?!
The drunk guy shrugs and turns, walking back to his bench as he continues slurping his cheap Devonshire apple cider as an all too frequent drizzle of rain splatters about him.
Kevin pulls himself up onto his feet. He looks around at his surroundings. Nothing but red brick houses and oak trees.
Kevin: The Devil said he was sending me back to BOB... why am I in England?
Drunk: Maybe hell is below this country, it would explain a few things.
Kevin: You're probably right, and at least I'm a million miles from the nearest Brawlers on a God damn Budget show.
Out of nowhere, as though from haze of alcoholic confusion, a black limosine pulls up beside Kevin. The window rolls down to reveal a smart looking gentleman in a smart suit.
Lawyer: Excuse me, are you Kevin the Pyromaniac?
Kevin: Yeah.
Lawyer: Please step into this vehicle, The Devil has sent me to retrieve you and negotiate your new contract with BOB.
Drunken weirdo: What the fuck!!?
Kevin the Pyromaniac claws his way past the last few inches to his freedom from hell. His spiked green hair smoldering in the dreary english sunlight.
Kevin: Oh fuck.
He lays on his back for a few moments as his eyes readjust to reality. The drunken weirdo (who the fuck gets drunk on a sunday morning?) stands up from his bench and creeps over to the smoking escapee.
Drunk: Hey man, are you ok?
Kevin: Yes, I am quite alright now.
Kevin the Pyromaniac swiftly clasps his hands over his hands. He tries to say something else.
Kevin: The rain in spain falls mainly on the plane.
His eyes widen in shock, where were the misspellings? The tildes and ones? What was happening?
Kevin: Where the hell am I?
Drunk: This is Nottinghamshire... in England. My name's Dave.
Kevin: I don't give a fuck what your name is! God you stink, you should go take a shower.
Drunk: Shut up, you're just a figment of my imagination! People don't just appear out of holes in the ground.
Kevin: Ugh, do I really have to talk to you? I just came back from hell and it seems like Satan has stopped me from talking like a normal person and made me all incomprehensible like you. And why the hell am I in England?!
The drunk guy shrugs and turns, walking back to his bench as he continues slurping his cheap Devonshire apple cider as an all too frequent drizzle of rain splatters about him.
Kevin pulls himself up onto his feet. He looks around at his surroundings. Nothing but red brick houses and oak trees.
Kevin: The Devil said he was sending me back to BOB... why am I in England?
Drunk: Maybe hell is below this country, it would explain a few things.
Kevin: You're probably right, and at least I'm a million miles from the nearest Brawlers on a God damn Budget show.
Out of nowhere, as though from haze of alcoholic confusion, a black limosine pulls up beside Kevin. The window rolls down to reveal a smart looking gentleman in a smart suit.
Lawyer: Excuse me, are you Kevin the Pyromaniac?
Kevin: Yeah.
Lawyer: Please step into this vehicle, The Devil has sent me to retrieve you and negotiate your new contract with BOB.