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Originally Published November 30th, 2012
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>Blackness surrounds you, floating in a void which seems composed of an infinite depth of ink.
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>You are still Anon, only unconscious from pain and morphine.
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>sweetmorphine.exe is running with 99.9% efficiency
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wheeeeeeeee.
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>You’re slowly drifting downwards, caught on an unseen current which whisks you deeper into the carbon abyss.
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>Three feet above the ground, you drop.
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>You hit hard.
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AHRRHGHRHGHRHGHRHGH.
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>Timetogodeeper.jpg.
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>”Anon. What’s the matter?”
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>Look around and see your lifelong friends, Superego, Ego and Id.
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>Superego is white and funny looking.
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>Ego is black and bald.
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>Id is Asian, but you’re still not sure which kind.
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>RUNNING ZOOLANDER OS…..
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I don’t know. I’m pondering things.
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>”You know who you should ponder? Fluttershy.”
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>”That’s gross.”
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>”Earth to Superego, I was making a joke.”
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>”Earth to Id, I knew that.”
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STOP IT!
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>Everyone stares at you.
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>Even the ridiculously good-looking pictures of the four of you.
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Don’t you think there’s something more to life than discussing whether or not to fuck my stalker?
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>Blue_Steel.gif
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I never did like that picture.
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>Ego looks confused. ”Who are you talking to Anon?”
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>Id open-hand punches Ego in the crotch, then quickly jabs him in the forehead.
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>”I meant to do that.”
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>Right. Superego starts speaking.
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>”Look guys, Anon is confused, and you know what would help him get through these troubling times?”
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>Their three voices cry out in manly unison:
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>”ORANGE MOCHA FRAPPUCINOS!”
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>dothejitterbug.mp3
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>There is much manliness in the man-wagon as you and your three hetero-life-partners make their way to the gas station.
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>While your friends are having a gasoline fight, you walk over to a trashcan.
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>An old bastard threw out a paper that had your beautiful face on it.
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>Avoid the used condoms. +10 dexterity.
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>On the cover of the magazine is a clumsily photo-shopped picture of you dicking Yellow Quiet.
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>It reads: Anon. A horsefucker.
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Anon: A horse, fucker.
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>You glance in your pants, a confused look on your face.
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Well, I wouldn’t say “horse”…
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>Look up and see Spike staring at you with the beddiest of bedroom eyes.
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>Did he just hear that?
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>Ohgodnightmares.jpg
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>Turning around, it looks like the guys are done with their gas fight full of non-erotic-subtext.
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>You put on a big smile, and see Id fumbling around in his pockets, then bringing something up to his mouth.
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>Is that a cigarette?
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>Yup.
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>Like the beautiful (no homo) dumbass that he is, he pulls out his lighter.
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ID!
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>A massive explosion of flames, mocha, and homo-erotic subtext launches you back into the black void of your unconscious mind.
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What the hell is wrong with me?
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>I don’t even know man, and I’m the narrator.
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Hey, your voice sounds familiar…
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>No it doesn’t.
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No…I’m pretty sure I’ve heard it before…
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>Listen. Let’s just forget about it and move on wit-
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YOU’RE THE NARRATOR FROM THE POWERPUFF GIRLS!
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>FUCK YOU IT’S TIME TO WAKE UP!
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>SYSTEM REBOOT IN PROGRESS…
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>”A-anon, are you alright?”
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>Dammit. You’re on a sofa in Fluttershy’s cottage.
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>You slowly move your head around, stopping in front of the big, fuzzy, pink&yellow monster in front of you.
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weherermi?
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>”What?”
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werahmy?
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>”I c-can’t understand you An-”
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WHERE AM I?!
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>”eep!” Fluttershy jumps up into the air, crashing into one of the support beams and falling to the floor.
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>In your blurryvision(tm), you can see a white blob shaking its head.
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>You remind yourself to put Angel on your “Do not steal from” list, and watch as Banana Hush pulls herself off the floor.
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>”Well, Dr. Stable transferred you to my cottage because I have better knowledge on how to fix this.”
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I saw you bribe him!
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>”Well, how else would I get to take care of you, my little baby-kins?”
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>Oh god, she just said ‘baby-kins’.
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>Angel has a similar expression of disbelief on his face; you’re liking this rabbit more as time goes on.
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>Ignoring you, Flutterbutt goes upstairs. “Now you stay right there while I go get your medication.”
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Florence Nightingale Syndrome isn’t my fetish!
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>You should try and get out of here man.
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Smart thinking, Brain!
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>*clank*
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>Every limb is chained to the couch…even your penis, for some weird reason.
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AND NEITHER IS STOCKHOLM SYNDROME!
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>Later that evening…
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>You’re not chained to the sofa anymore, but you are now chained to the fridge.
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>Life’s just getting better, huh?
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>”…alright, thank you Doctor Stable.” Silent canary hangs up the phone.
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Oh sure, the ponies are advanced enough to have telephones, but I get sent to a rapist for “medical expertise.”
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>”If loving you means that I’m a rapist, then I guess I’m the biggest rapist of all!” Her pupils turn into hearts as she’s saying this.
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>The innocence of the ponies is enough to drive you insane sometimes.
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>Granted, they do have massive and thriving Red-Light districts, but the terminology is just a little different than Earth’s.
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>”Anyways, the Doctor says that you should be fine in 4-6 weeks…”
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WHAT!?
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>Bug Butt blushes a slight shade of orange, and begins fiddling with her hooves “I accidentally dropped you a couple times on the way over.”
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Dumbass.
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>”But that you shouldn’t attempt to masturbate or have sex before your cast disappears.”
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Well, that makes sen…disappearing cast? Is this a ‘magic’ cast?
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>She nods.
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>”The Doctor said your stitches and cast should disappear when you’re…”
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>She’s biting her lip. Why is she biting her lip?
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>”…Back in working order.”
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>The emphasis she put on “working” sends shivers up your spine.
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>But at least there’s no sponge baths! For 4-6 weeks…
by Greggums
by Greggums
by Greggums
by Greggums
by Greggums