“ The Cave Was Littered With These Sorts Of Packages With Obscure Messages, As Well As A Spray Painted

“ The cave was littered with these sorts of packages with obscure messages, as well as a spray painted diagram that you could deduce explained the benefits of not being a virgin without using rape to get there. The paint smelled wet too. Who would make a receipt for a recipe about fresh steak be about big headed aliens anyway? Wee wooh wee wooh wee wooh weeh wooh wee wooh, pride before a fall, you suspected. “

(Something a Karen CLEARLY doesn’t do??)

“Unfortunately for the wannabe Australian pirate, here her plans of molesting someone who’d only been trying to adopt swerved and hit an outcropping of rocks. Very large, volcanic old formation stalagmites just jutting out of the ground. Her packages went flying through the air like a Hiayao Miyazaki scene the precious contents she’d labeled with sellophane tape as “garbage” scattering every which way. She bruised her knees landing, broke her concentration like a pleasant day playing Pokemon Stadium and smoking tobacco and weed, and scraped her palms something fierce, her gloves having mysteriously gone absent the second her bike about faced into a sand dune and landed her like an ostrich looking to avoid something. No one was there, it was just her having wiped out like a beer guzzling putz on the path back from her latest abuse. Maybe, oh If you looked closely you’d find a small piece of drift wood sticking out of the shore nearby. Some hard cable as a trip cord and the small dunes nearby having concealed the other tope tying point. This unseemly parody of a good woman spat dirt out of her mouth and temporarily forgot to use the hickish diction she’d grown up shielding her warped intentions with. Knees, bruised, hands torn up, face red with immature wrath like a kid on a playground, she kicked at the dirt in frustration only to stub her toes something fierce on the small field of jutting stone structures. Whatever had been in her box of fuck-me-do goodies had disappeared with her gloves, and her self worth. The bike lay face up and rear wheel out in the sand, spinning it’s axle like she’d often done to distract herself from the trauma’s she’d seen and inflicted. She dusted herself off, and pulled the stupid contraption up with a heave ho, quite like a maritime sailor would before grasping a thick cord of rope, and looked around. The box of kittens she’d stolen was jack fuck absolutely not here, it made no sense, she’d pilfered them and was off to do lord knows what and then a pedestrian auto accident from some boyscout had sent her into an immediate relationship with the terra firma, lips first and everything. Gotta say, not my fetish. As she empty heatedly raged at her situation like gaming had rewarded her for, a figure over the hills looked through binoculars at this clownish sexually disturbed weakingling with a big mouth and fast fingers. The girl couldn’t see the spy’s very lunar grin, but then anyone who was the target of that could always feel it. She just assumed it was her latest round of insomnia sending shivers up her body that she usually got off to when going on autopilot. Seem familiar, that’s because this is a desert of deja vu. And the pair of characters here in displayed were rehashing an old feud. The giant robot nearby having a psychological victory over self abuse was a new addition, but that wasn't their concern. Not yet anyway, not for now anyhow, not for love or money but I’m talking sass honey bunny. So mate, how does this impromptu and very familiar dreamscape meet you without your World of Warcraft Edgelass gear adorning your spoiled bitch form? With the wind picking up, I’d say as an impartial narrator that you’d be getting a little drafty. To the audience, try to ration how much you drink, this is going to rub you the wrong way even as you laugh out loud at it. “

“An annoying buzzing met her ears and comically grit teeth, signaling that someone had been writing about her. Someone was always writing about her, it was the side effect of throwing away a precious treasure years ago for the false promise of an eternal empty high. Stomping the ground like a Rocky and Bulwinkle villain, she proceeded to work the abused bike over towards some palm fronds and collect herself before figuring out just what the fuck she’d stumbled into.”

“The watcher from the dunes tracked this comedic routine with crosshairs, but sadly the gun was unloaded. Well, sadly for anyone without the hunters reflexes. So really more like lazily, very lazily as if they’d just sort of had other things to do that morning and set this tripwire on lark. Very capricious of them to do that, and they thought so too. If they had something to say about this, they’d tell the author of this observation piece to get on with it. So the mini collaborative narrative structure moved forward at a creaky pace, The air was calm with fresh breezes ruffling the hunters hair beneath their cowl. Oh what a day, what a day. At least the small animals in the box had been once again spared by the skin of the teeth of concerned parties, though they were definitely feeling the pressure after having popped back into existence from some unnaturally saccharine sweet story board that had been prepared for them. Maybe brushing their hair and quick shower wpould  align their perspective so usually caught up with cheap limeaid scented background traffic noise. The watcher, being a huntress of no ordinary mind, noted this turn in the pseudo fictional play going on and adjusted the combat knives on their bandoleer accordingly. Might need to make a snap throw if the frustrated feminine brigand now sitting on the bike under a palm tree got up to no good. So basically, if they did anything in the present - past tense or used exclamations of less the three to four words to describe their thoughts.”

“Somewhere, the self made devil breathed a sigh of relief, sat down,  pulled out a printout of her object of affection, and thought inscrutable thoughts of how to reconcile with someone she didn’t know how to approach.”

“The huntress fingered a bullet and flipped it like a coin for good luck. Kids and their romances always made for an uncertain situation. That however, was due to the chemical imbalance of the frustrated thief. Also somewhere, a red haired bloke tried to rush out to get her, but accidentally ran face first into a small shallow pond after tripping over a freak lightning bolt. Aglets, how do they work?”

=======

I’m sorry were you saying something about the mouse connected to my keyboard you greentexing little untemensch? My sincerest condolences that your fixation with Chinese kung fu has lead you to abandon causative reasoning in favor of your immediate need to jump up and down on someone like bugs bunny with Elmer Fudd’s shoes on. Things come in packages, you just need to put on your grasses and dearu with it without twitching like a methe’d out bitch cunt fuck who couldn’t keep her girlfriend happy if she was given a road map of every sexual position and a color by numbers page to plot it out. Your fox ears are very cute! I used to have fox ears too, but they were taken from me by assholes with more braincells allocated to reflex than dextrous intent. So guess what, shut it. As it, that screeching noise you make whenever someone wanders through your checklist of triggers. Like and arrow bolting down from the sky at a hard right angle, your caterwauling is going to piss right off along with your blood pressure as you make a comically Sailor Moon esque hand expression you lifted off of someone else’s story. Wow, that sure was a strange occurrence, good thing you dodged just in time Tex Avery style. Everybody get the message? Good, then we won’t be having anymore dominatrixy emotive blowups at things that don’t matter. Point of fact, if you did spy sports taped adorning the object of your drunk rancor, you’d probably be bowled over by how stupid you’d be to demand they always keep some handy. I guess you can’t be bothered not whine about something. I relate, Having lost someone in the Great Divisive Moment long ago. Really you have got to make an effort to make everything be more than okay, what the fuck do you think I saying  get on that Pretty Ponied up Warhorse and god damnit go happily frolic this evening. It doesn’t require a check list and a diagram to get this right, you just need to focus your passions instead of following where other people keep causing them to swerve out into the scrub grass. The. Scrub. Grass. Got it?

=======