“Care to share a story with me?” He asked with a certain measure of ambiguity. I wasn’t sure if he was looking to take one off my hands, or bash our heads together until we broke them open; until life spontaneously appeared from the combined bits of our brains.
Sure. I care enough to share a story with you. I’ve got a million little stories. They ride around in a beat up car, packed in like clowns, except not all of them are smiling. Some of them are crying. A few of them are laughing a little too loud to be funny; it’s sort of creepy.
Hell Yes. I’d love to share a story with you. I’m tired of them parking on my front lawn and waking me up in the middle of the night, honking and throwing bricks through my bedroom window. I’m annoyed that they watch me undress, or stand over my bed in the dark, when I’m tying to get to sleep.
Yeah. I need to share a story with you. It’s more humane than trying to drown them in the bathtub, because I don’t have enough brainpower to feed them all a proper diet. Many of them starve slowly, never making it past conception…
I’ve got tons of stories just waiting for you to pluck up like a free kitten out of a cardboard box.
But please, just don’t hold it against me if it gives you rabies.
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- thec00lniverse said: Rabies or not, I appreciate the response. =]
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