It has been one year.
One year since I have fought that which sits in its own little universe - completely untouched by the forces of nature. Because nature cannot tolerate its existence, it has been confined to a transparent prison that has taken mankind hundreds of years to manufacture and perfect. There it sits, strange aeons warping its very being, building it into a cataclysmic force which contains the power to bring the world's greatest men down on their knees.
Anya, only because of her delicate state, hid behind one of my massive bean bags, only her bushy grey/white tail and her two yellow eyes sticking out. I was garbed ever so much in 1980's British street urchin-ware, entirely reminiscent of Lister from "Red Dwarf," Ace from "Doctor Who," and Booga and Tank Girl from "Tank Girl."
What was new to the look was the chainsaw in my right hand, the titanium gauntlet covering my left hand, and the orbiting ball of jet around my head that had been conjured by the culmination of minutes of my personal study in the arts of magic. Supposedly, the ball of jet prevents the negative forces of nature from sucking out my energizing spirit... or something to that effect.
It sat in its own eerie aura of silence. Surrounded by conjured cold fueled by the burning of the ancient's burial stones, the transparent prison stood among the obelisks created by man as deterrents towards those that would be so foolish enough to seek the unspeakable. The obelisks contained the crushed seeds and blood of thousands of creatures that stood before man and were razed as man demonstrated his power. The cryptic warnings read powerful words unto those who gazed upon them: "Ketchup," "Mustard," "Maple Syrup," "Mayonnaise," "Boysenberry Jam," and ever so menacingly, "Peanut Butter."
There, in the midst of it all, was the sauce. Warning signs were emblazoned upon the bottle. "Keep away from eyes, pets, and children. Not for people with heart/respiratory problems." A wincing whimper came from behind the beanbag. "Destroy it! The Fountain of Endless Blades!"
I grabbed the bottle with my gauntlet hand. It knew what was going to happen. With it struggling within its prison I brought the bottle over to the dreaded Fountain of Endless Blades, known as "MOEN." As I unscrewed the cap, IT LEAPT INTO ACTION.
Viscous brown globs threw themselves on my face and my eyes. The pain instantly blinded me. I brought the chainsaw down upon the bottle in my gauntlet, but it had already escaped. Sparks flew as chain clashed with glove. I screamed out more in pain than I did in anger, and raked the kitchen an a fury of pure chainsaw.
My vision became blurry, but better than nothing. I could barely see the bottle, it hovered over the electrical socket, just waiting for me to strike. I THREW the chainsaw at it. It dodged and I was once again blinded, by the burst of sparks from the electrical socket. In a wild swing, I managed to crush the bottle. The sauce... splattered... and in a final attempt at revenge, it flung itself at my pants. I remember it seeping through the zipper and...
The rest was kind of hazy. I do recall Anya's fluffy self standing over me in near hysterical worry. My memory sort of goes in and out that that point.
"OH MY BABY!"
(haze)
"What is the matter woman? (heavy Indian accent) What do mean... Oh."
(haze)
(haze)
(lots more haze)
"TUNA!"
(haze)
(cold haze)
"Just make certain he drinks lots of fluids."
"Will he be alright?"
"Absolutely. The pain was primarily a chemical that stimulates the pain centers of the central nervous system. So, while there is no physical damage, Mr. Seven is one of the few people who has a closer understanding to what childbirth actually feels like."
I finally had a clearer vision, and looked down to see my "package" sitting in a bowl of iced milk. I was immediately hugged/squished by Anya. "You're ALIVE!!!" Her breath was nothing less than a blast of tuna.
The Indian doctor (apparently from my staff) explained that somehow I managed to get super hot sauce on and in my "package." What he didn't understand is why there was a chainsaw in the ceiling, and how the kitchen could be such a wreck.
In between the vigorous licks Anya was lavishing upon my face, I had to ask, "Did... did I scream like a little girl?"
Anya hugged me even tighter, "Why no."
I felt so much better.
"Little girls can't scream into the ultrasonic range."
(Really, if you all will remember, I last had this hot sauce a year ago. It's the same hot sauce I've had in my fridge for almost three years. It hasn't gone bad. Mold CAN'T grow on it. It is pain incarnate. The blog post was "i still can't feel my face." And seriously, that is the warning on the label. And... um... yeah. I did get some in my eyes, and uh... on my "package." Just don't ask how.)Black Heaven - End Of The World - Zu Dir
7
fake beards and quaker hats
