!the BIGGUN hates YOU!
-=Boiled Eggs=-
Once upon a time, there was a Biggun. This Biggun wasn't just any ol'
Biggun, she was a nifty Biggun. And she had nifty friends and a nifty
family, some of which were gathered at her home on Easter Day.
There was a pair of screaming meanies chilling in front of the tv after much vigorous colored egg hunting...
A brother had gone to pick up a cousin who needed a ride...
There was a ham in the oven and pounds of macaroni & cheese on their way in...
The kitchen was full of the sounds of the normal family banter...
There was a loud -*POP* FFFZZZZZzzzKKKkkK!!-, a tremendous rumbly feeling and a blue flash as a transformer blew.
"What the fuck?" was the basically unanimous exclamation.
A line went down and everything it touched was on fire. The wicked, thirsty flames were quickly consuming the neighbors' field because of the direction of the wind. The Biggun's oldest brother immediately began hosing down parts of the yard to prevent further spreading of the horror.
Oddly enough, an aunt of the Biggun's managed to get through to the
backwoods fire department, as well as the electric company to request
assistance. And, apparently, the buzzkilling occurrence, with its blue and orange bulging blobs of unconfined electricity and its vibratey zappy noises had taken the power out for several miles around.
Eventually, the prober fellows with their proper gear in their proper
vehicles came down the poorly paved road and cured the millionth hideous cancer that plagued the Biggun's corner. Hell, power was even restored in time for dinner.
This tiny armageddon left the Biggun's family wondering if that god dude was fucking with them for being such blasphemous heathens on a religious holiday, or if those brown terrorist guys were attacking small towns now..
It left the Biggun wondering if those poor neighbors thought the fire in their field was her family's fault again.
===================================================
The spikes
the spikes and the studs
and the buckles and the
little pointy flower things...
These bits
they leave these little
holes and pockmarks and shit
flaws on my sheet of paper...
So I
think "I'll try writing
without them the next time"
but, no, I always forget...
yeah.
Cuz I do that a lot...
forget.
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Rock on.
