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View Diary: Write On! Character soup. (64 comments)

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  •  "That might be Froop there" thought the Stout... (7+ / 0-)

    ...Companion, "That bastard who told me that if I took this gig with that stupid little brat I've spent the last 30 years with, that the whole thing would last a week, two at the Max, and then I'd be rolling in fame and fortune."

    Some fame.   Some fortune.   Thirty years of being stuck in  vomit reeking dives redolent of choke inducing carcinogens rising out of cheap cigars with a drooling perennially pubescent spoiled brat...

    Maybe it was Froop.   Maybe not, because it was equally possible, maybe more possible in fact, that the appearance of Froop - what kind of name was "Froop" anyway? - might actually be another detox hallucination, why, oh, why, in circumstances like this did the long suffering Stout Companion ever think of trying to dry out?   What could possibly be better about being, in all of this, sober?

    Froop.  Froop.   "I got something to say to Froop," the Stout Companion muttered, this time audibly, but barely so.

    "Whaaaa..." the Callow "Youth" asked.

    Just then, a North Korean hereditary dictator, as permanently puerile as the preternaturally pestilential poopy pants "C.W.," himself, in a tantrum lobbed a nuclear missile at Togwogmagog with the seedy, sepulchral, slob infested Startled Duck being precisely at ground zero, and everyone vaporized, although, standing, as he was, behind the lead lined steel door, and invested with a great mass of limpid flesh, the Stout companion vaporized a few milliseconds later than everyone else, and managed in that moment to begin to scream at Froop, whether Froop was in fact a being or was merely a feedback figment from a flamed out fried synapse  the thing he always wanted to say to Froop, should he meet him:  


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