Interstellar Garbage

Trust me when I say that there's no better place to relax after playing Mass Effect and Dark Souls for about 29 hours than The Random Beverage Drinking Place. They serve all kinds of stuff in there for the usual nerd-ass cuntface like I am. Like beverages. Good ones.

So I was very suprised when a guy with a hoodie walked in. He was acting cool and dragging a suspicious suitcase around and it looked like he didn't even know how many copies of Pikmin were sold. He was also wearing a dark coat and (don't cough) short shorts. He didn't even have shoes.

I walked up to him.

"WHERE THE FUCK ARE YOUR SHOES?" I said.

"Huh?". He had a deep voice.

"So how's it goin'?"

"Not much. Say, you interested in some... Magic?"

"Magic?"

"Yes. The awesome kind."

"Sure, why not?"

"It'll cost ya 37 bucks."

"Still less than Metal Gear Solid: Ground Zeroes."

"Alright, before I start, I should say that my kind of magic involves paranormal shit, and everyone whom I showed to died of doubtful causes, because you don't mess with paranormal shit, and even if you did, you're not as cool as me, so you'll look like a loser and yes, I do use this power to kill people because I ran out of wall to bash my head into and I'm, like, completely addicted, it's like drugs, man, you can't stop doing it, but unlike regular shitheads like you, I don't get arrested because I'm pretty good at what I do, like, the goverment can't touch me and it's pretty awesome, but yeah, you've been warned, so, ready?"

"Do it already. Geez."

At that precise moment, he fidgeted around his suitcase for a bit, and he whipped out a dagger with words on the blade: "Thou Shalt Not Be A Grammar Nazi".

"Why does it say that?" I asked.

"Because they're total dicks."

Well fuck me.

"This shit right here has a story of its own, you see? Rumour is, it came from..."

"Came from what?"

"From..."

"Oh GOD, HE'S GONNA SAY SOMETHING TOTALLY UNEXPECTED."

"...SPAAAAAAAACE."

"JESUS F. CHRIST."

"But I say it's the dagger Aphrodite bought in a sweatshop."

And indeed I noticed "Made In China" imprinted in the handle. He then proceeded to take out a can of foaming goo.

"And that is?"

"This right here is the dust of the Grand Wazoo. It's hot, so don't touch it."

"I see."

"SO NOW, THE CIRCULAR MOTION, UNKNOWN TO THE PEOPLE OF THIS AREA, BUT DESTINED TO BE THE ACTION EVERYONE SPITS ABOUT IN COMMERCIALS, MADE FOR THE FAT LAZY AMERICAN SITING IN HIS COUCH WITH HIS BEADY LITTLE EYES STARING AT THE SCREEN OF THE MAGIC BOX SHOWING CONAN MOVING HIS WIG AROUND THE SET, HERE GOES: THE CIRCULAR MOTION! RUB IT!", he screamed, while waving the dagger around in a frenzy and pouring the goo all over the floor. I think I saw the Devil in the process, but oh well.

"What the hell was that all abo-"

"DONE."

"What the fuck did you just do?"

"You'll see. Interested in some rings or pocketwatches?"

"NO."

So I slapped his face and stole his belongings.

The next day, I woke up, and there was no Mass Effect to play, no Dark Souls to rage quit, no Megaman X to Nostalgia cum nor any nerdy thing to do, for that matter.

"WHY THE FUCK AM I A KRISTEN STEWART?"

I just ran out of ideas.

HEIL ME AND MY TALENT.

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