Crossover Special Part II, Bitches

Today I post part two of this v. special Crossover Event. This part is a story collaboration between myself and Mrs. Justin Bieber herself, Kerry "The Bond" Ingram. (Drawing by me, space my K.L.I.) Part 1 was our own stories, written to showcase our individual talents etc. etc. etc. This is Kerru's. This story is what you get when the two of us share a google doc and are left unsupervised by adults.

UNTITLED ALIEN PROSTITUTE TALE: IN WHICH THE GOSLINGS ASK FOR PIZZA

by Bryan Erik-Greenhill & Kerry L. Ingram III

Maleien was sitting in his pimp chair when his ho Ganxaxa sashayed through his door.
"BITCH," he boomed. "Where my money. If you don’t got my money I’m gon cut you!"
She quivered in her pearls. "Naw, naw, Maleien, you got me wrong! You know I'm good for it! I just got so many goslings at home, sometimes it's hard to keep up with everything!"
"I don't CARE if you good for it, I want the money now! You bring me 25,000 floopdedoops by TOMORROW or I'ma salt you and turn you into jerky, naw what I mean?"
"I will, I will! You'll see! I'll turn extra tricks, open a jerky shop, or something!" she cried, running out of the door.
She ran, viscous black fluid leaking out of her eyes, into the elevator up to her apartment where her goslings were waiting.
"BABIES!" she said, her voice shaking through the tears.
"MAMA WHAT’S WRONG" said all the goslings in unison. (Goslings are a hive mind until they reach level 24 drekels.)
"I got bad news for you. Mama's not going to be around much for awhile."
Her goslings sat staring at her.
“PIZZA, CHARLIE!” shouted the goslings in unison, which sort of creeped Ganxaxa out. Who was Charlie?
“PIZZA, CHARLIE!” they shouted again. Ganxaxa glanced around nervously.
But before Ganxaxa could figure it out, everything exploded. Stuff was still there when she opened her eyes but it was slightly different. It was strange--she couldn't quite explain it. Everything felt a little more green and her name was probably Charlie now.
"Am I Charlie?" asked Charlie.
The goslings' thoraxes were expanding and contracting at a nauseating speed.
"PIZZA, CHARLIE" they shouted again.
The goslings' strange dance was speeding up. She vomited up a thick roll of pizza dough. She could hear their exoskeletons crunching with each contraction. Charlie vomited again in fear.
This time it was a thick, red tomato based sauce pouring out of her face.
The goslings began to drone and buzz in unison, shaking her stomach like the great belly of a farnok being tickled by a raguna feather. At once the goslings became a fiery red, similar to lava, or maybe magma, and melded together like when you're heating up chocolate chips and then they melt into a puddle, but this puddle was solid and big as a Korlernt. She vomited one last time for what seemed forever. Mountains and mountains of mozzarella cheese and assorted fixins came rocketing out of her facehole straight into the puddle.
A giant hole opened in the puddle and it ingested everything Ganxaxa had puked up. Or was it Charlie now? She wasn't sure. All she was sure of was that she was scared and shivering and owed her pimp some cash.
So Charlie hotfooted it down to the nearest jerky store and robbed it at gunpoint. She returned the money to Maleien. They were wed the next day and had a very unhappy life together.

Part 1 Of A 2 Part Crossover Special

This post marks my first foray into fiction on this blog. It’s actually a bit of a two-parter. My v. fancy friend Kerry and I both wrote individual stories based on a pretty inceptional drawing that I made that’s probably museum quality, not to toot my own horn. Part two is also based on the picture, but it’s a joint story that we collaborated on. It’s like a remix or a mash up or like when your two favorite musical artists make a song together. Part two will be up tomorrow, I hope you can hold in your excitement until then!!!

...

Having slipped into her favorite red dress, Karen stood at the door to the living quarters in the house she shared with her husband of 25 years. She felt empowered in this dress, attractive, even. She carefully wrapped a string of space pearls around her neck and let her fingers run along their smooth surface as she stood, watching her husband. The pearls had been an anniversary gift many years ago. She had even bought some new shoes for tonight. At fifteen thousand filborts, they were a bit of a splurge, but it wasn’t as if they couldn’t afford them. Besides, she treated herself to little gifts so rarely.

Karen’s husband Mark was an independently wealthy real estate mogul. He had come from a poor family in a bad part of town, but he studied hard and worked harder until he had built himself an empire. His passion was what attracted Karen to him in the first place. In the early years of their marriage, they worked closely with the poor community: repairing damaged space buildings, replacing rusting pipes, building playgrounds for the children, and delivering meals to the elderly.

Twelve years into their marriage, Mark’s real estate company started booming. Mark and Karen were thrilled by the prospect of having more space money to spend helping those who needed it, but as time went on, Mark’s demands at work got too heavy and his time off was spent recovering from work at home. Not that Karen minded. It was nice to finally spend some time together. Maybe now they could start thinking about starting a family. Mark disagreed, however, insisting that there would be time later. Now was the time for buying homes and taking fabulous vacations.

Karen stood in her red dress at the door to the living quarters in the house she shared with Mark. They never had a family. By the time Mark was ready, the space doctor told Karen that she was too old, and there might be complications. She stared at Mark. He was sitting in his usual chair, staring mindlessly at the enormous space television. It had been so long since she had seen the passion in his eyes.

Mark looked at her, furrowing his amphibious brow.

“What’s going on?” he asked.

“Mark, tonight I am going out for a nice meal and I’d like you to come with me.” She had made up her mind.

“I don’t think so Karen. I’ve had a demanding week.”

Karen’s gaze dropped to the floor for a quarter of a second. If Mark had been looking at her, he would have seen tears in her eyes. She cleared her throat and walked over to her husband that she had loved so deeply for the past 25 years and lightly touched her lips to his cheek.

“Goodbye, Mark,” she said, grabbing her bag and leaving the house she had shared with her husband of 25 years. Which was weird because they had no lips.

In Thanksgiving

This post is dedicated to the man who saved my life

Last week I journeyed to our nation's capitol for Independence Day. Before taking the 1:30 AM bus back, I became dehydrated, not unlike a sun dried tomato, or a raisin, also dried by the sun. Except that it was night. Understanding that if I did not acquire water before the trip that I would surely die, I asked a man where I could find some water. He directed me to a place. When I arrived, the vending machines were out of all rations, so I trekked back to the bus stop. It was as if Washington DC had become the Nefud Desert, and I was Laurence. Upon my return the man asked if I had found water. Sadly, I shook my head. "No," I croaked, lips cracked, throat dry, precious water leaking from my eyes.

"Do you drink Powerade?" he asked.

"Sorry," I asked, wondering why he would torture me with mention of beverages.

"I have an extra Powerade if you would like it," he offered, majestically, saviorously.

"Thank you" I cried, falling to my knees in gratitude and kissing his hands.

In thanks of the kind man's actions I have written him this poem and drawn him a picture. Sir, when I am rich and famous I will buy you all the Powerade you can handle.

Thank you kind stranger for saving my hide

If not for you, up, surely would I have dried

Dying of thirst, you gave me your Powerade of blue

So I write this poem to say that I love you

When I was thirsty, you gave me a drink

For your kindness, surely, I think

God shall smile greatly on thee.

Battle of the Philippine Sea.

*some rhymes courtesy of rhymezone.com

Letters To a Friend

WOW. So that "coming soon" post wasn't written four days ago? As they say, "time sure flies when you're sitting in one spot for a month straight or whatever", as the saying goes. So to TIDE™ YOU MONSTERS OVER as I illustrate my next post which is literally taking a stupid amount of time to illustrate (I'll finish this sentence later). Roommate thinks I spend too much time on the illustrations. Roommate needs to shut his damn mouth, is what I have to say. (End of the other sentence): here is a letter I wrote to Roommate (Matt) as he sat approx. 7 feet away from me.

Enjoy.


Hey Matt!
Hi Matt, it’s Bryan. (As if you couldn’t guess from my e-mail address, Ha Ha Ha) I’m writing you an e-mail via Word because the internet’s not working and therefore I can’t access my Gmail, LOL. Anyways, I had so much fun today. Do you remember that feisty latina we sat next to at the Dallas BBQ? Martina Martinez? And how about that piano at Central Park? I took some real neat pictures that I’m going to have to show you next time I see you. Also do you remember “You know that I love you boy, hot like Mexico enjoy”??? Man, today was the BEST.
Always,


Dr. Bryan Erik D.D.S. Esq.

Usually, I'd draw a picture of a Rooster doing something clever, like "hating Mondays" or "listening to an iPod", but I couldn't draw on a Word document so I didn't.

He just informed me that I used "or whatever" 6 times on my blog out of literally 3 posts. No word yet on "like"s or other excess verbiage.

New posts coming soon or whatever.