The Sad Punk
Blue Crack Addict
It's about time I got in on this brigade. This is probably fictional. I am not sure how long this will go for? It might be the last chapter right here. Are there any rules on this forum? Can I have drugs in it? There are drugs in this part, and also cursing, so no children thanks.
The story is set in Dublin, like some kind of a James Joyce short story published by Penguin classics that you can buy for 5.95 at a cheapo book store, and one of the pages might be torn a bit when you buy it, ‘cause some shark nosed student doing a bachelor of arts at a nearby university has probably been reading through that same copy lunch-break by lunch-break for the past two semesters. This is A Story, but it is not the kind of A Story you may be familiar with. This one has passion, and heart, and soul – and who knows, there may be some tears and perhaps some laughs, but there will definitely be a few grimaces, and you may close the tab partway through this chapter depending on how good the story is (hopefully it’s great, I think this is finally gonna be my lucky Easter). I kind of want to end this now, but goddamn, I am already up to 162 words, and like hell I’m going to turn my back on this now.
CHAPTER 1: A VENGEFUL ENCOUNTER BETWEEN TWO WORLD-CONQUERING ARMIES BOUND FOR ELYSIUM
Paul McGuinness was sitting in his castle one day (7th floor, third room on the right next to the fully preserved Teutonic suit of armour) counting his money. Oh shit and the year was 1986 by the way, in fact it was pretty early 1986. “Ezekiel!”, demanded Paul McGuinness to a nearby serf. “Get my buffalo skin coat! I must visit that putrid city and speak to my fools!”. “Oooh, yeeyz sir!” said Ezekiel in a blatant but uninspired Peter Lorre voice. He and several others (these guys are all serfs) lead Paul McGuinness down the staircase, to the stable where his chariot resided. “I have not seen them in a few months, I can’t be sure if they even survived Christmas!” he chuckled. “Hopefully Adam didn’t.” He rode off into thesunset sunrise noon-ish sun.
Edge pulled from the tightly packed joint (unbeknownst to him, it was laced with paint stripper. I don’t plan on this impacting the plot) with amateur skill. He coughed wildly, exhausted from the attempt. Adam laughed like a fucko. “Whoa! Gee, you okay, mack?” he said in a British accent. “You don’t usually request this, you tryna’ geddaway from the ol’ ball and chain?”. This unreserved remark left a distracted crease in Edge’s brow as he toked once more. “You don’t say that. Don’t say that. That is off limits to your jerkarsery.” Adam snorted andgot out his iPod wait shit they didn’t have them OH GOD WHAT AM I GOING TO DO NOW adam looked at a poster advertising a new band called Hamper Central [supported by The Clinging Ozarkers] who played at a nearby pub rejoicing in the title of Cuchullain’s Haunt on December 19th. They were in an alleyway. Adam used an illusion to distract Edge and thusly nicked his spliff, which he had packed a quarter-hour earlier. He leaned against a dumpster and surveyed the surroundings with a half shut gaze. Certainly, he did not expect to see his good friend Bono walking down the pavements, about seven metres away.
“Well shit from my tits and call me Hiram, Edge. It’s the main man himself!”, smirked Adam. “Yoo hoo, mister pih-rate!”, he howled in a Bugs Bunny voice in the direction of his pal. Bono was alarmed. He shuffled his hands out of the pockets of his long, dark coat and waved erratically as if he were a right cretin. “Oh man! You guys!” he exclaimed, rushing over to rendezvous. “What’s the good word? It’s been too long! (three weeks more or less on the dot) How are you both.” Adam was appalled by Bono’s neckerchief, but replied regardless. “Oh yeah, shit’s been pretty smooth. Been catching up with this mother right here STAGE DIRECTION: POINT TO EDGE NONCHALANTLY but yeah, not much on the U2 front. Kind of forgotten how to play a couple songs.”
“Which ones?” replied Bono.
“Seconds and Like a Song”
“Lika what?”
Well shit, Adam thought. I ahreaddyforgot!. Bono sheepishly looked down at his feet and started to talk. “I was just, y’know, thinkin’uh going to for a drink a bit, down at Cuchallain’s. I dunno if you guysa want to join, it’d be nice, though. Whatever you say.” No one really reacted to this. "So what this about?" asked Adam. "Just tryin' ta geddaway from the ol' ball and chain!".
Edge, beginning to feel the effects of the sweet leaf, greeted Bono by tipping his beret. Bono responded by pointing to a photo of an Ethiopian and crying. “How are you going, Edge? Merry holidays, yeah?”. Edge did not take this in, and instead pointed slowly and upright at their next visitor. It was Paul McGuinness in a chariot being pulled by dozens of suffering clones of each of the members of U2.
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I haven't spoken English in three years, so I apologise if things are incorrect.
The story is set in Dublin, like some kind of a James Joyce short story published by Penguin classics that you can buy for 5.95 at a cheapo book store, and one of the pages might be torn a bit when you buy it, ‘cause some shark nosed student doing a bachelor of arts at a nearby university has probably been reading through that same copy lunch-break by lunch-break for the past two semesters. This is A Story, but it is not the kind of A Story you may be familiar with. This one has passion, and heart, and soul – and who knows, there may be some tears and perhaps some laughs, but there will definitely be a few grimaces, and you may close the tab partway through this chapter depending on how good the story is (hopefully it’s great, I think this is finally gonna be my lucky Easter). I kind of want to end this now, but goddamn, I am already up to 162 words, and like hell I’m going to turn my back on this now.
CHAPTER 1: A VENGEFUL ENCOUNTER BETWEEN TWO WORLD-CONQUERING ARMIES BOUND FOR ELYSIUM
Paul McGuinness was sitting in his castle one day (7th floor, third room on the right next to the fully preserved Teutonic suit of armour) counting his money. Oh shit and the year was 1986 by the way, in fact it was pretty early 1986. “Ezekiel!”, demanded Paul McGuinness to a nearby serf. “Get my buffalo skin coat! I must visit that putrid city and speak to my fools!”. “Oooh, yeeyz sir!” said Ezekiel in a blatant but uninspired Peter Lorre voice. He and several others (these guys are all serfs) lead Paul McGuinness down the staircase, to the stable where his chariot resided. “I have not seen them in a few months, I can’t be sure if they even survived Christmas!” he chuckled. “Hopefully Adam didn’t.” He rode off into the
Edge pulled from the tightly packed joint (unbeknownst to him, it was laced with paint stripper. I don’t plan on this impacting the plot) with amateur skill. He coughed wildly, exhausted from the attempt. Adam laughed like a fucko. “Whoa! Gee, you okay, mack?” he said in a British accent. “You don’t usually request this, you tryna’ geddaway from the ol’ ball and chain?”. This unreserved remark left a distracted crease in Edge’s brow as he toked once more. “You don’t say that. Don’t say that. That is off limits to your jerkarsery.” Adam snorted and
“Well shit from my tits and call me Hiram, Edge. It’s the main man himself!”, smirked Adam. “Yoo hoo, mister pih-rate!”, he howled in a Bugs Bunny voice in the direction of his pal. Bono was alarmed. He shuffled his hands out of the pockets of his long, dark coat and waved erratically as if he were a right cretin. “Oh man! You guys!” he exclaimed, rushing over to rendezvous. “What’s the good word? It’s been too long! (three weeks more or less on the dot) How are you both.” Adam was appalled by Bono’s neckerchief, but replied regardless. “Oh yeah, shit’s been pretty smooth. Been catching up with this mother right here STAGE DIRECTION: POINT TO EDGE NONCHALANTLY but yeah, not much on the U2 front. Kind of forgotten how to play a couple songs.”
“Which ones?” replied Bono.
“Seconds and Like a Song”
“Lika what?”
Well shit, Adam thought. I ahreaddyforgot!. Bono sheepishly looked down at his feet and started to talk. “I was just, y’know, thinkin’uh going to for a drink a bit, down at Cuchallain’s. I dunno if you guysa want to join, it’d be nice, though. Whatever you say.” No one really reacted to this. "So what this about?" asked Adam. "Just tryin' ta geddaway from the ol' ball and chain!".
Edge, beginning to feel the effects of the sweet leaf, greeted Bono by tipping his beret. Bono responded by pointing to a photo of an Ethiopian and crying. “How are you going, Edge? Merry holidays, yeah?”. Edge did not take this in, and instead pointed slowly and upright at their next visitor. It was Paul McGuinness in a chariot being pulled by dozens of suffering clones of each of the members of U2.
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I haven't spoken English in three years, so I apologise if things are incorrect.
