It was late, that fateful night. I was tired, yet thirsty, so I headed my way down to the local watering hole. As I walked into the dimly lit bar, a chill ran down my spine - an omen, yet wa it for good or for ill? There was but one way to find out.
I crossed the sparse room, moving a wooden chair out of my way. The pianist was clearly drunk, as she fumbled her way across the ivories. She was playing some bastardized mix of Druan Duran, the Smashing Pumpkins, and the Hollies. "Her Name was Rio in a Black Dress", she called it, as she lamented in half prose something that I think was a slight about my pants. I sat down at the bar and ordered a water, with a hint of lime, but only if it was a key lime.
The bartender thought I must have been insane, to which I would not have denied the claim. He handed me the water, and asked for his money. I handed him a $50 and told him to buy me some 'Nilla Wafers. He said no. I pouted.
I walked over to the pinao player and said to her, "Hey, hows it goin'?"
She proceded to drool on her own hands and giggle slyly. She attempted to mutter something about vodka and gerbils, though I could not be sure about the vodka. I could tell that this was getting me nowhere, and I didn't need a lush like this in my own band.
I scanned the room, taking in the scene. There were a handful of people there, a few couples, but mostly people kept to themselves. Must have been why the bar was called "Loner's Place". Very aptly named.
Suddenly something, or should I say someone, caught my attention from the corner of my eye. Back in the shadows, far from everyone else, I saw a light growing. There she was, in all her glory. She had just kicked some poor fool in the crotch, poured kerosine on him, and set him on fire. I could just hear her utter something about "neopets" and "blobs" and something else about the width of some band, perhaps she meant a belt? I never cared to ask to find out for sure.
I walked over to her, and felt the warmth growing between us. That, or it was the burning guy laying on the floor next to us. It mattered little.
"Hey, you're tall." I cleverly stated to her, flashing my best smile.
She looked at me like I was insane and said, "You're insane."
Quickly, I grabbed her arm and turned her slightly clockwise. She glared at me and said, "Why the fuck are you touching me?"
"You were about to catch fire."
"Oh. Worship me."
"Can I lick your arm?"
"Only if you choose to spend the rest of your life on my website."
I thought about that for about an hour or so, until the pianist passed out after barfing on the bartender.
"Ok," I said to her. "My name is Spork. Motherfuckin Spork. I love apples."
She proceded to beat me over the head until I was unconscious. Never before had I felt so relaxed. It was like heaven.
So there you have it... this is how I came to reside on this site.
It's a big world, and it never stays the same.
OMG I LOOOVES TO CHANGE MY SIGNATURE!!!!
squeaky: you can take my base, but you can never take my pie