| (no subject) |
[Jun. 26th, 2005|10:01 pm] |
Alright, why is that people seem to think in movies that washed-up losers coaching a bunch of little kids funny? I personally can not stand those movies. Everyone of them is the same, a middle-aged man loses his job or something just as bad. And in order to get money, he notices an ad miracously placed right in front of him, asking for some kind of coach. It's a bunch of dysfunctional kids, of all races so there is no discrimination. Here's the line-up, a fat kid, weak nerdy kid, kid who doesn't belong anywhere, kid who doesn't believe in himself, large muscular "bad" kid, kid with a bad family, "funny" kid, and just some lame other kids. Every type of these whatever you call them movies, feel good movies? They defiantely will follow this. And of course, this kids are the underdog team of whatever the hell they're doing. And they have to play the best team. And the coach of course, is a rival of the coach of the underdog team. Oh and, the coach of the underdog team falls in love because of this job he takes. Be it one of the kids Milf mom, or just some random chick who thinks the guy is doing a good service. And just wow, why do they still make these movies? I'll make one right now, a bunch of kids want to have a soccer team....oh wait, sorry it's already been done. Green Giants or something, I think it was called. Now here is one, kids want to start a drug ring of cocaine, but need a guy to buy them guns and drive them to distribute. They find a homeless man, let's say...Eddie Griffin, and clean him up. Now the twist is, Eddie Griffin has been running away from a competitor cocaine dealing gang for stealing lots of money from them. So the competition is the 2 rival gangs trying to sell the most coke. But a miracle happens, the kids make friends with the biggest buyer of coke in the city. Unfortunately, the rival gang starts a big shoot-out with the kid's gang. One of the little kids get shoot, most likely it would be like the retarded kid so theres a lot of heart ache. This of course pisses off Eddie Griffin, and the kids and him plan out revenge. They all kill every member of the rival gang, and everything turns out good in the end. Oh, and the retarded kid who died mom's is a part time porn star and falls in love with Eddie and changes her naughty ways. There, why am I not in the movie business? God I hate those movies sooo much.
I was really bored, and saw a commercial for that new movie coming out, Rebound, with Martin Lawerence. Totally pissed me off. |
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| (no subject) |
[Jun. 6th, 2005|08:19 pm] |
Let me tell you about a porcupine's balls, they're small and they don't give a SHIT!
Fuck you, faggot |
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| (no subject) |
[May. 19th, 2005|09:55 pm] |
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I wanna be a Zen master |
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| (no subject) |
[May. 19th, 2005|02:13 pm] |
What Your Dreams Mean... |
Your dreams seem to show that you're a bit disturbed... but nothing serious.
You may have a problem you're trying to work out in your sleep.
Overall, you are very content in your life.
You have a very vivid imagination and a rich creative mind.
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Lmfao, so true, thats unbelievable. Thats like, one of the first quizes that actually had an answer I thought was right. |
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| Pass the Ketchup, PART 6-THE FINALE |
[May. 18th, 2005|05:01 pm] |
| [ | mood |
| |  accomplished | ] |
!Warning!: This story is not for the weak stomach. It is intensely graphic, violent and dark. Do not take this story seriously, its only fictious. I do not believe or agree in the violence or killing expressed in the story, or any violence at all. I pushed this story to be as violent as possible, so don't take it seriously. And don't worry about me doing this or anything, I'm a nice kid.
Note: Before reading this, it is strongly advised to read the first 5 parts so you know what's going on. Part 2, 3 and 4 can be found throughout my livejournal. Part one can be found here, http://www.livejournal.com/users/incured_illnes/
Return the Ketchup
Feeling a something touch his shoulder, he was startled. Sleepily opening his eyes, he saw a shoe by his face. Confused, he looked up. A leg lined in navy blue pants were in his sight. Trying to remember the previous night, he realized he has passed out in the alley. As he raised his head higher, he realized it was a police officer. A warm tingling sensation spread on the back of his neck, the little hairs standing straight. His heart beat gradually increasing, a panicked sweat starting to form. Glands found above his kidneys began the process of secreting adrenaline. The policeman held a paper in his hand, glancing from the paper down to Fred, then back to the paper. Turning his head slightly, he noticed a few more cops and several bystanders. The cop nudged Fred with his shoe again, making sure he was awake.
“Are you Frederick...” the police officer asked. But as soon as he spoke, Fred zoned out. He saw the cops mouth moving, the sun shining behind him, casting the officers shadow over Fred. It was like Fred was underwater, things moved slower, time seemed non-existent. Breathing slowly, his body trembled with excitement. This was it, where everything was going to be settled. All he has been going through would stop. A completely new life was awaiting him, each second he drew closer. It was the climax. Grinning, adrenaline pumping, he spotted his knife out of the corner of his eye. It was closer then he had thought, that emo kid must not have had a good arm. Slowly, in his view, he went for the knife. Grasping it, the cool plastic giving him a pleasurable sensation through his hand. Flicking the blade open, he would cut his way out of this new womb. In one motion, he rolled onto his knees, raised one leg and sprung upward. His arm gracefully flew upward, as it pierced through the police officer’s bottom jaw, the blade sticking up out of his tongue. A screamed echoed through Fred’s mind, like a strong gust of wind. Like a leaky faucet, blood spilled from the cop’s face, gradually increasing. Not wasting anytime, Fred pulled the blade back out of the cop’s face. As he pulled it, he fell backwards in a peaceful sort of manner, his arm extended. He made contact, as he drew a red line down the second officer’s chest. The navy blue canvas exploded with a vibrant red color as Fred painted, his knife his brush. Jamming the knife into the officer’s stomach, he wiggled the blade, making sure to open up his stomach and let the vile stomach acid pour out into his wound. The third cop was now a step away from Fred, as he hit the ground. He was still trying to maintain the situation and handcuff Fred. The knife in hand, the second cop’s body on its way to falling down, Fred rolled onto his side. Lunging forward on his stomach, springing off his arms, he reached around the cops leg. His floss found the tooth as he began to rid the officer of the plague. Slicing horizontally into the Achilles tendon until he hit the bone, he then started a vertical cut up towards the knee. The tendon was now loose as Fred wrapped his hand around the cord of nerves and started yanking on it. Giving out ear shattering screams, the cop fell forward, as Fred removed a section of the tendon. Rolling on his back, laying on the screaming cop, he pulled the gun out of the holster. The crowd of bystanders had long since ran away. Clinging to the gun, the knife in the other hand he walked down the alley.
Things in Fred’s mind began speeding up, reaching real time. The cop’s screams were now fully heard, as they echoed down the alleyway. Fred was in deep shit now, as he walked down the street, not a person to be seen. Casually strolling down the sidewalk, he came across a Hot Dog Shoppe, and started laughing. He walked up to the window, the cashier too stupid to realize what had just happened, and Fred ordered a dog. The whole time he has worked for this company, he had never ate one of their hot dogs. The cashier brought Fred his hot dog.
“$1.75, please,” said the cashier in a monotone voice.
“Umm...no, I don’t have any money,” replied Fred, taking a bite out his hot weener.
“That’s it, I’m getting my manager,” warned the cashier. As he turned around, Fred raised the gun and shot through the employee’s head. It was as if someone had sprayed a can of red spray paint as the bullet hit and as it exited. Fred continued walking.
Fred now had leprosy, no one wanted to be near him. The site of him, people ran away scared out of their minds. Sirens were closing in. The final showdown. He could see a police car coming, and he quickly walked toward an alleyway. What was he thinking? He can’t out shoot some policemen, he had never touched a gun before. Nearing the end of the alley, a police car drove up blocking the way out. Fred quickly turned around walking the other way, when an other police car pulled up, blocking his only other exit. “Fucking shit!” he thought, “Why the hell didn’t I see this happening?” But someone must have smiled upon Fred, because he noticed a dumpster with a fire escape above it. Running towards the dumpster, the police in one car opened fire on Fred. Raising his gun, he fired a few rounds at them, and leaped onto the dumpster, slipping and smashing his face off of it.
“FUCK!” he screamed, as he hurriedly stood up and jumped towards the fire escape. Bullets whizzed past, exploding chips of bricks into his face. His knees were shaking, as he occasionally would fire a shot or 2 at the policemen shooting to by himself some time. After a few jumps, he grabbed onto the fire escape, dangling from it. He felt something wet brush past his leg, followed by pain. A bullet had skimmed his right calf, this giving him the push he needed, pulled himself up onto the fire escape. Panting, and out of breath, the police proceeded down the alley after their little mouse. Fred tiredly stood up and drunkenly made his way up the steps. More shots were fired, and the police screamed things to him.
About to pass out, Fred made it to the roof of the building that had the fire escape. Laying on the roof on his back, trying to catch his breath. He turned on his side and looked down. The police were still making their way up, Fred shot at them. Getting lucky, he tagged one in the arm, causing him to collapse. Fred propped himself up, and began jogging towards the other end of the roof. As he reached the end, he looked down. An open dumpster, and an exit to a street. A perfect way to escape. But of course it was too good to be true, as Fred felt a strange feeling. Like he was in a hot tub, and the water jet was squirting him in the back. But suddenly the jet stream became very powerful and pierced through Fred. Ketchup squirted out of him, as he fell forward off the roof. His stomach hit the edge of the dumpster below, spewing vomit out of him as well as his air. The metal lid of the dumpster fell closed, smashing onto Fred’s back, shattering his spine. His eyes widened and he grunted, as blood exploded from his mouth. He raised his arm, it shaking wildly, reaching for something.
Copyright 2005, Dan Augustine, All Rights Reserved |
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| (no subject) |
[May. 15th, 2005|12:33 am] |
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The Aquabats are cool as hell and I wish one day I can be like them |
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| (no subject) |
[May. 14th, 2005|12:53 am] |
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Ew, fuck everything... |
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| Pass the Ketchup, Part 5 |
[Apr. 27th, 2005|07:43 pm] |
| [ | mood |
| |  blank | ] |
!Warning!: This story is not for the weak stomach. It is intensely graphic, violent and dark. Do not take this story seriously, its only fictious. I do not believe or agree in the violence or killing expressed in the story, or any violence at all. I pushed this story to be as violent as possible, so don't take it seriously. And don't worry about me doing this or anything, I'm a nice kid.
Note: Before reading this, it is strongly advised to read the first 4 parts so you know what's going on. Part 2, 3 and 4 can be found throughout my livejournal. Part one can be found here, http://www.livejournal.com/users/incured_illnes/
Pass The Ketchup, Part 5
It’s been 1 week now. 48 hours of sleep, measly scraps of food, dirty...lonely. The school was shut down for a few days until the mess was cleaned, the students having a few days to grieve, and it was back to education. The city was on the look-out for Fred. Everyone wanted to punish him for his brutal murder to this poor student. Little did they know, he was also responsible for the other murders that had recently happened in this city. It was only a matter of time. Fred lied there, in another dumpster, twiddling this thumbs. It seemed dumpster had been this only form of home for the past week. He reeked, his stomach growled, his mouth dry. He had hit bottom. He was at a low, possibly one of the worst lows someone could be in. He was empty, he felt nothing though. Waiting for the day where’d he stay in a dumpster too long, and the garbage truck would take him away. A much more suitable ambulance for him. He had no where to go. This kind of brings you back to about where the story started. He kicked the side of a dumpster, frustrated.
“Fuuuuuck, I need food...” He whined. He popped the lid of the dumpster open, and to his surprise it was dark out. “Good, I can go about my business finally.” He couldn’t risk walking around during the day, it was easy to see his face. He fell out of the dumpster, landing in a puddle. The water splashing up on him, as he starred at the night sky. After a few minutes, he stood up, and stumbled a few steps. He could relax. He could get some food now, for he was quite hungry. But something caught his eye, there was a couple at the end of the alley. An emo looking kid with his girlfriend, he supposed. Hoping he could sneak away unnoticed, he started walking. As soon as he thought that, they turned and looked at him. He froze in this tracks. “Dammit...they’ll recognize me and call the cops on me. Shit, that can’t happen,” he quickly thought. His heart started beating.
The kid walked toward him, as his girlfriend walked away. “Fuck, what does this kid want?” he questioned.
“Hey kid, something wrong?” the emo kid asked.
“Fuck off,” he hissed. Why did he say that? That’s gonna start trouble, and Fred might be overtaken with that urge...
“Got any money kid? I’ll sell you this guitar,” the kid innocently asked.
“I don’t want your shitty guitar,” he snapped. Was this kid stupid? Did he look like he needed a guitar? This emo kid was getting on his nerves, and Fred must have been getting on his nerves to, because as soon as Fred said that, the kid grabbed him by the throat.
“Give me your money,” the kid ordered. What the fuck was this kid pulling? Did he think he was some kind of bully? This kid must be blind, one look at Fred, and you could easily tell he had no money. Well this kid had crossed the line, and Fred was itching to hurt the kid. But he’d give him one more chance.
“Get the hell off me,” he spat out, his neck strangled by the kid’s hand. Fred had already planned out how he’d dispose of this kid, but to his surprise something he didn’t count on happened. The kid shoved Fred backwards, and a tightening pain exploded on the back of his head. He bounced off the alley wall, falling to his knees. What the hell was this? He didn’t get the first hit? This fucker was asking for it. He reached into this pocket, feeling a comfortable win. He had found a knife in an alleyway one day and picked it up. It was a nice little switchblade. Fred just wanted to make this quick, as he was desperate for food. He didn’t even care for the fact he was about to kill this total stranger. He rose and lunged forward, towards the kid’s stomach. But to his surprise, the kid evaded his attack and took a hold of Fred’s wrist. What was going on? Did he loose his edge? Was it the lack of food? As this passed through Fred’s mind, the kid pulled Fred towards him, violently kneeing him in the stomach. Fred spat, trying to breath, trying to figure out why he wasn’t on top of his kid stabbing into his jugular. He held on to the knife with a death-grip, for it was his only chance. He swung to his right side, but the kid jumped back, avoiding the attack. Hunger. Was he weak from the lack of food? Insomnia. Was he too tired after barely getting any sleep? “This can’t be happening!” he screamed in his head. As adrenaline rushed him towards the kid again.
I’ve killed so many lately, and I hardly care! Leave me the hell alone and die!!”he shouted. The kid retorted his statement by sending a punch to Fred’s face, as he ran towards him. Fred, furious with the fact his blade only an inch away from seriously hurting this kid, flew to the ground, blood spilling from his nose. He hit the ground hard, bouncing off it once. Recovering as soon as he hit, Fred stood back up. He charged the kid, desperate tears forming in his eyes, with his blade out in front of him, letting out a losing war cry. He sliced into the kid’s hand, but unfortunately the kid pulled it out from Fred’s hand, groaning in pain. He threw it down the alley, and proceeded with a 21 gun salute into Fred’s stomach. He hit, each punch, reminded him of his killings, starting with that jock. Then his family. Loneliness. Was he losing on purpose because this was the only human contact he had in a week? The jock’s friends. The Hot Dog Shoppe manager, followed by the school bully. Weakness. Was the fact Frederick was just weak, and couldn’t handle himself in a fist fight? Each punch bringing up an interesting thought in Fred’s mind. His head was somewhere else, not in some alley. He was in a forest, laying on a boulder in a clearing. The birds chirping. The sound of a stream in the background. Animals ran about. But, the boulder split in 2, and he fell, hitting concrete, realizing he was still in an alley way.
He couldn’t breath, every ounce of air had been knocked out. He curled into a ball, pleading for some air. Any he could get, his head stung, as well did his nose. Squirming on the dirty ground, he felt the kid touch him.
“Fuck off and let me be,” he thought. The kid had already beat the shit out of him, why didn’t he leave? Ooh..he was checking for money. The dumb fuck, didn’t he realize from the beginning Fred had no money? The kid coming up empty handed, stood back up.
“What’s your name, kid?” the kid curiously asked.
Fred still in need of air grunted out, “Frederick,” in a very pained voice.
“Sorry Frederick,” the kid apologized. He stood up walking away.
“I’ll kill him............I’ll kill him.......I’ll kill him........ I’ll kill him.......I’ll kill him......I’ll kill him....I’ll kill him...I’ll kill him..I’ll kill him.I’ll kill himI’ll kill himI’llkillhim!!!!!!” his mind quickly raced. He struggled to get up, but found no energy or air. He squirmed viciously on the ground, about to explode with rage. This wasn’t fair, why was he tormented so? He didn’t do anything to deserve this horrible chain of murderous events. What was he to do? Kill himself? Suffer through it with hope? Go to jail? Those were his choices. After what seemed like half an hour, Fred finally could stand up. Blood dried all over his face, his head bruised, as well as his back and stomach. More pain added upon this mule. Fred leaned against the alley wall, breathing heavily. He couldn’t last...his hours were slowly slipping away.
You take someone, and put them through the stress of killing their family, their peers, their employer, and starve them, and keep them dirty and thirsty and lonely, they end up dying. Fred’s brain became static on a tv screen, and fell over in the alley.
To be continued in the final Chapter
Copyright 2005, Dan Augustine, All Rights Reserved |
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| (no subject) |
[Apr. 18th, 2005|08:40 pm] |
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Fucking NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO, I've run all out of ZEN!!!! Shiiiiiit son, I need a zen garden to replenish my ZEN!!! |
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| (no subject) |
[Apr. 18th, 2005|08:37 pm] |
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Caaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaandy Cooooooooooooooooorn= red marker!!!! |
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| (no subject) |
[Apr. 11th, 2005|09:57 pm] |
The flower is bloomed
Storm clouds rain hot coals upon
The flower survives |
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| (no subject) |
[Apr. 10th, 2005|11:02 pm] |
The branches gleam white
As you ascend up the hill
Towards the field of light |
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| (no subject) |
[Apr. 10th, 2005|11:00 pm] |
The chair is quiet
As it creaks in the sunrise
The monster beckons |
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| (no subject) |
[Apr. 7th, 2005|09:26 pm] |
The sun slowly sets
Blood rises into the sky
Everything is fine |
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| (no subject) |
[Apr. 6th, 2005|07:15 pm] |
It burns very bad
Satan is breathing on me
Licked by the fire
BLOOD ORGY!!!!! 666 666 666!!!!
wtf? |
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| (no subject) |
[Apr. 6th, 2005|02:45 pm] |
Telephone poles are
Crucifixes up above
Keep your head high |
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| (no subject) |
[Apr. 6th, 2005|02:42 pm] |
Kratsas is a bitch
He doesn't like my haikus
He can slurp a chode |
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| (no subject) |
[Apr. 6th, 2005|02:08 pm] |
The oak wood splinters
Wood chips fly into my eyes
I just simply blink |
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| (no subject) |
[Apr. 5th, 2005|10:00 pm] |
Milk goes quite sour
Left it in the fridge too long
Now it's cottage cheese |
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