4/12/2023 0 Comments Uplink hacker elite steam key![]() Perhaps I’d regret it when my organs were less pristine and full of youth, but I intended to enjoy every second of it until then. Every bite clogged my arteries but good Lord above was the taste worth it. Embellished origin or mundane beginning, it didn’t matter. ‘MONKEY’S PAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAW!’ he shouts, dramatically falling to his knees before the altar of the unclean.Īnd so, Fugly Bob’s was born - or at least, that’s how I like to pretend it went. But this ugly man is no curse - for although he is indeed hideous beyond compare, there is something more insidious afoot for when the wish-maker steps in to appreciate his wish and orders a cheeseburger and fries, he discovers, to his horror… that everything is greasy beyond compare. ![]() The finger curls, and before him, rising out of the dirt and gravel stands a testament to mankind’s gluttony, run by a man so hideous all shrink in fear. ‘I wish for the greatest burger restaurant ever’, says a man, holding onto a monkey’s paw. “I… don’t want to die… Someone… someone please. “I DON’T WANT TO DIE.!” My throat feels like I’ve shredded it with glass, but the scream comes out all the same. There’s a new Transformers movie! THE EXPANSION FOR WORLD OF WARCRAFT IS COMING OUT IN THREE MONTHS! I WANT TO SEE MY CHEMICAL ROMANCE LIVE! There are so many people I could meet! New friends! Old friends! Enemies! Acquaintances! I haven’t even had my first kiss, my first taste of alcohol, my first… my first anything! Please! Please! There’s so much left for me to do! I’m fourteen! I haven’t even graduated High School, what about College?! I want to have fun drunk adventures and make dumb mistakes! I want to fall in love! I want to adopt kids and live in a four bedroom house with a white picket fence and a dog called Spot! please help… I… I was wrong! I’m not ready, I haven’t accepted it! I don’t want to be good friends with Death, someone slam the fucking door no time for tea! Thy… thy kingdom come? Shit I can’t remember. Do I at least get points for effort? How was this supposed to go again? Our Father in Heaven, hallowed be thy name. Mom used to say prayer comes from the heart but she also used to tell me off if I didn’t do it properly so… uh. ![]() I think my throat is a literal desert and I’m pretty sure I can feel the tumbleweeds. I know I’m not on my knees and my hands aren’t clasped but my eyes are shut, does that count for something? And I know I’m not actually saying any of this out loud. … Hey God, are you there? It’s me, Adrian. Then I grew up and it turned into this thing I did because I had always done it and I was supposed to continue doing it even if I didn’t really believe anymore. Praying used to be like… like a sincere thing I did because I believed. I haven’t read any studies or asked anyone else who was slowly dying in a basement who they were likely to pray to. Somewhat ironic, because I was half-Vietnamese.īut there is of course the Abrahamic God, the Big Guy in Heaven, and the one most people generally pray to in some form when they are slowly dying in a basement. I’ll admit to being woefully ignorant of Eastern Religions. Buddha… Buddha wasn’t really a god was he? And I have just no idea what Ganesh does (or if Ganesh would even be the right god to pray to). The thought brings a twitch of a smile to my dry cracked lips. One did not pray to Zeus for assistance - one prayed to Zeus that he might not smite your shit this day. I was no great warrior worthy of Valhalla or was that Thor’s schtick? I didn’t know. Do they even exist? Would they even listen? Would Wise Odin look at me with pity? Probably not. Otherwise I might've made a noose or something. Dying slowly is just tedious, and there's no 'I give up' button when you don't have the strength to move. Starvation? Dehydration? I think it was dehydration. I kind of wish it did, it seemed easier than… this. And then we have tea, I tell them I’m ready to go, then we hold hands and skip off into the afterlife, except that’s not how it goes at all. ‘Hello Death,’ I reply, because one simply isn’t rude to Death, not even in imagined situations that may or may not just be fever dreams. ‘Hello Adrian,’ says my mental impression of what Death might be, tall and skinny and nothing but white bone. Knocking on the door, asking if I want some tea. I can just imagine Death coming by now, waving at me with their bony hands. I once thought of it as distant, but it has come closer with every second. Here lies Adrian Waters, at age fourteen, dying in the basement of his home.ĭeath seems almost… intimate to me now. One out of three wasn’t too bad, was it? Hah. Live fast, die young, leave a good looking corpse - or something to that effect. I’d imagined my death to be a spectacle - that if I did have to face the end of my life, that I might face it explosively.
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