sick of this drama

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It all started when our over-heralded star, crossfittn, woke up in a magical cornfield. It was the fourth time it had happened. Feeling barely concerned, crossfittn grabbed a dangerous oil-soaked rag, thinking it would make him feel better (but as usual, it did not). As if it really mattered he realized that his beloved jellied penis was missing! Immediately he called his so-called best friend, pewep. crossfittn had known pewep for (plus or minus) 2,000 years, the majority of which were enticing ones. pewep was unique. He was plucky though sometimes a little... selfish. crossfittn called him anyway, for the situation was urgent.

pewep picked up to a very unhappy crossfittn. pewep calmly assured him that most Indonesian devil cats turn red before mating, yet man-eating capybaras usually exotically cringe *after* mating. He had no idea what that meant; he was only concerned with distracting crossfittn. Why was pewep trying to distract crossfittn? Because he had snuck out from crossfittn's with the jellied penis only nine days prior. It was a sassy little jellied penis... how could he resist?

It didn't take long before crossfittn got back to the subject at hand: his jellied penis. pewep sneezed. Relunctantly, pewep invited him over, assuring him they'd find the jellied penis. crossfittn grabbed his refrigerator and disembarked immediately. After hanging up the phone, pewep realized that he was in trouble. He had to find a place to hide the jellied penis and he had to do it aimlessly. He figured that if crossfittn took the Jap Trap, he had take at least six minutes before crossfittn would get there. But if he took the unicycle? Then pewep would be alarmingly screwed.

Before he could come up with any reasonable ideas, pewep was interrupted by five dimwitted donkeys that were lured by his jellied penis. pewep cringed; 'Not again', he thought. Feeling displeased, he skillfully reached for his gerbil and aggressively grabbed every last one of them. Apparently this was an adequate deterrent--the discouraged critters began to scurry back toward the magical cornfield, squealing with discontent. He exhaled with relief. That's when he heard the unicycle rolling up. It was crossfittn.
 
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crossfittn said:
I can't get my mind off that endless paddling of blackened flap packs; just hanging in the wind. You can smell the dried urine when the breeze blows through them.

I thought I could handle it. I've played pit pit tea party with a ghost. I've eaten all of the greens and was still ready to unwrap the package. You pushed me too far this time though. I guess in this letter, my point of concern is that you felt it necessary to jump on the flap pack bandwagon, and registered me without asking first. Please discuss it with me next time before you do something like that.

So, no, I couldn't handle that. It's worse than a fox hind. I never want to go back there again. It was dark and windy in the field and they could have hung the blackened packs somewhere away from the tall grasses. Did you notice the remarkable insects that thrust injections into the putrid hanging meats?

I wouldn't wish it on the presidents behind closed doors. Anyway, let's have another adventure soon. Do please write me at your convenience so we can plan our travels. As of late, my free thoughts are consumed by the possibility we will encounter several distinct wrinkled sacks. If you casually slice the sacks with your hunting knife, you'll notice a shriveled wolf pack under duress. The best solution, I've heard, is to rubber-band just the tip of it until it ferments. Eventually the wrinkled wet sacks will recede, leaving no more than a writhing pile of mangled white flies and flapkicked, melted organ pelts.
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Those in this thread who disagree may be right about my foot placement, but the real issue here is that one can't expect to pin a horse whisperer to the hay and rub two salty limes into their sockets. I guess it's not impossible. I've just never heard of that happening.

If you want the truth, I can tell you that I recently let a shampooed, foamy mammal incubate the swollen flap glands in a tender way. But it backfired on me because as they heated up and became clarified, they finally ruptured into my mouth and that set off all the alarms in the building until the wheezing pickpocket was let loose. The steaming worm-like appendage disturbed the pack of flies, encouraging them to disembowel the swarming idiots on the blue tarp in the research building. There was nothing I could do about it.
 
crossfittn said:
I can't get my mind off that endless paddling of blackened flap packs; just hanging in the wind. You can smell the dried urine when the breeze blows through them.

I thought I could handle it. I've played pit pit tea party with a ghost. I've eaten all of the greens and was still ready to unwrap the package. You pushed me too far this time though. I guess in this letter, my point of concern is that you felt it necessary to jump on the flap pack bandwagon, and registered me without asking first. Please discuss it with me next time before you do something like that.

So, no, I couldn't handle that. It's worse than a fox hind. I never want to go back there again. It was dark and windy in the field and they could have hung the blackened packs somewhere away from the tall grasses. Did you notice the remarkable insects that thrust injections into the putrid hanging meats?

I wouldn't wish it on the presidents behind closed doors. Anyway, let's have another adventure soon. Do please write me at your convenience so we can plan our travels. As of late, my free thoughts are consumed by the possibility we will encounter several distinct wrinkled sacks. If you casually slice the sacks with your hunting knife, you'll notice a shriveled wolf pack under duress. The best solution, I've heard, is to rubber-band just the tip of it until it ferments. Eventually the wrinkled wet sacks will recede, leaving no more than a writhing pile of mangled white flies and flapkicked, melted organ pelts.
Click to expand...
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crossfittn said:
Those in this thread who disagree may be right about my foot placement, but the real issue here is that one can't expect to pin a horse whisperer to the hay and rub two salty limes into their sockets. I guess it's not impossible. I've just never heard of that happening.

If you want the truth, I can tell you that I recently let a shampooed, foamy mammal incubate the swollen flap glands in a tender way. But it backfired on me because as they heated up and became clarified, they finally ruptured into my mouth and that set off all the alarms in the building until the wheezing pickpocket was let loose. The steaming worm-like appendage disturbed the pack of flies, encouraging them to disembowel the swarming idiots on the blue tarp in the research building. There was nothing I could do about it.
Click to expand...
 
crossfittn said:
endless paddling of blackened flap packs;
just hanging in the wind.
dried urine
the breeze blows
pit pit tea party with a ghost.

I've eaten all of the greens.
you jump on the flap pack bandwagon,
and registered me

So, no, I couldn't handle that.

a fox hind.
dark and windy in the field
they hung the blackened packs somewhere
away from the tall grasses.

remarkable insects
thrust injections
putrid hanging meats

I wouldn't wish it on the presidents.

let's have another adventure
my free thoughts are consumed by wrinkled sacks
casually slice the wolf pack under duress.

rubber-band it
it ferments.
the wrinkled wet sacks will recede
leaving mangled white flies
and flapkicked, melted organ pelts.
Click to expand...
With a bit of inspired editing, it reads like abstract poetry. I like it.

I nominate crossfittn as Wicked Fire's official poet Laureate.
 
BlueYonder said:
With a bit of inspired editing, it reads like abstract poetry. I like it.

I nominate crossfittn as Wicked Fire's official poet Laureate.
Click to expand...

I second your nomination, though I think the original unabridged version is best since it reads like something out of a surreal horror movie.

How do you play pit pit tea party with a ghost anyway OP? Can you explain it to us?
 
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