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here is a story: i have a class in which i am required to write THINGS to my teacher for a grade every week. these are the only grades we get. this is easy until you realize you are about to say things to a 34 year old man with children and a wife you would not tell your best-pal, who is 17. like you. that's my story. i suppose it isn't a story-story as you would have it, as there is no determinable ending. and so forth. here is another story with an indeterminable ending: there are sorts who will put on their best colognes or whathaveyou and shirts so crisp and neat that the air surrounding them turns golden and shine-lines shoot out of em while they root to marroon pews and bend their neck-stalks down away from the sun. these are the most passive creatures you will ever meet. EVER, i say! they will fix you potluck-potatoes or bathe your cat or read books to you on the edge of your bed because you are trying to break from your morphine addiction, all this for you without question whilst a glorious smile of 2% milk colored teeth glows from potroast cheeks and eyes glazed as a shiny christmas ham. that's right, maybe they have a glowing yellowish tint as the color of my virgin mary nite-lite and smell like mother's arms and the word "COMFORT" shoots from them like bullets. or really like something less abrasive, say a "warm ray of shiny shiny sun." they are filled with shiny shiny jewels: the glorious shepherd, the anesthesiologist. then they take you aside and glaze your head over with moral codes over a plate of glazed ham and under their glazed stare. only robots have moral codes. i am filled with the shiny shiny words of michael stipe, "HAVE I MISSED THE GREAT REVEAL?" END.
by The JavaScript Source
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