Carlos stood staring at Marcy, wondering if she was being honest or just playing more of her boring mind games. He sent a few curiously strong hate glares her way, but she didn't budge.
"Yes. Hit me as hard as you can. Hit me with your fist."
"Allright, I mean, you are my sister. Family first."
Just as he began to wind back his dangerously delicious carmel apple punch fist he realized the trap she had cleverly laid. In walked Tall Paul with a menacing gull on his shoulders and a large rifle. It was covered in death candy, all black and cold-stoned. His face looked like Carlos's bowls, tight and full of shit, but at the same time very dangerous.
"Paul, I - I - I don't understand... Marcy?"
"Marcy's dead, you son of a bitch." TP exclaimed, shooting Marcy in the face with a masterfully sweeping vintage rifle sling. "She's dead because of you."
All of a sudden everything did some switch-up shit and no one was where they were before. Marcy was dancing on some ceiling somewhere, Tall Paul was now Short Lucy. She was giving out taffy to homeless dogs, and those dogs were satisfied. Carlos immediately knew he was dreaming, so he decided to wake up.
Just then Carlos woke the fuck up real quick, covered in sweat and various salts. He reached for the remote on the nightstand, fumbling around like a prairie dog on meth, and eventually found it. He thumbed around for the buttons, but something felt different. Suddenly changing the channels had become more fleshy.
"Oh my fucking God!" Carlos shrieked as he caught a glance of his "remote," which was actually a human penis. He looked at it for several moist moments of glorious horror, then, turning it over, he found a note:
Dear Carlos,
Confused? You should be, because you are an idiot. You don't even know anything about the world. You claim to be some kind of intellectual bullshit dude with a brain of gold, but you're as stupid as a new born child. Comprehensively speaking, you're about as far along as the shit I'm taking as I write you this note.
Don't you see what you've become? Lazy, plain, thick-headed and fucking fuck-brained. You deserve this gift. You deserve it more than Hitler, or Muesli, or whoever else killed people. Fuck you.
You are trapped here with me, buddy. You will never wake up. Not really. Welcome to your wildest dreams, for fucking ever.
Regards,
Martin "Tall Paul" Bungerton
PS: If you talk to Quentin, tell him you have his penis.
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