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    Default The End is Nigh - IC [M]

    Rated M: Drugs, adult material, romance, violence, gore, swearing, and other gnarly stuff. Absurd Satire and Twisted Humor

    The End is Nigh

    Seattle, Washington,Schlachter Home

    2:30 pm, February 12th, 2014

    Seattle, was not the same place any more. The streets seemed dizzyingly empty or crowded because of the looting of all the sinners not taken by the rapture. The sky had turned a hue of fiery orange, as a spinning sky tornado vortex, whirled above all the buildings and all the homes. Spitting out whatever impossible possible possibility it could out of it. There were no soldiers or super heroes to count on to save this dying world. That eventually would be stuck in the void.

    That is if people put their faith in a gathering occurring. Three months ago, everyone was living a normal life. Going to work and being pleasantly unpleasant to each other because of all the different beliefs boiling into a tipping point. Emerging from this wreckage, was the supertrash of this world.

    They were called the Social Justice Warriors and they were something beyond that. They weren’t super heroes, nor were they soldiers. Simply philosophical slackers, who just ended up having the powers that might just save the world.

    While some claim the universe doesn’t choose, decide fate, or decide a destiny. The simple fact was, why did the universe put faith in these washed out, recycled hazbins. Some would claim there was no answer. Others would claim it was some kind of divine intervention. Some divine will. Perhaps God’s Will. Perhaps the Universe’s will.

    Not really would some say.

    The relationship between the SJW had fragile tension. To be honest the individuals had only met ever twice in their lives. And this would be the first, very important meeting of the group.



    The Schlachter home was small, and gray. It seemed the right size for the group of people coming over to visit. The smell of oatmeal cookies was mixing with the smell of heavy tobacco smoke, and the smell of the outside for the windows were open. The fiery vortex left a lingering fiery, BBQ smell in the air. The Schlachter family wasn’t really sure how to prepare for the first important meeting of their group. They only met the others, what like a month ago?

    Spoiler: Stupid Place for a Meeting 


    The SJW were some kind of interesting group of individuals. You had some dude with big glasses, that gave him big eyes, but he was extremely, almost unnecessarily ripped. He was a joke of a human being if you asked anyone who met this extreme caricature. Artair would have said an individual like that would be impossible to actually exist. Yet, that very individual was coming to their house.

    Then you had this uptight feminist bitch, with her pussy whipped boyfriend. Hard to explain how she both had the look of a typical feminazi with class. And her boyfriend was just stubborn as ever, skeptical to every word they spoke. He liked shutting down the ideas of other people and stealing their words.
    Than there was Mable and him. The typical, typical. Average couple, with broken past. Artair lit another smoke, while listening for the door. There was a sign out in front, written in whatever crayola marker colors they had left: Welcome Come Inside, Door is Unlocked.

    “Don’t smoke down your whole pack,” Mable’s voice could be heard in the kitchen.

    She was having a great difficulty with the oven. Her oatmeal cookies smelled delicious, though she was afraid she might have made too much. Looking out the window, she saw the group gathering outside, coming towards their door.

    She didn’t know what to make of them. She heard Artair cough, but she didn’t mention anything.

    “They are here, be on your best behavior,” she was of course speaking to the cats. Waiting for the door to open.

    As it did the pouring of the strange, wonderful, and weird walked into their home. Mable gleefully, cheerfully greeted everyone. Except, they only ever met one time, and she was not very good with names. Stumbling in her brain, she tripped over the first she was pretty sure, “D-” she mumbled, hopefully just announcing D would allow her to appropriately and socially slide under the radar on this one.

    “Anna,” she got that one because the last impression she got on Anna was impressionably, negative, that the name imprinted on her. It said stay away from this bitch.

    “And...I got it….Ne..Nate,” Mable flubbed, she knew it because he raised an eyebrow. A skeptical one at that.

    “Neal,” Neal corrected her.

    Artair on the other hand simply watched as the strangers grouped into their home. He didn’t bother to remember their names. Just because at the time it didn’t seem like an important skill set to do so. He inhaled and then exhaled his cigarette chemical cocktail.

    “Have a seat, we kicked the cats off the couch for today,” Artair said, “As long as you don’t mind your ass cheeks getting all types of cat hair stuck to them.”

    Artair cleared his throat one more time. His throat was coated in the dry deserts of nicotine. He looked at Mable.

    “I made cookies,” Mable said excitedly, “I’ll go ahead and make some tea too. Does that sound all right with everybody?”

    “Sounds good,” Artair told Mable, as she ducked into the kitchen, there was an oppositional glare from Anna, “So, welcome to our home. This is the first essential meeting of the Social Justice Warriors. So there’s no arguments I took position of being the leader. No complaints. This isn’t a democracy in my house. I hosted the meeting here. I am the leader, since none of yous offered your house. Or your oatmeal cookies.”

    It wasn’t a democracy in his house, but he wasn’t a republican either. He just wanted to rush this meeting on over. Because if there was one thing that got boring quickly. Was a meeting that went on for way longer than it should.

    Sitting in his recliner, he was staring at these sorry asses for even showing up. If they had been smart, they would have not shown up like the others. How did he, the man who believed there was no master plan, end up organizing the meeting to save the world?

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    Co-post brought to you buy Clyde and Minkasha

    Dylan flipped over the couch in an athletic execution unnecessary for the meeting, a flying roll of hair and muscle until, like a monkey, he landed on his knees before the company sitting on the fur riddled couch to nab one of the cinnamon raisin oatmeal cookies from the table and also snatching another. He stood up straight and stared at their new leader, slowly putting one of the cookies in his mouth after a small lip bite and pull.

    “I can’t wait to see what you can do as leader” He said with a wink, crunching loudly and a few crumbs finding their way on his chin, maybe one or two ending up in the strands of his wild hair.

    Artair grabbed a cookie as well, watching this clown jump on his furniture. That’s….he didn’t give permission for him to treat his furniture that way. Artair took in a long drag of his cigarette, and then let at a slow exhale. Almost like he was playing with the smoke pillowing towards the ceiling. He had to disconnect the fire alarms or else they’d set off every time he smoked.

    “Could, you not do that to my furniture? Only people allowed to do that aren’t people at all, they are my 10 and 13 pound cats, not a what….130 pound white male,” Artair said slowly.

    “We should respect what the human condition can do, it’s alright” Dylan reason, shrugging and enjoying more of the cookies. “These were made pretty good, could be better, like everything human ahaha, but good. Thanks” He smiled.

    Artair gave a long drawn out expression. Never once had he wanted to light anyone on fire before, but he was creeping the silent arsonist in him. Artair flashed his lighter to light another cigarette as the other went dull from being smoked down to its very ass.

    “Do you always talk from your ass or is that just day?” Artair asked.

    “Now that’s just crazy talk, you’re funny” Dylan slapped a hand to his abs under his tank and laughed to himself a little, his cookie-free hand running up and down his hair to make it flourish and dance before sitting his ass down on the couch.

    Artair flickered his lighter one more time. I have fire. I have fire. He just gave a cold expression at first.

    “Are you here to produce a Loreal commercial?” Artair asked. Dylan scratched at his upper lip.

    “I thought we were having a meeting, not talking about the hair” He pointed it curiously.

    “Well the meeting would be more serious if you didn’t come in here with,” Artair raised a brow in thought, “your surfer bro persona.”

    “I know it’s in you to open your mind and really focus right now. You’re our leader, you gotta focus, man” Dylan encouraged with a slow nod.

    Neal had sat down quietly, only watching the exchange from the room. At first he wasn’t going to say anything, but it was beginning to give him a headache.

    “Never once have I been surrounded by so many idiots at once,” Neal mumbled to himself, but turned his attention at smokezilla, “Do you even have any credentials to make you qualified for this job?”
    “Not a damn single one,” Artair replied, “but, it’s my house you’re sitting in.”

    “Okay” Dylan snapped his hands together, finishing the last of two cookies and swept back his hair, the crumbs sailing somewhere into Artair’s carpet, “What’s the action plan for the SJWs?” He leaned forward to engage the team, enact the human spirit and bring it to its reasonable limits.

    Mable been in the corner of the kitchen, watching the back and forth. It was painful to watch, so she stepped in and smiled at D.

    “D! Hey you want to enact your human potential, help me with serving tea, how about that?” Mable asked with a high happy pitched voice.

    “Isn’t that kind of obvious? The meeting is just to lift morale or something. We just need to send every fucking demon back to the sky,” Artair replied.

    “You have a funny way of raising morale, maybe you could take a few tips from me. I’d love to help ya out. I do this for a living, or,” He smiled at Mable and Neal “Did, ha” He launched his hands over himself to the rim of the couch and used the core of his body to lift himself, and curl over the back of the couch to stand on his feet with another whip back of his hair to walk over to Mable.

    “I firmly stick to everyone creating their own purpose in life. I figure just hanging around each other and telling each other we care works well enough to raise morale,” Artair replied.

    Neal looked at Ann for a moment, they really done it now. Joined the circus. Except he couldn’t really tell her that.

    The world grew dark and cold, as the vortex began to get closer. It seemed like all time stood still, for the wait of an utter word. They were holding their bated breaths, and staring at the one individual who had not said a single word. Anna, had remained silent. She said, nothing. Just stared blankly with glossy, bloodshot eyes.

    “The demons are getting closer!” Yelled a voice in the vortex.

    “Everybody is going to die!” Yelled a voice in the vortex.

    “Jesus fuck christ say your line Anna!” Her husband Julian yelled at her.

    Yet, there was still silence. As the sky was getting darker. The thunder rolling. Darker and darker.

    “Fuck christ just speak Anna!” Artair yelled, “This is getting spoopy!” Dylan began to jump up and down with panic on the couch. Screaming fearfully he stared at their new leader for a course of action.

    “What can we do!?” He shouted across the livingroom to Artair.

    Artair leaned over and started to snap his finger in Anna’s face.

    “Say your line,” Artair said.

    “I don’t think she’s blinking,” Mable said.

    The sky was getting darker. And the house was beginning to rip open as Cthulu tentacle began to rip it open.

    Julian looked up, “They really are hammering the pressure.”

    “Fuck! Cut cut!” The lights turned on and the wind machine was thrown off. The plastic home set was just silently staring at the elephant in the room. Anna sitting on the couch. Saying not a word. Not blinking an eye, nor breathing. Julian pushed her shoulder and she simply slumped over.

    “I think she’s dead,” Julian said. Dylan ripped open her shirt, buttons flying each way and her bra exposed, he began to perform CPR on the woman.

    “Come back! Come back!”

    “Dylan what the fuck! She’s dead, she’s been dead for hours it seems, you cannot bring her back,” Artair said, “Jeez I didn’t want to see her boobs.”

    “I think I wretched a little bit,” Julian said, “Might be married to her in the show, but not in real life.”

    “I won’t accept this! She was just with us! Sitting down! No!” Dylan shook his head, pushing down, her breasts shaking in the cups of her bra and his lips smearing with her gloss as he kept trying to put air into her.

    “Dylan, I think you’re taking your character too far,” Artai said, “I think there needs to be a step back.”

    “I knew she had a problem, I just didn’t think it was that series,” Mable said, “Poor thing.”

    “Do we call the paramedics?” The director asked behind the camera. Dylan began weeping.

    “Call 911, I had so much hope. I loved her role!” He was the co-producer, he had accepted her audition, liked her ‘character’ that she presented from the sheet of lines to be read. She had so much promise to be a great actress, attending and acting with the others on set...but...it became...this….

    “Too far man,” Artair said, “But 911 is a great suggestion.”

    ---------------------

    “This is the famed footage of The End is Nigh set. After Anna’s family sued the director for negilegence,” said a blonde woman in a similar dress as another news reporter who wore a dress like that before she was promptly fired.

    “What do you think?” Asked a man with a ken style face, “We’re taking in Chirps from our viewers now. Do you think the cast is responsible for Anna’s death? Or did it ultimately befall her?”

    “Yes, we got a Chirp in,” the woman reporter wrote, “It’s from MyFat” -laughs- “I’m not saying that on air Myfatbadword 8935346 says, I think it ultimately falls on Anna. Clearly she was irresponsible.”

    “Excuse me,” said a womans voice off camera, “I’m a femminist and I think her character was so deep. It was clearly the men in her industry who drove her to this act.”

    “But you don’t think he heroin addiction drove her to this?” The other reporter asked.

    “The men made her do it,”

    The End is Nigh - The End Apparently - No Really The End

    RIP Anna Bellarose 2/25/2016-3/19/2016 in loving memory of her contributions

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