This week I'm at my parents', helping them build some stuff so I can make enough money to stay at my current apartment. We were just hanging out, eating breakfast I think, when my dad told me about Clark's "after death" doings. If you don't remember who Clark the Sheep is, that's okay because I'm including that part of the story here as well. I'll post this, then post the sequel once I've finished.
[center]DEATH[/center]
There was this whole drama thing that happened between the sheep, and my parents decided to end one for the sake of the others.
So basically, Clark had his manliness removed, and he was supposed to keep Jack company. It's Jack's job to impregnate all the *****es and hoes, but I guess even a playa can get lonely sometimes. After they moved to my parent's new property, all the sheep were put right next to each other, but separated into different pens, with Clark on one side with some *****es and Jack on the other side with the kiddies. Now for some reason Clark started fighting with Jack through the fence, and Jack was so pumped up on sheep 'roids that he ripped these 6 inch bolts out of the gate post and pillaged and raped his way across the pen.
Then they butchered Clark. \_(0_o)_/
Sounds more like the Epic of Jack.
At this point, Clark cannot do anything more epic than RIPPING OUT ****ING BOLTS AND RAPING OTHER SHEEP
oh man this is getting HOT
[center]POST-DEATH[/center]
Clark's blood was spread across the lands. The bullet that stopped his heart dropped some of it on the ground where his last breath still lingered. The blade that severed his head poured it onto the rock bed where it stood on sharp points. The rock bed splashed it onto the grass, and onto more ground, where it either sat in dark pools or soaked plant life and soil with its platelets.
The Slaughterers tried to clean the Blood of Clark with a rushing tide of water, but Clark's blood stood firm and did not mix. Instead, the blood seeped beneath the dirt and the rock bed and lay there, waiting.
Long after the Slaughterers had left with the Body of Clark, and while the Blood of Clark pooled in the deepest parts, a victim came. At a glance, the victim appeared small and furry. A closer look reveals the victim wore a small mustache and a red sweater. A rascal Scottish Terrier. Dressed in his keeper's favorite dog-sweater, more a symbol of his keeper's obsession than anything, Gus skipped along the ground, happy to be outside. He stopped, sniffed the ground, and resumed his skip, no longer remembering that he had ever wanted to stop for any reason.
Gus the Victim traveled 'round the barn, past the rocky bed, and across the small field to the house. There he whimpered and ran in circles as he waited for Maximillion the Great to emerge from his temple doors. When no one appeared, Gus scampered back towards his keeper as though something had bitten him. But this time, Clark was not going to let him return home unscathed.
An overpowering odor suddenly filled Gus' nostrils. Blood. Gus would have wondered why he had not noticed the smell before if had he ever wondered anything at all. Alas, poor Gus galloped straight towards the smell without a backwards glance, and began thoughtlessly digging up the rocky bed. Here he found his prize, set afire in nerve ending explosions surrounding the most primal region of his brain. Lapping up the blood, Gus mindlessly set into motion Clark's Last Stand.
Approximately 5 seconds later, Gus' pitifully lacking brain sent him running towards his keeper. Along the way, he stopped numerous times to smell anything that caught his eye. The same sticks, patches of grass, and rocks that always caught his eye, but never offered him anything. Once at the door of his keeper's home, Gus whined and ran in triangles, impatiently waiting for the flood of praise that would follow once the doors opened.
Clark's head, now sitting in a pile of other, lesser, sheep heads, remained almost motionless as a grin slowly spread across his face.
Heaven's Gate opened in front of Gus, and his keeper came into his view, but her reaction put Gus into shock. His keeper screamed, mouth open, one hand lamely covering the gaping hole. She continued screaming as Gus slowly regained his senses. Gus smiled happily and jumped towards his keeper, only managing to get his nose wiped across the bottom of her pant leg. Blood. Gus looked at the blood, then at his keeper's face, still open and wavering with terror, then ran past his keeper and through the hallway. Trailing blood, he ran.
Clark's body shivered, skinned and bare as it was, and knew that its final deed had been done. In Clark's empty eyes remained the image of a small dog with a bloodstained face carrying his red seed and spreading it throughout a pristine home. The keeper's screams fed the grin on Clark's dead face until it was his turn in the grinder.
Can't rep.
Neither can I.
Hahaha, way to go, Clark.
GOLDMINE THIS POST
What a clever sheep. Jack knew you would think it was all Clark's doing.
das sheep ist krieg
Finally someone repped me. now I can know my toils were not in vain
WORDS MEAN NOTHING, REP REIGNS SUPREME
Me telling you that I was going to rep you is greater than being blessed by Jesus himself. You should be greatful.
EDIT: SINCE WHEN IS JESUS CENSORED?!
[spoiler]Answer: Never.[/spoiler]
jesus
OHHHHH you got me
Jack reminds me of a friend of mine.
It's funny because his horns are growing in too close to his face, so pretty soon he'll start hurting himself pretty badly if he decides to ram concrete walls like he used to.
My parents will probably kill him before that, though. They've got a new up-and-coming pimp named Amos. He's awesome. Just sits there and wags his tail while you brush him. :3
then he'll be killed too!
NO HE WON'T, SHUT UP
he's gonna live forever. wagging his tail... FOREVER.
I refused to read this thread for a long time since I assumed you wanted to talk about some old book or something
then I clicked on it and realized it was just a lot of tl;dr
then I realized whatever it is he's saying is funny or something
and now I have to read it sometime that's not now
PHRASE YOUR THREADS BETTER FAGGOT WUARGH
slade's super long posts are typically the only ones worth reading. Gold.
MORE COMING SOON!
I never feel like writing until I spend all day smelling sheep **** and concrete dust. There might be up to 3 more on the way including two entries in a new series I'm calling "Daydreams..." and another in "The Sheep Chronicles" which will probably be an account of special things happening here at the farm. Special, deadly things.
or maybe not
no, definitely.
slade, i would buy a book of your memoirs
[center]The Sheep Chronicles
Part I[/center]
I slowly opened my eyes. Long, lazy clouds crawled across a reddish sky. My arms and legs were outstretched, and I lay on my back. Sandy, wasted ground stretched for miles in every direction. I noticed a strange light on my fingertips, and then my arms, and then my chest. When it reached my eyes, I looked up for the source; An enormous alien sign rose steadily from the horizon. With its ascension I could hear muffled voices all talking at once. Some argued, others spoke in even tones, and the sign rose higher until its shifting light covered the ground all around my body. I tried to rise or back away, but there was no cover. As I stared in the direction of the sign, I could see two figures in the distance. One appeared to be leaning over, and the other carried a staff.
The voices swelled, and one rose above the others.
Don't stop... believing...
Journey blasted from the radio alarm clock across the room. Fuuuuuuuuck. I quickly regretted setting the volume so high and putting the alarm clock so far away, but I was pleased with the song that happened to be playing. Well, to a certain extent.
7:00 AM. It was another early morning, but it got far too hot in the afternoons to start working any later. For the last week I had been doing finishing work on the barn at my parent's house while they visited friends in another state. As far as I could tell, they stuck me with the worst jobs possible. Every afternoon I sweated in the 90 degree heat as I nailed, sawed, and screwed all my energy into the huge barn. The sheep barn. The ever-present smell of ammonia and sheep **** kept me in a constant state of regret.
The sheep themselves were no big problem. Sure, most of them were terrified of people and acted like your typical "sheep." Run when the others run, eat when they eat, and complain any time another sheep does. But a couple acted more like dogs than anything else. Good old Amos and Gilligan. Sometimes I would only notice their presence when they softly nuzzled my arm with their nose. They'd stare with those terribly blank eyes until I started scratching their chin, at which points their tails would twitch violently.
Speaking of their eyes, they had been bothering me a little bit. On several occasions I noticed a gleam of green or purple in their irises, and the irises themselves seemed to be taking on a strange shape. Or had they always been that way? Anyway, the sheep stared. A lot. And I found it increasingly hard to look away, to the point where I once stared at a sheep for several minutes without blinking. I tried breaking the tension by calling its name and complimenting it's shaggy coat, but the sheep continued to stare fiercely. Power seemed to be hidden in the sheep's eyes. Not to mention they looked bizarrely familiar...
This particular morning, the sheep didn't bother me at all. I was up high on a ladder, nailing metal strips to the exterior barn wall and painting over them with primer. Even though I was working within the pen, I hadn't seen or heard a single sheep. In fact, it was completely quiet. "...Wait a second, that's impossible." The sheep were always moving, eating, calling out to each other, or otherwise making noises, but it was completely still; The silence was only broken by the repeated striking of my hammer against nail head. I stopped and shifted my weight so I could turn around easily on the ladder. Suddenly, I wasn't sure whether to climb up higher or jump off the ladder and run.
The sheep were all in the field as they should be, but their behavior was unreal. All sixteen of them were facing me and standing in evenly spaced columns and rows. Not a single one blinked. This time there was no doubt their eyes glowed with a changing light. I was paralyzed, frozen in a braced position on the ladder. Two of the sheep moved forward and attacked the bottom of the ladder in a well executed pincer movement. It toppled, throwing my body onto the ground, and still I could not move. I watched helplessly as three or four sheep then grabbed onto my pant legs with their teeth and began dragging me further into the field.
A struggle seemed to slow the sheep's progress because two let go of my legs. The sheep who started the fight then stumbled over and looked at me straight in the face. It was Amos, the only sheep I could call my own. His eyes flashed yellow, and I felt movement come back to my limbs. I stood and ran, terrified, back to the house. On the way, I hopped three fences, once of which was electric, but I remembered none of it once I arrived inside. Breathing hard, I panicked and passed out.
Again, I had the same dream I had been experiencing for the last week. Dry wasteland, huge flashing sign, two figures in the distance. Except this time, when I woke up, I felt renewed with energy and insight. The dream's semi-political, semi-religious meaning was so clear to me now. I knew then that I had only one purpose. From the perspective of anyone who may have been observing, I snapped.
"COMPLETELY LOST IT," I said aloud as I paced between living room and kitchen. "ZONKERS, CRAZY. THEY'LL THINK I'M CRAZY." I grinned. I knew the objective of my final mission.
who lives in a pineapple under the sea?
spongecock squareballs
JUST... JUST LEAVE ME HERE!
buddy i wanna rep you pretty bad
OOPS
I forgot to say "to be continued"
if i could, id shower you with cu-er, rep
reminder to read this later
[00:59] Keto The Great: hey best friend
[00:59] Zyzex Remix: hi
[00:59] Keto The Great: how's it goin buddy??
[00:59] Zyzex Remix: pretty tired, not sure why I'm not in bed
[01:00] Keto The Great: because you were destined to talk to me first
[01:00] Keto The Great: here's what you do
[01:01] Keto The Great: kill your roommates, spill their blood on a pentagram, and call out "CLAAAAAAAARK... CLAAAAAAAAAARK"
[01:01] Keto The Great: he will be risen
[01:01] Keto The Great: the time is now
[01:01] Zyzex Remix: why would I want clark back? he was a pussy faggot
[01:02] Zyzex Remix: you make me sick
[01:02] Meebo Message: Zyzex Remix is offline
For some reason I thought this story would be told in a trilogy. Looks like it'll be in two parts. I'll probably get on it this weekend.
Here's an old picture of Clark I found at my parent's house. I'm the badass in the background frowning upon the shearing of his magnificent coat. Afterwards I gathered his sheddings into a bag, wove them into twine, and attempted to hang myself.
[IMG]http://i11.photobucket.com/albums/a188/ketoman77/100_0075.jpg[/IMG]
Oh man, double-whammy lol right there.