peculiar

A small local bar without much of a reputation usually makes for a nice amount of free space to act foolish in. however sometimes its ill repute might come for a reason. a woman of stature so large, that when she threatened to dance atop a pool table, it left me wondering, "what did that pool table ever do to you?" that poor billiards table. it must have never thought its fate would have been so gruesome. its carefully constructed leather bound corners shuddering beneath the behemoth of someone in the throes of a heartbroken drunken depression. the echoes of a murderous ex-boyfriend whose tormented test subject which had somehow broken free from its laboratory, and was now terrorizing the countryside. in this circumstance the countryside was being embodied by my two friends and myself. a siren had one friend caught in a paralyzing gaze, her smile bewitching him into next week. there was no hope for him, not after he noticed her shirt bearing the Nine Inch Nails logo, [NIN]. Ive never understood industrial music really, but after she failed to notice a popular song of theirs which he put on the digital jukebox, it was evident she didn't either. He had boldly walked into her lair fearing only her disapproval, and despite letting me know he was in complete control, i left behind the shell of my friend, strings attached to his every joint, a voluptuous puppet master dancing him across the stage. So we left him there at the bar, surrounded by strangers, with no more sense than a drunken buffoon trying desperately to get laid before 2am.

A wise man once told me, some saving throws simply weren't meant to be made. then you take full damage.

Hopefully this isn't his final farewell, my personal sayonara to him, a lazy blog post forced because the danger of him never getting to hang out is clearly your fault. why on earth would we leave him there? why would we let him willingly throw his short pathetic life down the tubes like toothpaste squeezed out over a sink? because he looked me in the eye and told me to, that's fucking why. then a few seconds later he calls me and tells me that he is on the way to my house. alive and with all of his limbs. hopefully all of his fingers and toes too.
its good to be alive. but its even better to be sane, or at least semi-cognizant.


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