In Chaotic Prose, everybody writes the stories. Nobody knows (not even me) who writes which parts. It's all completely anonymous.
There are a few ground rules that I want everybody to observe:
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Staring at himself in the mirror through gritty eyes while he brushed his teeth, Peter made a mental note to buy more food for his goldfish, Diana. He had been meaning to pick up another bottle for the past two weeks, but now it was critical. Last night he had shaken the last of the flakes into the little tank. Diana had greedily pounced on the floating bits with uncanny efficiency, as usual. "I've kept that thing alive for almost two years," he thought. "It would be a shame to let her starve to death now." He spat into the sink and reached for the shaving cream.
"What the hell?" In the sink, mingled with the usual toothpaste foam, was some spots of blood. He hooked his finger on his cheek and peered into the still foggy mirror but he would not see where the blood had come from. Rinsing his mouth over and over again, he looked for more signs of bleeding, but there were none. He crammed some toilet paper in his mouth but that resulted in nothing but a mess. Shaking his head, he wiped the corners of his mouth and headed out.
After performing the morning rituals Peter made his way to work. "Hmm, I wonder if I should make an appointment with the doctor" he thought as he absent mindedly made his way past the pet store. Peter would also fail to notice the slight trickle of blood from his ear until Suzy pointed it out at the office.
Peter started to feel panicky. His mouth was still bleeding, his ear was oozing a steady trickle of blood, and now he noticed a scaly rash forming on the back of his hands. Suzy looked more than a little nervous, "I really think you'd better let me take you to the emergency room." Peter started to respond, but he had no voice! No sound emitted from his quivering, puckering lips. He was like a dying fish gasping for air! He knocked over his office chair as he frantically moved towards Suzy. "Dammit!" said the chair.
Peter spun around on his heals. "What did you say?" Suzy just looked at Peter dumbfounded. "Peter, I said 'I should take you to..."
"No, not you, the chair. What did you say?" Peter exclaimed.
The seven dwarfs marched in from the break room whistling a tune that smelled like chocolate, and Jesus was standing in the nude behind Suzy, giving her rabbit ears. Suzy's increasingly purple voice was gumming up his ears with the taste of pizza. Peter was floating and the lights were dimming, and then the floor rushed up to kick him in the head.
As Peter drifted in and out of consciousness, he heard the chair angrily shriek, "I'm sick and tired of him always sticking his skinny ass in my face,and now he's attacking me physically. I've had it. I'm leaving. I'm filing a report with OSHA, and you're not going to see me around here anymore! You can't pay me enough to stay here and put up with this crummy job!" The dwarves and naked Jesus nodded their heads in silent agreement.
Somewhere in the distance Peter heard the screaming sirens of an ambulance drawing closer and closer.
The last thing Peter heard before blacking out was "Eh Steve!". It struck him odd at the time, but he would not remember it for several days. By then it would do him no good. The last thing he saw was a patch of old chewing gum stuck under his desk. This he would remember immediately upon coming to, but it, being completely irrelevant to the story, would do him no good either.
As the ambulance rushed Peter to the hospital, naked Jesus and the seven dwarves waved goodbye to him and wished him well. Jesus was up to his old tricks behind Grumpy's back, and Grumpy turned to give him a glaring look. Suzy and someone named Steve were busy making the chair's life a little more miserable. Somewhere in Peter's mind was the thought that Diana would die without him. However, in view of his own turn of events, he decided he could care less.
Immediately following his previous thought, Peter realized that he in fact <i>couldn't</i> care less about Diana's fate. He cared about the silly fish's fate at an absolute minimum already. He spent the next three seconds of his delirium reflecting on the fact that he marked up his thoughts with HTML.
Peter felt the ambulance finally pull to a stop. The doors opened and he saw a chainsaw weilding carpenter in a artist's smock. The carpenter put down the chain saw and appologized to Peter, motioning to the newly rennovated overhang outside the Ambulatory entrance to the emergency room. The carpenter stepped aside as the emergency room staff wheeled out a long black padded gourney with white linens atop the padding which looked as though they had been bleached with the intent of hiding the blood stains in them. The nurse helped the medics move peter from the amubalnce onto the gourney which then moved inside the double doors of the front of the emergency department.
As soon as the door's to the emergency department closed behind Peter's gourney, the theme song to the hit television show E.R. began playing and some black dude started feeling peter up, as they moved Peter into a trauma room and spouting a bunch of random gibberish about a blood pressure cuff and a rectal thermometer. The E.R. nurses began feverishly tearing open what seemed to be random bags of bandages and scissors when one E.R. nurse shrieked at the top of her lungs. The black guy turned to the nurse, saw what she was holding and said "so THATS where i left it!". He carefully relieved her of the carpenter's chainsaw.
Dr. Negro positioned the chainsaw over Peter's midriff. One of the nurses leveled her gaze at him and said, "I hope to God you know what the hell you're doing."
"I've seen this sort of thing before." And with that, Dr. Negro buried the chiansaw deep in to the flesh of Peter's right leg.
Peter tugged in vain against the straps of the gourney. He yelled out for help, but his cries were muffled by a bleach smelling rag. He convulsed and finally passed out.
When he came to. He was in a white room. The hiss of the oxygen machine mixed with the beeping of the heart monitor to permeate the room with the steady rythm of a stable patient.
His eyes wandered around the room until they settled on a small jar resting on the opposite counter. In the jar with the formaldehyde was a small mole looking creature. The thing's fur was matted with blood. Its teeth poked out of its mouth at impossible angles, and something
(Oh God is that an ear? Dear sweet Jesus don't let that be an ear!)
poked out of the natty fur in its belly. To Peter, it looked like something straight out of Hell. "Did they take that from my body?" he wondered in horror. He tried to tear his eyes from the jar but the dead mole-thing held his gaze.
Mercifully, a green-haired nurse with "Boingsex" stenciled into her name tag pranced into the room, breaking the spell of the thing in the jar. "Oh, 'ello Luv! Noice ta see thatchouah awake foinally! Best you not look atchouah leg now, Dearie. 'As 'e got'ny questions, then?"
"What happened to me?"
"Oh, ye' had a nasty bit o' the *ACK *ACK *COUGHF*"
"Excuse me, I was in a community play last night and I sometimes have trouble leaving the character behind. What happened to you is that you had an Urielian brain mole in your leg. It's what made you crazy. If you noticed anything odd lately, it's because of that brain mole."
Peter was beginning to notice the absolute smoothness to the walls, the complete lack of any blemishes that he could use to tell one room from another. "Urielian Brain? Mole? What the hell is that?"
"I am afraid I can't tell you about the alien Urielites just yet."
"Alien? Where am I? What is this place." Peter jumped up to leave, but promptly fell over when his left leg failed to respond to his right brain.
Failed is really to harsh a word to use on a body part that is currently and ignorantly on it's way to the incinerator.
* * *
Meanwhile, back at Peter's house, Diana's little goldfish stomach was starting to rumble. She was getting angrier and angrier about being neglected. She had given Peter the best two years of her life, and now he'd dumped her! It had been days since she last saw him, and she was HUNGRY. She deserved better than this. She was 'fished off!'
Diana decided to 'take steps' about the situation. I can't be bothered with anything recently. It's not important. More or less nothing noteworthy going on right now, but I don't care. I've pretty much been doing nothing. Shrug.
"Wow," thought Diana. "I just got a craving for some SPAM!" She didn't think it in English words, of course. She was just a fish. But you get the idea. "Nay," she thought in her non-language, vague primitive animal way, "I must forsake the SPAM for the nonce, wherefore in its stead I must concentrate my miniscule intellect on finding a resolution to my immediate botheration." And with that, she proceeded to root around in the gravel for some morsels she may have missed. Hey! What was this buried in the gravel? It certainly wasn't something for a little girl fish to eat!
The jet-black object seemed to be about half her size and roughly spherical. Diana sensed a faint, low-frequency vibration from it. She dug out more of the tiny pebbles from around this surprising (but not to her, since she was just a goldfish) find, revealing it to be a small Urielian thought projector. Diana thought "What the hell is that?" and Mr. Tibbs, the cat, meowed back "I don't know." Diana never did like Mr. Tibbs and vowed to take advantage of the situation.
"Gold fish are yummy." thought Diana. Just then Mr. Tibbs looked over at Diana and licked his lips. "Gold fish are the best thing in the world to eat." "You are so hungry." "Starving."
Mr. Tibbs sundered over to the fish bowl and dipped his paw into the bowl. "NO! Do not fish me out like a kitten. Charge at me with your teeth like a lion!" Diana thought screamed at Mr. Tibbs.
"Nooooooooooooooo!" sweat poured down Peter's face as he sat up in his bed. He looked around and slowly began to recognize his bedroom. A dream? It was all a dream? With a soft thud, he fell back onto his overstuffed down pillow and whispered to himself, "No more anchovy pizzas before bed!"
"He accepted the bedroom illusion perfectly" said Major Berjo the Urielian Scientist. He will never suspect he has been removed from his "Earth".
"This is torture. . .it is wrong, even for a low intelligent life form." thought Myra, his assistant. She stared at the tortured face of Peter and wished she could somehow soothe him. Her heart was wrenching as she wrestled with her dilemma. Berjo was ignorant of her anguish. She had trained herself not to let her feelings show. Since the tyrant Blagbert had taken the Urielian throne and ordered the execution of all alien sympathizers, or "vermon lovers," Myra had pretended to be heartless. Aloud, she said, "Has that idiot Boingsex been terminated yet?" Secretly, she had applauded Boingsex when she heard that the other had tried to give Peter some idea of his real predicament. It meant death for Boingsex, of course. "At least she's not a coward like me," thought Myra as she maintained uncaring features on her face.
Little did Myra know that Boingsex and Blagbert had shared a romantic evening together ages ago, long before he attained any of the political prowess he now wields. They were young and neither of them had any expectaions of a future together. But Blagbert has never forgotten that night in Myxx Provence.
Myra was jolted out of her thoughts as Peter suddenly bolted from his bed. He ran, naked, out of his bedroom, down the hall and into the kitchen. He opened this drawer and then that, searching.
Poor Peter was in a hell of a dilemma. Hopping around naked on his one leg in a strange and scary place is no small accomplishment. But he was driven on by his now complete state of terror. If he didn't get out of this place, who knew what would happen to him next! Then Peter spotted something that gave him a ray of hope.
Propped in the corner of the little dining room was his missing leg. "Of course!" cried Peter. "That's where I left it." He hopped over to it and fitted it back into its socket.
Then Peter snatched a chef's coat, threw it on, and ran like the wind down the hallway, down the stairs, and down to the street below. Peter ran, ran, ran and never looked back. Soon the streets had a familiarity to them and he began to get his bearings. Peter was headed for home. He kept moving, rushing through city traffic, and ignoring all signals. Cars blared their horns at him and people shrieked with anger as they flipped him the bird. Peter noticed nothing. He was focused on getting back to his apartment and no other thought penetrated his now nearly complete state of terror.
Vrroooooooooooooom! A huge bus ran Peter down.
It was driven buy a bus driver with a glazed look in his eye, with a little fish bowl in his lap. ..
"Our brain augmentation program worked perfectly" thought Mr. SunBubbles "the subject has complete control over the pilot of that earth vehicle."
"With this technology, we shall free our people Mr. SunBubbles! Your dream is close at fin."
* * *
The alarm clock squealed like a crazy cock-eyed koala, and Boingsex stirred to wakefullness. The sweet, cozy remnants of dream fell from her mind, leaving nothing but cold reality. She sat up with a start. Today, she remembered, was the day that she lost her virginity 10 years ago. That is, if being ear-banged by a heron's beak counts, she corrected herself. But then she decided it doesn't matter, because 10 minutes after "losing her virginity" to the heron, she jumped on that hunk of a Urielite she had been so in lust with for the last 3 cycles. She congratulated herself for putting that minow in her hear. It was slimy, but well worth it.
The doorbell rang in a manner very unlike a koala would ring, sane or otherwise. Boingsex was not expecting a visitor at this time of day.
"Delivery for Professor Dilatry!" Forthwith, he kicked her widdewl kitty out of the way with a "Scram, ye' treacherous spawn o' Christ!" and dropped the huge gift-wrapped box he'd been carrying to the floor with a thump.
The box began to ooze a brown black tarry substance from one of the corners where the fall had apparantly ripped the box. The smell was suffocatingly sweet and nauseating all at the same time. "Goddamn it! What the fuck?"
Is this Grandma's chocolate covered tuna balls again?
"Who said that?" demanded the delivery man. He looked around with quick, birdlike head movements, like he was some kind of bird or something.
They smell gooey and salty.
"Wha...?" His face became a mask of stark fear. He stumbled backwards towards the door, unwilling to turn his back on the room. He slammed the door once he was through. Boingsex heard running footsteps receding from the front door, and a moment later the sound of the delivery truck's engine, and finally screeching tires.