- ESErandir
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- Exalted Heroic Member
According to other people's signatures, 98% of America has tried or is addicted to marijuana. If you are part of the 95% of the people who don't live in America, then add this to your signature.
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Posted by: Demigod333
This is the Demigod's simple guide to using violence, Thank You and Please come again and Ring the bell if your MEAL OF VIOLENCE WAS THE LEET!!1!!!111one!!three111Q!!
You know, I was in Tescos once (true story) and I thought I saw an ODST. So I ran over and was like "Hay, r u n oDST can I haz reecons plox??!!111!!!" He turned, and gave me an odd stare from underneath his helmet.
"Do you know who I am?" he boomed.
"No, sir" I replied, quailing in my boots.
In one swift motion, he tore off his helmet, an enormous afro bursting from beneath, headband tied sloppily around the bottom. I stared into the eyes of a man I'd seen many a time on TV, in the covers of albums, docu-films about the 60s in pretentious arthouse cinemas.
"I'M JIMI HENDRIX BEEEEEATCH!!!!!!"
I ran screaming as he whipped out a fine white Telecaster; the thwum-thwum of the strings building as he swang his instrument at all the yummy mummies pushing prams down the tofu isle, the chavs nicking toys from the Barbie section, the stoners shambling along the bakery. I dived into a circular clothes hanger, drawing the size 16 dressing gowns around me, quivering like a rabbit chased by a fox, or a fox chased by the red-coated members of the Bullingdon Gentelmen's Club. Outside I could here the maniacal screams of the Guitar God, the crack of skulls under fine poplar and footsteps fleeing the supermarket of death.
For six whole hours I hid in that hell of polyester and cotton shirts, grannies' blouses and salesmen's trousers, hoping that I would be forgotten about, praying that the Creator of Awesome Solos would pass me by. Someone Up There was watching me that day, for about 10 minutes into the seventh hour, I heard the crack of gunfire, the wail of a final, drawn-out bend on the 12th fret of the high E, then silence...
I crawled from my sanctuary into a different world. Shelves were toppled, food was spread all over the place; granary loves floating in a sea of jam; on the corner, some broken eggs, milk, flour, sugar and cocoa powder had consolidated into a cake in the shape of a semi-quaver; in the fresh foods section, bodies were draped in bits of cabbage; here and there survivors picked their way through the debris, policemen and ambulance workers helping the wounded and the maimed.
"Jesus," I thought, "I only came here for some bacon."
[Edited on 06.06.2009 6:12 AM PDT]