BigJimsWornOutTires
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Then the next day, Martin Short’s daughter did the same:
Bipolar disorder is a motherfucker. You can take medicines for it while they destroy your organs. Or you can embrace the condition, though schizophrenia is another story. Medicines don’t do shit, but they could kill you. Living in the city with this illness is a massive, complicated, and juicy pickle.
Not many survive.
But one feller, ugh, he took both conditions and baited the instigators for such spiritual despondency. The demons came fast to feast. Suddenly, to their incredulity, he hogtied each one and stuffed a black leather ball into their mouths. Taking in a gulp of air, he packed one by one up his ass. Oh, boy, did they fight back. The leading asshole of human despair, BarbieDoo, he screamed, “The fuck is wrong with you, nigga?” Ugh, there was no escape from their incredible finale.
He was supposed to have killed himself. Or at least, gone ER on unsuspecting society, according to 10 out of 10 government-funded doctors. An overdose would have done the trick! Instead, the Skitzo of Mania pulled an old card that hadn’t been used in a long, long time. Belief was more powerful than potions and words.
The next day, he felt a hell of release. Instead of taking cash cow pills, which are potions, hence Mother Nature mixed with oil byproducts, he turned his body into a biological jackhammer. Ah, yes, he pushed himself to the limits.
As time carried on, the restless demons tried their damnedest to escape. “No can do,” the Keeper said. Indeed, a voice of the few that wasn’t demonic.
“I don’t care if you talk to yourself,” the Beauty of the Garden of Evermore whispered to the skitzo. “I think it’s cool.”
Cool? Ugh. It’s a clever curse passed down through generations. He assured himself. Though substituting brain stabbers and organ rapists for intimacy and kisses was an ingenious concept, he discovered. And the demons, now worn out from the agony, didn’t once stop persuading for panic—fright—violence—any roller coaster of spontaneous acts.
Tap tap tap tap tap tap tap tap tap tap tap tap tap tap tap tap tap tap tap tap tap.
Ah, yes, that card.
Thump.
Thump.
Thump.
Alone in the woods, a voice cried, “The Books are coming.”
“My god,” another voice spoke. “They’re full of words.”
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