BigJimsWornOutTires
Emerald
- Joined
- Feb 6, 2021
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A few years from now, an ORG feller will get bored with the isolation and decide that evening would be the night to go to a bar. Time to leave the nest!
An hour later, he sat on a stool peeling a label off a Bud Light. Ugh, public anxiety is a bitch. And speaking of that, an odd woman takes a seat beside him. Examining her facial features and skin pigment, he made a logical conclusion that she was from southern Asia.
"I'm Jaswanna," she greeted him. He returned his name and quickly chugged his beer.
With a fresh energy never experienced before, bravely, he stood and yelled to the bartender, "Two shots of your prime tequila, another beer, and whatever this exotic beauty wants." She giggled. He winked at her. Her eyes widened.
Six shots later, outside in the parking lot, he laughed with Jaswanna while resting against his car. She impersonated a man’s voice so comically as she said, "My pronouns are they/them." But something was odd about that last drink. Everything was spinning. He needed to sit. She opened the back door and helped him inside, but he fell face-first into the seat. He passed out cold.
Cracking an eye to a dark vinyl, his face brushed against an identical texture. A pain deep in his backside alerted trouble as his mouth gaped. He attempted to raise his head, but a hand pressed it back into the cushion. Ugh, that agonizing ache kept getting deeper. The heavy breathing behind him puzzled him. And his mouth hadn't closed! He passed out again.
A heat against his face awakened him. Opening his eyes, this time, everything was bright. The dark vinyl was the back of his blue driver's seat. He tried to sit up, but something restrained his legs. He wiggled backwards and fell to the ground on his bare knees. Ouchie-mouchie! It was concrete. He looked over to his ankles, and his pants encased them. A pain in his ass caused him to attend to it with his hand. His anus was opened!
He felt a crusty scab around it. He scratched a little off onto his fingers and investigated the substance. They're brown flakes. Ugh, it's dried-up shit!
Ah, yes, it looks like Miss Jaswanna was actually Mr. Rahul.
That was a metaphor of the incoming drones I call, Locusts.
An hour later, he sat on a stool peeling a label off a Bud Light. Ugh, public anxiety is a bitch. And speaking of that, an odd woman takes a seat beside him. Examining her facial features and skin pigment, he made a logical conclusion that she was from southern Asia.
"I'm Jaswanna," she greeted him. He returned his name and quickly chugged his beer.
With a fresh energy never experienced before, bravely, he stood and yelled to the bartender, "Two shots of your prime tequila, another beer, and whatever this exotic beauty wants." She giggled. He winked at her. Her eyes widened.
Six shots later, outside in the parking lot, he laughed with Jaswanna while resting against his car. She impersonated a man’s voice so comically as she said, "My pronouns are they/them." But something was odd about that last drink. Everything was spinning. He needed to sit. She opened the back door and helped him inside, but he fell face-first into the seat. He passed out cold.
Cracking an eye to a dark vinyl, his face brushed against an identical texture. A pain deep in his backside alerted trouble as his mouth gaped. He attempted to raise his head, but a hand pressed it back into the cushion. Ugh, that agonizing ache kept getting deeper. The heavy breathing behind him puzzled him. And his mouth hadn't closed! He passed out again.
A heat against his face awakened him. Opening his eyes, this time, everything was bright. The dark vinyl was the back of his blue driver's seat. He tried to sit up, but something restrained his legs. He wiggled backwards and fell to the ground on his bare knees. Ouchie-mouchie! It was concrete. He looked over to his ankles, and his pants encased them. A pain in his ass caused him to attend to it with his hand. His anus was opened!
He felt a crusty scab around it. He scratched a little off onto his fingers and investigated the substance. They're brown flakes. Ugh, it's dried-up shit!
Ah, yes, it looks like Miss Jaswanna was actually Mr. Rahul.
That was a metaphor of the incoming drones I call, Locusts.
