Categories > Original > Humor
"I've never even seen a vampire, so how could I possibly slay one?"
"Well, I don't know, per se!" I call out exasperated, "all I know is I found something like a stake in your bedroom! Connect the frackalackin dots!"
"Frackalackin dots? What the hell is that?"
"Its, just, oh my gosh, get down here, will you?" I've been calling my bitch friend for the past, what seemed like an hour, but to be exact, and factual, 15 minutes.
Tapping my keys against my leg, rather violently, I am consumed by my rather dark thoughts of vampire-esque monsters and totally cool airplane rides.
My interests are teasingly diverse.
I'm rubbing my skin raw from the mosquito that had previously, and so kindly, sucked the blood from myself. Now the welt-like itch was all red and stand outish against my extremely pale forearm.
"Don't scratch it, just rub!" aforementioned friend calls down to me from the second step. Possibly scarring me for life. She's a quiet walker.
She's lacerating her my sweater.
"What are you doing? You crazy freak, give me that." I go to reach for my sweater that currently has a line striped down its breast. Or where my breasts would have gone if I had been currently wearing aforementioned sweater.
"No." Was the simple reply.
Blink.
Blink again.
"Why not?" I ask internally and externally confused.
"Because.. Why would you want this?" She holds up the ratty sweater with the grape juice stain from my 20th birthday and had experienced many a problems, which therein involve my never wearing it anywhere in public, except for that one time, damn was that embarrassing.
"Yeah." I consider this for a moment. "You're probably right."
"Oh. I know I'm right." She says in that all knowing, haughty tone of hers.
I wish I could say I loved that girl.
But I did.
"Right. Well. Hurry your bony ass up, its time to go." Another pause as I check the time. "Fifteen minutes ago."
"I'm hurrying as fast as humanly-- okay, not humanly, but I've been moving!" She's now calling to me from five leagues of the stairs. With no intention of hurrying her lazy act up.
Which figures, but I'm not going to say anything.
I'm basically whipping myself with the rubber band that resides on my bony wrist. Slap. Slap. Slap. A red mark is appearing on my wrist and the bone that juts and protrudes out of the side of my wrist, and I hope it won't leave a mark.
Twas not like I was doing it very hard.
"Okay, okay. I'm ready."
"Took you long enough, God." I reply, I grabbed her hand and I'm literally dragging her body out of the apartment and I'm literally pushing her into the elevator, we're wafting in a somewhat cliche, and a somewhat expected moment, I'll give you expected.
We've been stopped at the fifth floor and I'm impatiently tapping my foot and
staring glaring at the girl who is also known as Dee. She's looking at me innocently enough and I'm just getting even more annoyed as the time ticks by.
The elevators are taking their slow, sweet time opening, and what lies behind them is truly a miracle, or a curse. Depending on which.
A group of boys, rockstars, singers, a band to be more exact, walk in, laughing and so very obviously drunk. Girls are hanging off their arms and giggling like a somewhat fan girl like emotion.
When I do, however, notice how explicably drunk they are, my annoyance is driven sky rocket high. And I'm sighing as they discuss which floor they would like to crash, and then after that, before pressing the damn button, they stand in front of the doors, and they discuss the ramifications of the plethora of booze they so thoughtfully quaffed.
Without as many cool, big and exciting words of course.
God knows not one of them could even pronounce it, never mind using it correctly in a grammatically correct sentence.
Not that I can do that either.
"Oh my God!" Whispers Dee in my ear, although it wasn't quite a whisper, more like a high decibel screech.
"What?"
"That, don't you know who they are?" She's questioning me, and talking to me as if I'm dumb.
"No." I say. Her eyes widen.
"What rock have you been living under?" By now she has a slight annoyance to her voice and now I'm double curious to who these drunk offenders who are causing me to be late for my very strict mother's dinner party/debutante pre-party. Or whatever.
"That's My Chemical Romance!"
"Who?"
"Don't make me hit you!" She hisses from behind me. "For someone who is into music, you sure don't know anything."
"What in the jeebus are you talking about?" I'm so terribly confused now, friends from back in Canada, or more specifically Calgary, would so most definitely find this absolutely hilarious.
"You are a shame to the life you so call music."
"What?" I ask. Completely befuddled by now.
"Will you fix my hair?" Asks one extremely intoxicated boy. His hair is slightly everywhere and he has the weird, and I mean weird look on his face, as if he's slightly constipated or something along the lines of being extremely.. something.
"Ehhh, what?" I'm, by now, even more confused than I thought could be possible.
"Hair. Fix. Please." His words are coming out tangible and fruitless and completely, well almost completely discernible. Not really tangible, really. I just wanted to use that word.
My eyebrows are moving, furiously moving and my mouth is working, opening, closing, opening closing and I'm wondering how I could possibly answer to.. him.
"Excuse me, friend, cheerio--" drunken laugh "--he's a tad--" giggle "--the cheese is dru- dru- drunken."
"Your friend? He's, he is drunken!" Shrieks the other boy, he's got glasses on that are strewn parallel on his face.
"Right. Well."
My friend, in case you forgot about her, is slightly ogling them, her mouth is open, and I swear I can see drool streaming over the side of her face.
"We'd better, uhm, go." The boys make no move to let the doors shut, and I'm force to resort to violence.
Or as violent as one like me could get.
The girls attached to the arms are drifting and swaying in spot. With their well endowed chests, might I add. Makes me look, in perspective. small
Before I even have to go near the drunken boys, and their little entourage of girls, they get out of my, or the door's way and it finally shuts. I quickly press the button to the level floor we need and assume a protective stance. I'm guarding the switch box thing as if my life depended on it.
The rest of the boys are talking, or rather shrieking about the small elevator, Dee is swarming in her thoughts and she's completely indestructible when she's in this mood.
We've finally, finally, landed on our floor, the main one and I'm again pushing Dee out of the door, I'm pushing her through the lobby, my front part is farther than my lower half, as I try, though futile it is, to push the girl that was currently trying to bring her body, that is going against her wishes, back to the cute, drunk boys.
But I'm not letting her.
We've reached the cab that has been sitting there for the past half an hour and I'm glad its still there.
Albeit, the driver is a little bit cranky. But I couldn't help it.
Though, he doesn't say anything specifically to the cause, I know its there.
"Westelm, eleventh street, one ninety one."
"Maam." He says in that tone that just says you make me wait five minutes, and then you decide you want to go an hour out of my route.
We've finally arrived outside of the huge house that is standardly called a mansion.
True to my morose, and at the same time, virtuous promise, there I was in all my annoyed presence, standing with Dee, who was still a bit.. star studded to say the least.
My mother is already prancing, okay not prancing but pretty damn close, down the sidewalk and she's got an annoyed look on her face.
That and a bulldozer would knock me down.
"Where have you been? I've been waiting an hour, hour!" She's pretty anxious like.
"Sorry." I say, I try to think of something to spice up this conversation, just to see that look, just one more time.
"Me and Dee were just, well, for lack of better words, spicing up the elevator, terribly sorry I haven't come, or talked to you sooner."
I am just one, slightly maladjusted person.
"Coming mother?" I'm calling to her from the top steps that are leading into our fancy-shmancy mansion.
"Well, I don't know, per se!" I call out exasperated, "all I know is I found something like a stake in your bedroom! Connect the frackalackin dots!"
"Frackalackin dots? What the hell is that?"
"Its, just, oh my gosh, get down here, will you?" I've been calling my bitch friend for the past, what seemed like an hour, but to be exact, and factual, 15 minutes.
Tapping my keys against my leg, rather violently, I am consumed by my rather dark thoughts of vampire-esque monsters and totally cool airplane rides.
My interests are teasingly diverse.
I'm rubbing my skin raw from the mosquito that had previously, and so kindly, sucked the blood from myself. Now the welt-like itch was all red and stand outish against my extremely pale forearm.
"Don't scratch it, just rub!" aforementioned friend calls down to me from the second step. Possibly scarring me for life. She's a quiet walker.
She's lacerating her my sweater.
"What are you doing? You crazy freak, give me that." I go to reach for my sweater that currently has a line striped down its breast. Or where my breasts would have gone if I had been currently wearing aforementioned sweater.
"No." Was the simple reply.
Blink.
Blink again.
"Why not?" I ask internally and externally confused.
"Because.. Why would you want this?" She holds up the ratty sweater with the grape juice stain from my 20th birthday and had experienced many a problems, which therein involve my never wearing it anywhere in public, except for that one time, damn was that embarrassing.
"Yeah." I consider this for a moment. "You're probably right."
"Oh. I know I'm right." She says in that all knowing, haughty tone of hers.
I wish I could say I loved that girl.
But I did.
"Right. Well. Hurry your bony ass up, its time to go." Another pause as I check the time. "Fifteen minutes ago."
"I'm hurrying as fast as humanly-- okay, not humanly, but I've been moving!" She's now calling to me from five leagues of the stairs. With no intention of hurrying her lazy act up.
Which figures, but I'm not going to say anything.
I'm basically whipping myself with the rubber band that resides on my bony wrist. Slap. Slap. Slap. A red mark is appearing on my wrist and the bone that juts and protrudes out of the side of my wrist, and I hope it won't leave a mark.
Twas not like I was doing it very hard.
"Okay, okay. I'm ready."
"Took you long enough, God." I reply, I grabbed her hand and I'm literally dragging her body out of the apartment and I'm literally pushing her into the elevator, we're wafting in a somewhat cliche, and a somewhat expected moment, I'll give you expected.
We've been stopped at the fifth floor and I'm impatiently tapping my foot and
staring glaring at the girl who is also known as Dee. She's looking at me innocently enough and I'm just getting even more annoyed as the time ticks by.
The elevators are taking their slow, sweet time opening, and what lies behind them is truly a miracle, or a curse. Depending on which.
A group of boys, rockstars, singers, a band to be more exact, walk in, laughing and so very obviously drunk. Girls are hanging off their arms and giggling like a somewhat fan girl like emotion.
When I do, however, notice how explicably drunk they are, my annoyance is driven sky rocket high. And I'm sighing as they discuss which floor they would like to crash, and then after that, before pressing the damn button, they stand in front of the doors, and they discuss the ramifications of the plethora of booze they so thoughtfully quaffed.
Without as many cool, big and exciting words of course.
God knows not one of them could even pronounce it, never mind using it correctly in a grammatically correct sentence.
Not that I can do that either.
"Oh my God!" Whispers Dee in my ear, although it wasn't quite a whisper, more like a high decibel screech.
"What?"
"That, don't you know who they are?" She's questioning me, and talking to me as if I'm dumb.
"No." I say. Her eyes widen.
"What rock have you been living under?" By now she has a slight annoyance to her voice and now I'm double curious to who these drunk offenders who are causing me to be late for my very strict mother's dinner party/debutante pre-party. Or whatever.
"That's My Chemical Romance!"
"Who?"
"Don't make me hit you!" She hisses from behind me. "For someone who is into music, you sure don't know anything."
"What in the jeebus are you talking about?" I'm so terribly confused now, friends from back in Canada, or more specifically Calgary, would so most definitely find this absolutely hilarious.
"You are a shame to the life you so call music."
"What?" I ask. Completely befuddled by now.
"Will you fix my hair?" Asks one extremely intoxicated boy. His hair is slightly everywhere and he has the weird, and I mean weird look on his face, as if he's slightly constipated or something along the lines of being extremely.. something.
"Ehhh, what?" I'm, by now, even more confused than I thought could be possible.
"Hair. Fix. Please." His words are coming out tangible and fruitless and completely, well almost completely discernible. Not really tangible, really. I just wanted to use that word.
My eyebrows are moving, furiously moving and my mouth is working, opening, closing, opening closing and I'm wondering how I could possibly answer to.. him.
"Excuse me, friend, cheerio--" drunken laugh "--he's a tad--" giggle "--the cheese is dru- dru- drunken."
"Your friend? He's, he is drunken!" Shrieks the other boy, he's got glasses on that are strewn parallel on his face.
"Right. Well."
My friend, in case you forgot about her, is slightly ogling them, her mouth is open, and I swear I can see drool streaming over the side of her face.
"We'd better, uhm, go." The boys make no move to let the doors shut, and I'm force to resort to violence.
Or as violent as one like me could get.
The girls attached to the arms are drifting and swaying in spot. With their well endowed chests, might I add. Makes me look, in perspective. small
Before I even have to go near the drunken boys, and their little entourage of girls, they get out of my, or the door's way and it finally shuts. I quickly press the button to the level floor we need and assume a protective stance. I'm guarding the switch box thing as if my life depended on it.
The rest of the boys are talking, or rather shrieking about the small elevator, Dee is swarming in her thoughts and she's completely indestructible when she's in this mood.
We've finally, finally, landed on our floor, the main one and I'm again pushing Dee out of the door, I'm pushing her through the lobby, my front part is farther than my lower half, as I try, though futile it is, to push the girl that was currently trying to bring her body, that is going against her wishes, back to the cute, drunk boys.
But I'm not letting her.
We've reached the cab that has been sitting there for the past half an hour and I'm glad its still there.
Albeit, the driver is a little bit cranky. But I couldn't help it.
Though, he doesn't say anything specifically to the cause, I know its there.
"Westelm, eleventh street, one ninety one."
"Maam." He says in that tone that just says you make me wait five minutes, and then you decide you want to go an hour out of my route.
We've finally arrived outside of the huge house that is standardly called a mansion.
True to my morose, and at the same time, virtuous promise, there I was in all my annoyed presence, standing with Dee, who was still a bit.. star studded to say the least.
My mother is already prancing, okay not prancing but pretty damn close, down the sidewalk and she's got an annoyed look on her face.
That and a bulldozer would knock me down.
"Where have you been? I've been waiting an hour, hour!" She's pretty anxious like.
"Sorry." I say, I try to think of something to spice up this conversation, just to see that look, just one more time.
"Me and Dee were just, well, for lack of better words, spicing up the elevator, terribly sorry I haven't come, or talked to you sooner."
I am just one, slightly maladjusted person.
"Coming mother?" I'm calling to her from the top steps that are leading into our fancy-shmancy mansion.
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