http://fucktoiletseats.livejournal.com/ (
fucktoiletseats.livejournal.com) wrote in
indesolution2007-12-11 02:44 pm
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You know, after the shit I went through when I became a grim reaper, being told that you were just a character on television and never really existed in the first place... well, it really wasn't all that fucking surprising. At least, it wasn't for me.
(But I never really existed in the first place if you wanna look at it that way.)
The more annoying part is that I'm pretty much out of a job, unless somebody here has post-it duty, which I doubt, because even then, who would even give the lists to the guy on post-it duty? There's no Jiffy Reap here in Babylon, am I right? Hell, I'm pretty sure there aren't even gravelings here, since I have yet to see somebody get crushed by a piano. No gravelings means no deaths, which means no souls to take, which means no post-its, which means I'm gonna be fucking bored.
(Would they even use post-its here? I bet Google would run their Jiffy Reap via e-mail. Hey, that would give me a bigger excuse to use Excel, and maybe Rube wouldn't be an ass about it. I mean, if Rube were here, he wouldn't be an ass about it. I kinda like this idea. Why is there no fucking reaping here?
Wait, that's right, all of that shit was imaginary. Jesus Christ.)
The food here tastes like ass. I'm not even kidding. My kingdom for the Der fucking Waffle Haus.
(But I never really existed in the first place if you wanna look at it that way.)
The more annoying part is that I'm pretty much out of a job, unless somebody here has post-it duty, which I doubt, because even then, who would even give the lists to the guy on post-it duty? There's no Jiffy Reap here in Babylon, am I right? Hell, I'm pretty sure there aren't even gravelings here, since I have yet to see somebody get crushed by a piano. No gravelings means no deaths, which means no souls to take, which means no post-its, which means I'm gonna be fucking bored.
(Would they even use post-its here? I bet Google would run their Jiffy Reap via e-mail. Hey, that would give me a bigger excuse to use Excel, and maybe Rube wouldn't be an ass about it. I mean, if Rube were here, he wouldn't be an ass about it. I kinda like this idea. Why is there no fucking reaping here?
Wait, that's right, all of that shit was imaginary. Jesus Christ.)
The food here tastes like ass. I'm not even kidding. My kingdom for the Der fucking Waffle Haus.
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I think I've seen a pancake house somewhere around here, though. They probably have waffles too.
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Hello, Georgia.
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There's no one else here besides you, is there? Mason? Daisy? Roxy? Kiffany, maybe? I almost would even do with Dolores.
-- actually, no, I wouldn't. I take that back. I hope I didn't jinx it or something.
You don't seem like the club type, Rube. Do I want to guess what it's all about, or am I being forced to attend now that I'm here, regardless of whether I'm interested or not?
Hmm, why does that situation sound familiar?
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No. No one. I'm surprised you're even here, I was beginning to give up. Fingers crossed for Kiffany, the waitresses here just don't cut it. Could do without Mason. There's enough fuck ups here. Bigger fuck ups, even. Make him look like a fucking Mensa saint.
Go ahead and guess, shouldn't be that hard. You'll be in attendance if you know what's good for you.
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Mason is... kind of an acquired taste. His heart's in the right place! Or, so Kiffany said once. I don't know, he tries hard, and I think he'd be all right if we kept him off of the drugs and booze long enough.
Also, "fuck-up" is a hyphenate.
What, are there other reapers here besides us? That are from other imaginary places?
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Fuck your hyphenates, Georgia.
No, but something like it. Folks who should be dead. It's something like a support group - less with the hugging, though, and hopefully none of the crying. And don't think about the imaginary thing too hard. I don't.
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Well, it was bothering me! I can't help it, it's kind of a reflex for me to correct other people's grammar and spelling mistakes.
That... actually doesn't sound bad. I was expecting something more boring. Count me in, but I bet you'd make me go no matter what I think, so that's just for the record.
I'm not thinking about it too hard. I just think the whole idea of teleporting fictional people here is a little ridiculous. Don't you?
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You would bet right. It's at the fucking pathetic excuse for a waffle house, by the way. Trying to keep tradition alive, bullshit like that.
Of course I do. You should see some of the ridiculous characters here. Grim reapers are normal in comparison.
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We don't have to order anything while we're there, do we?
I think I've seen enough already, actually. Do you have a retarded roommate, too, or did I just get the lucky dice roll?
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The fucking inanity of some of the folks in attendance may make you want to eat, trust me.
Pandora is a peachy roommate, actually. Surprisingly sane. Wait, who's yours?
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At least I know not to get the oatmeal.
Seriously? I got fucking gypped, then! I swear to God, he literally only has half of a brain. He's like a retarded ten-year-old whose birth mother drank six too many martinis when she was carrying, know what I mean?
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That bad? I'm considering being a chef there. Making it less horrific.
Ah. I think I know who you're speaking of. There's not much to do but read these things.
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You should do it, because then all of us have a chance to escape food poisoning.
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The place is pretty deserted most of the time, to be fair. You need to find a job, too.
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Anyway, as long as it's not as boring as Happy Time, I don't care. Anything to distract me from this stupid network shit and my roommate.
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I liked Dolores, myself. But I don't think there are temp jobs here. Lucky you.
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Yeah, you liked her because you didn't have to grin, call yourself "Millie Hagen", not take promotions, try very hard not to swear, and constantly lie about where the hell you were running off to yet again. She's a good person. I guess Millie likes her. George thinks she's full of shit.
Maybe I'll get some lame-ass retail job like kids my age are supposed to.
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Sounds thrilling. Try something that won't rot your brain more than normal dome life already will.
Oh, there's a ball, by the by.
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I'd work at a bookstore. There has to be one around here.
A ball? Am I back in fucking high school?
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With the way folks are acting about it, yes, we're all back in fucking high school. Would you want to go?
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Are you going? Or is that a stupid question, Georgia, of course you're not?
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I've actually been looking to go. Surprise, surprise.
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I've befriended a politician, it's made me want to be social with the people of the domes and bullshit like that. Dancing isn't so bad either. But mostly the looking pissed off.
If you change your mind.
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I don't think so. I like to avoid awkward social situations.
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I'll ask my roommate.
Careful, the witch will recruit you for her matchmaking service. Women aren't as plentiful here.
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Matchmaking service? Jesus Christ.
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Jesus fucking Christ, actually. I feel the same. And wait until the trio of annoyances appears, you'll just love them.
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Trio of annoyances? Should I even ask?
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Don't worry, they'll crop up somewhere, whether you want them to or not. You'll meet two of them tomorrow. They'll probably fight like little girls and I'll throw them out.
And then there's the fucking anime kids.
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What the fuck is an anime?
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You might like them, actually.
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