Say it.

Out loud.


OK, did you ever make a joke about something, and then somehow it got into your brain and stayed inside, gnawing around in there until you screamed? This story is that burrowing little brainworm.

It is gross.

It is SUPPOSED to be gross.

It may very well make you nauseous, so the queasy readers amongst you should turn away.

i'm just messing around and trying to make EdwardsBloodType laugh (she gave me full permission to play with her B & E, just so you know - i do this from a place of love, not mocking). Maybe i'll make you laugh too, but please - if you have no sense of humor today, or if you find zombies, or intercourse, or the combination of zombies and intercourse offensive, please go read something else instead of complaining later that i made you puke all over your laptop.

Seriously. If in doubt, do not proceed.

Oh, and S. Meyer owns Twilight and its characters, High Anxiety owns my heart, and EdwardsBloodType owns High Anxiety.



It started out with just a twitch of my fingers. A twitch that became a curl, that then became a fist, crinkling a piece of paper in its grip.

The paper felt awkward and unfamiliar in my grasp, but what felt even stranger was the breeze over my knuckles, fluttering the white page.

Eyes blinked. After so long, it felt forced and tiresome. My eyes were gritty and my vision hazy.

What the hell am I doing alive? I wondered. And where's my B?

The paper in my hands held the answer. After two full minutes of trying to focus, I rubbed my eyes and suddenly my vision was clear. My milky corneas had sloughed off, and sat on my knuckles like blobs of snot.

It was a letter.

Dear Mr. & Mrs. Cullen (deceased): It has recently come to our attention that a clerical error resulted in your Earthly lives ending one day shorter than planned. As a result, we have reanimated your bodies for a period of 24 hours. Nothing that occurs during this time will count towards your status in the afterlife. We sincerely apologize for the inconvenience of having to inhabit your own stinking, rotted corpses.

Best Regards, The Afterlife Administrative Staff Team.

Well, fuck me, I thought. Another day on earth. Of course after being in heaven, my body and mind restored to their most perfect state, coming back to this body felt something like getting out of a hot tub on a cold night. My limbs felt heavy and unwilling to respond, the soft May breeze icy on what was left of my skin. But it also had a nostalgic sweetness, like visiting the neighborhood where you grew up. I decided I could stand it for 24 hours. As long as I had my girl with me.

And there she was, lying in the soft upturned earth beside me, looking only slightly worse for wear than the day I said goodbye to her. Which was actually not that great, considering she'd been a ripe old 87 when I'd lost her. But she was still mine, and love looks past things like imperfect hair and teeth. Fortunate, really, since both of those things were plastic on her and non-existent on me.

Some pair we make.

Just like always.

Til death do us part. And then reunited in heaven. Only to be brought back as zombies.

She began to stir beside me, sitting up and blinking with a look of annoyed disbelief on her face.

"The fuck is all this shit, then?"

Always the lady.

I held the paper up, waving it in the air. "Clerical error grants us one more day on earth. Only we have to use what's left of these old crapbags," I gestured to myself.

"Shit. Well, what do you want to do?" she asked, trying stiffly to get to her knees and stand.

"Fuck, baby, you know what I always want to do." I respond with what was intended as a provocative wag of my eyebrow. Instead, the eyebrow gave a soft crackle and the hairs blew away like dandelion seeds in the wind.

She sighed at me. "In this body? You'd wreck me. That is," she smirked, "if you can still get it up."

"Oh, I can get it up, sugar," I chuckled at her, "and if I can't, I'll tape a stick to it to get it in."

"Wow, taping a stick to your penis so you can bang me with it? Chivalry isn't dead after all!" she laughed.

I reached out my bony hand for hers. "No, baby, it's undead."

She groaned as we both rose to our feet, taking a few moments to get used to our new, old bodies. Suddenly, I understood why all the zombies in horror flicks stumbled and staggered around like they were drunk. Dead bodies handled like old Nissan Sentras. They were stiff where they should be flexible, squishy where they should be firm. And it was hard to anticipate what parts were going to fall off or tear open under too much pressure. After attempting to stretch and walk for a few minutes, we decided we didn't care. It was only 24 hours; after that, the bodies would be useless and empty again, and we could get back to enjoying our heavenly reward. Why not go out Demolition-Derby style? We would use these bodies for all that we could get out of them, and just hope that we didn't give any onlookers a heart attack.

"Maybe we should try and stay out of sight, at least until nightfall." Bella suggested.

I knew where to go. The perfect spot to keep away from prying eyes.

"The treehouse?" I asked.

Her eyes went wide and she nodded, causing a pretty brown eye to tumble to the ground. I gingerly picked it up and slipped it back into place. "Let's go."

Our ungainly, lumbering walk back to the old neighborhood wasn't as conspicuous as we'd feared. People appeared to assume we were drunk and elderly, a fantastic combination for being ignored by the world at large.

When we arrived at the treehouse, we were disheartened to find it hadn't fared much better than our bodies. Panels were missing, floorboards were weak and rotted, and there was debris from some of its more recent visitors.

"Check it out, stoner artifacts!" she giggled, examining the faded junk food bags and candy wrappers. I was more interested in the newish-looking Playboy, noting thankfully that plumper, curvier figures had returned to popularity, when a thin white joint fell out of the centerfold.

Bella snatched it up as fast as her pruney grey fingers could move, and held it up to her nose to inhale the sweet herbal scent deeply.

"Oh, man," she moaned. "That smells like seventeen."

I pawed around the floor for a lighter, finding a tiny electric one tucked in between two subscription cards.

I held the flame up to the joint as Bella inhaled.

It's normal to cough when you smoke weed, especially if you haven't smoked in a while.

It's not normal to actually hack up a lung.

We just stared at the slimy, beige organ on the floor for a second before I stretched out my foot and pushed it right out the treehouse door. I heard it land with an objectionable splat sound.


Bella giggled and passed me the joint. Learning from her mistake, I inhaled in short, staccato puffs, watching with mild concern as the smoke wafted back upward from my shirt collar. A quick check inside my shirt revealed a few holes, some as big as a baseball, in my chest.

"Looks like I might be able to give you my heart in a jar after all, B," I said, opening my shirt to show her the slick, greenish knot of muscle that had once pumped my blood.

Predictably, she squealed and scootched her body away from me as I approached. Naturally, this only made me want to chase her even more.

As quick as I could, I crossed the treehouse and wrapped my arms around her waist, tickling her skin that felt like wet newspaper. She laughed quietly, probably because she had only one lung, and pushed against my shoulders, redistributing our weight and sliding herself to the floor underneath me.

"You know, getting high still makes me horny," I leered at my wife, giving her a crusty wink.

"I can feel that," she whispered seductively, her hand moving down my body.

"Oh wait," she said, "that's your femur."

I led her hand higher, showing her that some things about men never, ever change.

"Mmm," she hummed, stroking me gently. "I'm so wet for you … although I think most of it might be bile."

"I don't mind, Beautiful, it's your bile," I answered, bringing my lips to hers.

Christ. Some chapstick would have been nice. Kissing her lips now that she'd been dead and buried for years was a little like kissing a raw steak someone had sneezed on. And the smell of her breath reminded me of things I used to find floating in the pond when I was a kid.

But I knew I didn't have the soft, supple lips of a teenager anymore either. Kissing me was probably like kissing a crusty dinner roll that fell in the dog's water dish, but she didn't complain.

This was the blessing of marriage. Having someone to be gross with, who still loved you anyway.

When her tongue darted out to meet mine, slimy as a canned peach and smelling like a sardine, I returned her passion, and soon, the condition of our bodies was no longer a concern as the need pulsed through us. I ripped off her pale blue funeral dress, being extra careful not to tear the fragile skin underneath. Her hands went to my suit pants and began loosening my belt, moving quickly, desperate to free my shriveled and discolored, but thankfully still responsive cock.

I swear the sex voodoo that my B's kisses worked over me would have gotten me hard even if I'd been cremated.

A thought suddenly occurred, bringing a wave of panic crashed over me. What about birth control? We were undead, sure … but I wanted to be positive.

I pulled away harshly.

"Bella? Should we use something?"

She snorted a laugh.

"Are you kidding, baby? The undead can't conceive. Even if, say, I was a typical healthy 18 year old, the idea that your long-dead-undead body could produce a single viable sperm is pretty goddamn ridiculous!"

She cracked up, pink and green fluids shooting out of her nose and splattering against my bare skin.

I couldn't help but laugh along. "You're right! Who would think that the sexual activities of the undead could ever result in a pregnancy?"

After our giggling fit passed, we sat staring at each other with fiery mischief.

Another brief surge of panic crawled up my chest.

No, wait, that was a worm.

But I was still nervous.

We had just crawled up from the dirt. We were decomposing by the nanosecond. I had no idea the last time Bella or I had washed our hands. My eyes scanned the treehouse, hoping for some hand sanitizer, antibacterial lotion - Hell, even sulfate-free dish soap would be better than nothing.

No. Filthy. We were filthy. Even a bathtub full of bleach wouldn't fix that.

Bella picked up on my spike in anxiety right away. Wrapping a ragged arm around my shoulder, she murmured softly in my ear as I tried to calm down.

"Ssh, baby, it's okay. Don't freak out on me now. Just 24 hours and we're back home, okay?"

That's right. We'd be back home soon, where my anxiety was gone, our bodies were permanently perfect, and everything was immaculate. If I could suspend my irrational phobia for just a little while longer, I'd find relief with Bella when we got back where we belong.

That was it. Now I had my mind made up. I gritted my teeth in determination, but they crackled and broke like they were tiny little Fritos. Who cared what nasty fluids and germs were splashing around inside of these rotten, putrefying bodies? Even if we were hosting the hantavirus between our thighs, we'd be back in our eternal reward before anything had time to sink in.

Taking Bella by surprise, I pushed her shoulders back roughly against the wall of the treehouse, kissing her pond-scum-flavored mouth hard. A loud pop signaled that I had dislocated one in my haste.

"Sorry," I breathed against her lips.

"S'okay," she whispered back. At this proximity, the smell of her breath was revolting in its similarity to the biggest, fullest trash can at Sea World.

I didn't care. Men in love never do.

I pressed my impassioned kisses along her jawline and down her neck as my hand reached down to feel her sex, finding it dank and musty but hey, pussy is pussy, right?

Looking down to line myself up to her rotten opening, my dick looked like something you might find in a specimen jar at the Mutter museum. Wrinkled, discolored and soggy, it was still hard, and I intended to give Bella every creepy, oozing inch of it. Pushing forward into her slowly, I felt an intoxicating tightness. She was even tighter than when she'd been a virginal teenager. Who would have guessed that being dead and buried for years could do such wonderful things for vaginal elasticity?

Just then, Bella let a low moan fall from her lips. Oh ho ho! She wanted some zombie role-playing, eh?

"Unnnnhh," I moaned back brainlessly, pressing deeper into her undead pleasure pocket.

"No, baby, stop," she sat up halfway, pushing me back.

For a second, I looked down at my wretched cock, all streaked with a rainbow of body fluids and smelling like a bait shop with a broken fridge. That's funny, I had thought I'd been circumcised in this body, but now a little extra skin folded over the tip like an elephant's trunk. It looked cute, so I tugged at it … and all the skin on my penis sloughed right off into my hand. I was now holding a tube of human sausage casing.

This was not pretty. I wanted to go home, where my dick was in one piece and smelled like soap, not like the floor in a truckstop men's room.

I turned my attention back to Bella.

She reached down between us, her entire hand disappearing into her slick opening for an instant, then withdrawing with a large fistful of discolored cotton batting. She shrugged as she held it out for me to see.

"Undertaker. They stuff you with it so you don't leak in front of your mourners."

I think the only reason I didn't vomit on the spot was that my stomach was completely empty.

"Oh good," she said, grabbing the sheath of soggy, stretchy skin from my hands, "you found a trash bag for me." She proceeded to stuff her vaginal plug into my dick skin like it was a Thanksgiving turkey.

Just 24 hours, I thought. It's just the blink of an eye, really. Keep the queasy at bay for a few more hours and we'll be back home where everything is … well, it's not like this.

Finished disposing of her death tampon, Bella bit her lip and looked at me suggestively through the fringe of her lashes. She must have been pretty turned on, as a thump on the treehouse floor indicated she'd bitten a sizeable chunk of her lip clean off.

"I'm ready now," she smiled.

I wanted to shower in rubbing alcohol.

But pussy is indeed pussy, and this particular pussy happened to be attached to the most lovable, sweet, and funny woman ever to walk the earth. Hell yeah, I was gonna hit that.

Suddenly, her mouth was on mine, and when she hummed in pleasure against my lips, I didn't care anymore that she was missing half of hers. She threaded her fingers into the brittle patches of my remaining hair, as gently as possible, but as I brought my skinned and highly sensitive erection back to her rancid opening, her fingers increased their fervor, ripping my scalp off in finger-width strips.

I lifted her up so she was hovering just above my lap, legs wide, positioned just over my waiting cock, and then lowered her slowly, filling her … um, partially.

Damn, she really wasn't as tight without that diseased-looking cotton batting. I wondered if it was worth it to try and fish it out of my little dick bag and stuff it back in there.

Nah. This wasn't about pleasure, exactly, anyway. It was about us using up the very last of these disgusting old bodies and having fun until it was time to go home.

Don't tell that to Bella, though. You'd think it was her first time in 100 years, the way she squealed and thrashed around on my dick.

"Yes, yes, baby, fuck, oh God, so good …" she cried as she rode me, bouncing vigorously, her flat, ancient tits flapping like wet flags. I was only barely aware of the softest fluttering sensation as she enjoyed her first orgasm, head thrown back, eyes closed, moaning like it was the best sex she'd ever had.

Watching her get off so explosively gave me renewed enthusiasm. I withdrew myself and flipped her onto her knees, pushing into her quick and hard as I held onto her the saggy, wrinkled skin at her waist.

"You like it like this, baby?" I growled at her, pounding mercilessly. "Feels deeper this way, doesn't it?"

"So fucking deep," she whispered, her voice breathy and quiet. She was so lost in pleasure, and at the sight of her I began to feel my climax approaching.

Shit. In order to get her off in this position, I needed to provide friction to her clit. But I was afraid that if I did it with my bony fingers, I might tear that slimy little nub right off. I searched around the treehouse for something soft.


It was either the magazine or the dickbag full of soiled cooter cotton.

But the idea of slapping her clit with a rolled-up magazine reminded me too much of punishing a disobedient dog, so it would have to be the penis puppet.

Don't think about it, man, just do it.

I grabbed it quickly and pressed it to her juicy clit, sliding it back and forth quickly, still pounding into her with deep, forceful strokes. It vaguely reminded me of a warped and disturbing version of the Create-a-Mate we'd played with so many years ago. Was this the first time a dead man had used his dead wife's amateur taxidermy to get her off?

Probably. And God help us if it wasn't the last.

"Come hard for me, baby, come all over that fucking dick," I begged, suppressing the shudder that wanted to run down my spine as fluids unknown began to drip down my fingers and off my wrist.

Thank fuck that dirty talk still made my girl whimper like a puppy in a butcher shop. She came again, harder this time, her leathery vag clamping down on me like a mammogram machine on Red Bull, dragging me into an orgasm that was shocking in its intensity.

I guess when your body hasn't moved a single muscle in years, it stores all that potential energy in your balls, waiting for the incredibly unlikely event of a post-mortem fuckfest to pour it into a release so good that it makes you want to build a shrine to your own genitalia.

"Holy shit, baby," was all I could manage as I toppled on my side, exhausted and fulfilled.

Bella stayed put on her hands and knees. "I know, right? I don't think I can move," she giggled.

The hell was that dripping sound?

I searched the treehouse floor for the puddle of liquid that would lead me to its source. And there it was, a little pool of mingled clear & white directly under Bella's navel.

Oh shit. My cum was leaking out of her bellybutton.

Suddenly, something else fell out of her navel and plopped into the jizz puddle before my horrified eyes: something that looked like a stepped-on grape with a translucent ramen noodle attached.

Bella saw it fall too, and immediately started laughing.
"The fuck is this?" she asked, scooping the item up from the ejaculate, "Is this your prostate? Did you seriously just spunk out your own prostate?"

That might explain why my orgasm was so vigorous.

By then, Bella was laughing so hard she could no longer support herself on one hand, and collapsed sideways, her hip falling into my spilled semen. I couldn't help but think that was now the cleanest part of her, having been splashed with some liquid, at least.

She righted herself and flicked the sticky gland at me like it was a giant, revolting booger. It slapped my face, and I could feel it leaving a snail trail as it slid downwards until I could peel it off in disgust and fling it back at her, snorting as it embedded itself in her hair.

"Aaagh! Not in my hair, you jackass!" She squealed. Her clumsy attempts to paw the squishy lump from her hair were only getting it stuck deeper. I laughed until my epiglottis erupted from my left nostril and landed in the spooge puddle, floating peaceful as a lotus.

Damn, I was high.

While I pondered that thought, Bella had fished about half of my gummy prostate out of her hair and began wiping it off on my thigh.

"Hey!" I protested, grabbing her wrists as she giggled. "That's just nasty, Bella."

"What did you expect?" she asked, lifting an eyebrow. "You knew I was a nasty girl when you married me."


And now I was hard.


I growled low as I rolled her onto her back, keeping her wrists locked in my hand as I pinned her beneath me.

"Show me."

She purred in excitement. Of course she was ready for more after Round One had been so good to her. My dick was pretty fucking awesome. Even looking like something from Jame Gumb's basement, it still got the job done and then some.

Bella began wiggling beneath me and put on a provocative smile.

"You want to go backdoor this time, E?"

Oh hell no I didn't.

But it was difficult for me to deny her this. And even if her rectum was a swirling cesspool of filth and disease, it wasn't like it had been that much cleaner when we were both alive. It really wasn't worth it to say no and upset her.

I hummed my assent, throwing both her legs over my right shoulder.

"Wait one sec." She reached into her butt to withdraw another wad of soiled cotton.

I closed my eyes and imagined she was young and fresh as she'd been on our honeymoon in Mykonos, lying under me on a chaise on the beach, her long wrap skirt useless, parted, hanging off the sides of her waist as I rolled my hips into hers with a delicious slowness.

When I heard her discard the foul plug with a sickening squish, it was Honeymoon Bella whose ass I nudged my cock into. Not this human shaped petri dish, rife with parasites, smelling like a hoarder's garbage disposal.

I briefly considered lubricant, but I was pretty sure the embalming fluids and various unidentified mucousy discharges had that need covered.

God, please let us be the first and last couple to use insulin and formaldehyde as lubricants.

I pressed into her, and while I had to admit she was definitely tighter this way, my intrusion resulted in long-trapped organic gases being expelled from her body. So when I plunged forward, a long, obnoxious fart sound rang out and echoed inside the treehouse. As I withdrew, the noise changed to a wheezing whistle, and when I pushed inside again, the fart reprised. I could only guess that my giant, magnificent dick had caused some internal rupture, judging from the spooge leak Bella had earlier, which was allowing air into her body.

Still, she seemed to be enjoying herself. Her moans of pleasure took on a different quality, lower, slower, smouldering. And I couldn't deny that it was a turn on to feel her body encircling mine snugly and hear the sounds of forbidden pleasure issuing from her mouth. Was being crusted in he ichor and dripping with virulent filth really so bad, if it meant I got to watch my true love, the girl who owned my heart for almost my entire life, lose herself to the pleasure my body could offer?

Her oozing, puckered hole offered a revolting, protracted phhhhbbbbtttttt in response.

Fuck, way to kill the mood, Bella's decrepit sphincter.

"Mmmm, deeper baby, get it deeper," she grunted, apparently oblivious to her anal serenade, bracing one arm against the treehouse wall to provide more resistance, pushing back against my thrusts.

Deeper? I don't think I could get any deeper without ripping off my dick and fisting her ass with it. Which, although it was apparently possible in these fragile, basted-together bodies, really didn't sound like something I wanted to do, thank you very much.

Still, perhaps I could drive deeper if I did this doggy style, and parted her cheeks a little with my hands.

Rolling her over onto her hands and knees and bringing my palms to her sagging, deflated cheeks, I gently pulled them apart, hoping for slightly better penetration with less ass-cushion in the way.

What I actually got was a gaping gash along the line of her asscrack that spread like a fault line halfway up her back. Her now-visible spine looked like a zipper made out of dominoes.

Uh oh.

Well, this would get me deeper, at least. Bella didn't seem to notice she'd been split like an English muffin yet. Without looking, I reached down until I felt the wet, slimy tube of her small intestine encasing my hardness, and threaded more of it onto myself, slowly, like a woman pulling pantyhose onto her leg.

"Oh! OH GOD! YES!" Bella screamed so loud I was afraid someone would call the cops. She bucked against me wildly.

"Oh baby, oh God, it's never been like this, never been like this …"

You've damned well got that right, B. We're fucking zombies.

"Fuck my ass, fuck my ass, fucking make me come with that big fat dick in me, baby," she chanted, her voice low and animalistic.

Jesus, when she talked like that, I was her slave. Maybe I was starting to like it messy after all.

When I looked down, I saw what looked like about a mile of Bella's poop-chute threaded onto my dick, with her pale, bloated stomach only a few more inches away.

"That deep enough, baby?" I leaned over her split back and cooed in her ear.

She just grunted in return, her eyes shut tight, her hips slamming back into mine like a piston.

I felt a vibration near my balls, and noticed that Bella had begun strumming her swollen clit with her fingers, moving faster and faster until the flesh of her fingertips had worn right off, leaving the eggshell white of her finger bones exposed, while a viscous black liquid dripped from her sex.

"I'm co- ", she broke off into a vibratto moan while her orgasm seized her, and I was lucky enough to benefit from the intensity of the tremors that made her guts clench and twitch and her whole body shake violently, as the rhythmic contractions of her intestine pushed me into my own climax.

I could almost never hang on long when she came. Nothing was sexier than watching my girl lost to her bliss. Although it had been a little better when she still had a full set of internal organs. And all that glossy, thick hair. And an intact spine.

I guess nothing gets to stay beautiful forever.

My legs gave out, tumbling me over sideways, eyes closed.

I slept.

Hey, I'm still a guy, just … more dead. And neurotic. With a dick like a thoroughbred.

When I woke up, the clinging greasiness encircling me told me I was still inside Bella.

So naturally, I was surprised to see her sitting across the treehouse, casually reading the Playboy by moonlight.

Her many feet of intestines, still connecting us, lay slack and wrinkled all over the floor, looking very similar to a spent gray bungee cord. The business end was attached to my dick like a python eating a wet Twinkie.

"Well good morning there, sleepyhead," she chimed. "Was starting to wonder if you were going to wake up."

I tried to stretch, but found my limbs were sluggish and heavy. I wondered what time it was. Surely we had to be nearing the end of our sentence here on earth. Or maybe God would pull our cards before we thought of anything more unnatural and revolting to do than we already had.

My wife's corpse reached into her gut, tearing her intestine where it joined to her stomach,and held it up to her mouth like a walkie talkie.

"HELLOOO," Bella's voice echoed at me,"EARTH TO EDWARD, COME IN, DOUCHEBAG!"

I laughed silently at her, detaching her rectum from my dick with a slick sucking sound, and putting it up to my mouth to speak.

Oh good, it smelled like the dumpster behind the hospital. All dirty diapers, soiled linens and diseased tissue.

When my voice came out, it was little more than a whisper.

"Shut up, Bella."

I knew our clock was definitely running down. Since I was the first to wake up into this bizarre earthly parole, I guessed it made sense that I would be the first to leave it. Hopefully only by a few minutes.

Sensing my weakness, Bella scootched across the treehouse floor until she was next to me, her exposed and rotten innards a slippery but comfortable cushion. She crossed her legs and rested my head in her lap, stroking the sticky, mangled remains of scalp and hair that clung to my skull.

"So this is it for our little adventure? Was it as fun for you as it was for me?" she asked.

I nodded with a pinched half-smile. I tried to speak, but air failed to come out, my lips only tracing the words.

Disgusting, but fun.

Of course she understood me. We had long since transcended the need to communicate with words.

"Disgusting, eh?" she chuckled. "Try having someone shove a dick that looks like roadkill up your ass sometime."

I'll pass, gorgeous, I mouthed.

"Maybe next life," she laughed.

She stroked my hair and the untouchable bliss of being wrapped up in love made me a little dizzy. I closed my eyes for a long blink, realizing gratefully that we'd be back to our heavenly reward soon.

She hummed sweetly and kissed my forehead.

"Hey, how about you die in my arms this time, E? Since you did it for me the first time around?"

I nodded, and if there had been any fluid left in my tear ducts, it might have wept out in a big, rolling drop down my cheek.

She drew her arms around my shoulders and pressed herself gently against my body, which was quickly going limp.

"Love you, Edward."

Love you more, Beautiful, I thought. Always.

My very last thought in that disgusting, macabre body that smelled like a litterbox full of sour milk was: Shit, those fucking stoners are going to piss their pants next time they come up here to get high.




Some ways to ease nausea:

Sniff a fresh-cut lemon.

Have a piece of ginger candy or peppermint gum.

Sip coke syrup over crushed ice.

Saying, "i wasn't warned!", however, is not an effective remedy.

Don't hate, i'm just being silly. And i frequently cross the line from funny into stupid and then wander around in ridiculous until someone picks me up in their van. Thanks to Jadalulu for the amazing, unfailing kindness & support, and EdwardsBloodType for the inspiration, the permission, and being so fucking funny & awesome that she makes me want to build a shrine to her. Also, many thanks to E's My Brand of Heroin & kimbo06 for the WC help!

i would say i am not always this silly, but i kind of am. i just contain it occasionally.

If you'd like something to cleanse your palate after this, i'd like to suggest YellowGlue's "Slippin, Trippin, Stumbletumblin", because she writes the way night-blooming jasmine smells.

Or re-read EdwardsBloodType's "High Anxiety," because it is awesome and i love it so very hard.

Thanks for reading!