kouri

A dimly lit room. A computer moniter buzzing, glowing with foul, demon energy, no doubt melting my brain and radiating the auburn hair from my head. Writers dont need to look attractive anyway.

One cup of half full, half empty milo. Today I was using my lucky cup, a feminine, creamy green china recepticle with a big, beautiful daisy drilled into the front.

Me. I am sitting on a swirley chair too small for my size. The back rest of the poorly designed piece of shit is breaking my spine by poking it incessantly. My life is flashing before my eyes. I am bored. I am meant to be writing but nothing is coming out. All I can think about is my unfashionably cool Milo cup and Satans Swivel Chair.

Thats it!

Satans Swivel Chair
(Working Title)


Satans chair swirled on its plastic, chubby wheels. Twenty five nearby girls began taking their clothes off, screaming for the swivel chair, screaming for anything, they were sluts. They wore shirts saying Swivel Chair Sluts. The shirts never lied.

Worship The Devil!

The girls cried in delight.

Worship the Devil and his Swivel Chair

The girls moaned in delight

Worship the Devil, his Swivel Chair and chocolate

The girls ate chocolate