Just imagine... Frying up a slice of this. Watching it shrivel and char, neither of you blinking as you casually sip warm gin from a Burger King Spiderman 3 collector's cup. The edges of the slice begin to curl. They split. You are both fractured, you think. Or is it the Meat Clown who thinks that? Not sure. More gin. Sip and char. Char and sip. No smoke detector, thank God. You took the nine volt out and used it in your blood pressure cuff. You drained it in a single afternoon. Over and over. Inflate. Too high. Deflate. Inflate. Too high. Deflate. Inflate... Fat in the skillet pops and spatters your bare midriff, calling you back to the moment. The Meat Clown refocuses you. The Meat Clown knows you worry to much. The Meat Clown knows you scream in your sleep, which is why you don't sleep anymore. The Meat Clown knows why you scream. Why you drink so much. The Meat Clown knows why you put a brick through your TV during a rerun of Maury Povich last week and why you ripped the wiring out of your bathroom wall. The Meat Clown knows too much. It knows, deep down, that you're no different than it. Just one Meat Clown cooking the other. You know he'd do the same to you if he was the one wearing the Bermuda shorts and his ex-wife's mink slippers, and you were between two slices of stale Wonder Bread. He'd feel the same, too. Nothing personal, old friend. Hush now. It'll be over soon. No more pain, Meat Clown. No more pain.

If evangelion was produced in Slovakia, they would use žinčica instead of LCL, which would be either an advantage as it would allow any Slovak seated in EVA to amp their sync rate to at least 500%, or a disadvantage as žinčica is not transparent and have been found to cause severe cases of diarrhoea (at least in me).

Balada o balade o zakázanej láske a zrade

Vydá sa reku bača z koliby a hybaj ho ovce počítať. Ako tak počíta, jednu len tak, ako sa vraví, z ničoho nič pleskne po ovčom zadlu a hovorí si:

"Juj, Jolanka, i pekná si, i múdra si. Keby si ešte tak žinčici vedela za čerpov pripraviť, veru ja by som bol tedy šťastným bačom. Nože, keď chceš, aby som ťa dnes nechal nedotknutú, povedzže Á. Keď ale chceš, aby som ťa poriadne, ako kurvičku, ktorou si, naložil, že ti slzy nielen z očú vyhŕknu, povedzže Bé."

I ovca hlúpym pohľadom na baču pozrie a nič netušiac zabéka, lebo veru ovca je a ovcou aj ostane, i po bačovom akte.

Ďalší deň na salaši nikto any slovka nepreriekol, a smutne všetky ovce, ba aj baran s Dunčom spomínali na časy, kedy teraz už bača, Maťko takieto smilstvá len s Kubkom za kolibou robieval i prevelice im smutno prišlo a veru by bol ktosi aj slzu vronil, keby slziť vedel.

Kubka totižto v zime, keď bol na vohľadoch za horárovou dcérou z lesíka paši neďalekého lavína zasypala a zmizol bez stopy pod snehom. Šepotalo sa, že lavínu nik iný ako žiarlivý Matej nespustil, aby, keď nemôže mať Jakuba po boku on, nebude ani horárica ho vídavať. Pár dní na to zhorela celá horáreň a horárkino telo sa lesnou zverou dotrhané vzadu v kunici našlo. Žandári nemali tedy čas kiesi dedinské opletačky riešiť, veď sa povrávalo, že Maďari opäť povstanie pripravujú i zemepánov si chcú zvrhnúť, a tak zostala záhada mŕtvej horárky a zasypaného valacha doposiaľ nevyriešená.

A Mateja vina zožierala viac než kedykoľvek predtým. V zime, čo to bol rok od Jakubovej smrti si na život siahol a na trámci koliby odvisol. I slobodného Slovenska sa nedožil nikto z nich.

Veru, milé deti, vravím vám, keby konfidenti Ľudovíta Štúra strelou do nohy v Modre nepopravili, o valachoch by baladu napísal a balada by to bola iste nádherná prevelice.

@anastasiyaigorevnadobrodevskaya @tamblobofslovakia this fanfic is for you, with love from Pneumothorax

+1

ya know writers would like some feedback right? funny how we keep saying it but nothing ever changes :)

so pls don’t just leave a like, it’s wonderful to see but it doesn’t help with getting new people to see it, too.

and a little comment makes every fucking writer’s day, even if it’s just as small as a little ‘omg’, or even just an emoji

literally any reaction will have us go crazy and cry over it for at least half an hour and go back to writing with 200% more passion

Something great and terrible is stirring. The primordial nexus shall soon open and unleash horrors unseen before. Brace yourselves, mortals!

As paladin Saladin walked towards his certain death that will have been caused either by brain ischaemia or massive pelvis contusion, he knew that the only chance to save himself and his party is upon him. As always, in dire situations, the prayer to the dark god of Pandemonium whom this paladin gave his will and soul resonated deep in his skull and even though he swore that these words will never leave his mouth, they did. But first, he sang this song:

Et pro me fratribus meis paermonicum Deus,

ecce ego inducam hoc modo incanteus.

Protect myself and my brothers in the shiny armour,

Till death herself does us part, we shall find our harbour.

As the prophet first of yours, Saint Martinus Tadpole,

I too do believe in you, consecrate my manhole.

Previous verses became the verbal basis for ritual copulations in the Reformed Paermonic Church, which is known by open homosexuality of its followers, supporters and patrons. Unfortunately, the prayer that followed after these words was not preserved in any an(n)als.

prof. Doc. Noel Vester CSc. MA.

Excerpt form Encyclopaedia Religionis Paermonicum Zemplenae, 3. ed.

Nice prompts man, any new ones soon?

Not in this plane of existence, but the ancient cosmic wormhole shall open with the wicked alignment of celestial bodies in no time. Prepare, as the best prompts in the entire galaxy arrive soon.

You would think dragons and wyverns are somewhat related, as they both possess a set of similar abilities, live in the same habitats and are too often confused for one another. In fact, according to our current understanding of basic animal embryology and ontology we couldn’t be farther from truth. In this essay

Writing prompt #3

You are sad. Now you are not. Now you are again. Now? Not really. But now you’re definitely sad. Oh, nevermind. Welcome to the Bipolarland.

Writing prompt #2

You’re an ass. Your enemy just hired an assassassin to dispose of you.

Writing prompt #1

We all know you can pee without shitting, but can’t shit without peeing. One day it gets reversed.