tanya is testing! dnp, dns

[stick me on]

if you want something said, ask a man;
if you want something done, ask a woman.

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“Remind me never to wear heels again,” Amy grumbled. So far it had been a very bad day, and it didn’t look like it would pick up any time soon. If given the choice between scaling Yellowstone with Matthew Stanford and sorting through the president’s fan mail (yes, the president got fan mail), she would have preferred reading through the hundreds of thousands of letters. Amy hated fan mail with all of her heart. Most of the time, when the president asked her to shuffle through the kiss-o-grams, Amy simply gave him a stoney look and dumped the entire pile into the recycling bin. There were probably a myriad of ephemeral diseases stashed away in those letters. What else was choked full of STDs? Matthew Jay Stanford. Amy hated the man, almost as much as she hated fan mail. One the few occasions that Amy had visited the USGS lab on Yellowstone she had always been ‘assigned’ to Matthew. It seemed that he was the only person who was available to show her around. Those stupid scientists. If they wanted the government to actually fund their silly little enterprises they shouldn’t dump the most irritating person with the presidential representative. Rule one for getting funding: make a good impression. Now Amy dreaded her trips to Yellowstone. The terrain was beautiful, yes. However, the USGS’s nagging about Yellowstone coupled with Matthew’s advances made a noxious cocktail. But that was fine. Amy could be civil and smile - that wasn’t a problem. What really pissed Amy off was the fact that she was forced to climb Yellowstone . . . in heels.

“Ouch.” Amy stumbled over a small pothole in the sharp incline that she was trying to scale. Her fingers grasped Matthew’s arm as she tried to pull herself up, only to stumble again. She usually wasn’t this clumsy. Amy usually glided over surfaces, lithe and graceful. However, there was something about the uneven terrain that made gliding just a little more difficult. Gliding was usually practiced on smooth surfaces, such as actual floors. Heels weren’t suited to hiking - any half-wit moron could tell you that. Luckily, Amy had Matthew’s arm to guide her. For once she was glad for his presence. There was no way that she could have scaled this mountain on her own. On the other hand, without Matthew, Amy would be trying to hike up Yellowstone in heels! In her six inch stilettos and professional white blouse tucked into a black pencil skirt, Amy was dressed for business. The assumption had been made that she would visit the headquarters and be briefed on the current situation. Why she was here was beyond Amy. They had already sent some frumpy scientist up to the white house to lecture President Pine. Amy figured that Joe’s PR guy was trying to keep as much distance between the two of them as possible. After all, some unfavorable rumors had entered the magazines regarding the professionalism of their relationship. Some people suspected that Pine was pulling a Clinton and banging his secretary. Amy was a pretty woman. Pine was a good-looking man. It made sense in the minds of retarded Americans apparently.

“Mr. Stanford,” Amy huffed as she pulled herself up by his arm. She took a moment to straighten her clothes. Being incredibly conscious of her appearance at all times, Amy realized that her white blouse was marked with sweat and dust. Her hair was a frazzled mess and the sun was wrecking havoc on her pale skin. Gingers didn’t fair so well in sunlight. Freckles were already popping up over the bridge of Amy’s nose. “How much further do we have to go? I understand that you’re trying to show me Yellowstone, but that data is more than enough. I can’t understand what possible merit visiting the caldera could warrant. The data shows that the volcano is due for an eruption, that is all we need to -” And then Amy fell. It was a pretty nasty tumble, and it hurt . . . a lot. As she talked, Amy didn’t look where she was going. So she tripped and ended up twisting her ankle.

A sharp pain shot through Amy’s leg. It was obvious that she had twisted something. Gesturing for Matthew, she tried steadying herself on his arm, only to tumble once she put some weight on her ankle. There was no way she would be able to walk, not with her twisted ankle and work heels anyway. Ugh. Speaking of shoes, the heel had snapped off during the fall. Pursing her lips, Amy removed the shoe and inspected it. Such a shame, they were her favorite pair too. Either way, there would be no way Amy could walk with a sprained ankle and six inch heels. She would probably have to hobble down the mountain on one foot or something. Ha. Like she could do that. She had barely managed to make it this far with two good ankles. What could she possibly do with one? “Mr. Stanford, I think I’ve twisted my ankle. There’s no way I can walk.” That meant that Amy wanted to get back to the base now. Was it childish if she wanted to glare at Matthew and blame her entire predicament on him? Because that’s what she felt like doing.

However, before Amy could utter one more word about her hurt ankle or sweat-stained shirt, the ground began trembling. Amy was scared shitless. The ground was shaking! It was literally moving beneath her! Even if she wasn’t standing, the feeling was terrifying. The trees that lined the path rattled and shook dangerously. It was an earthquake. Oh my God! Amy was freaking out. This is why she stayed indoors and away from any deadly fault lines. As the earth shook she covered her head with her hands. If a tree or something fell, it certainly wasn’t going to protect her. Whatever, Amy thought, at least she felt a little better. This was perhaps the worst day of her life. Hiking with Matthew followed by a sprained ankle and then, to top it all off, there was a frickin’ earthquake. The earth stopped shaking, but Amy remained still for a few moments. Her heart was beating against her rib cage, she could hardly breathe. “What the hell was that?!” Her usual civil (and at times, condescending) tone was gone. This was just Amy, freaked out of her mind.

[stick me on]

the problem with political jokes is they get elected.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx



Here’s a question: who cares about a frickin’ volcano when you have a wee economic crisis to solve?

Better yet, who gives a ******** about a volcano when you haven’t had sex in over a year? During his debriefing on the situation of Yellowstone, these were the questions that crossed the mind of Joesph Holdyway Pine. Better known as President Pine, Joe had been elected because of his promise to fixed the economy, which conveniently tanked when president-season first kicked off. Who else could save the sinking American economy except for the bright boy who graduated from Stanford in a shiny degree in economics and international relations? Yep, President Pine was the perfect man for the job. Not only did he understand how money worked, he was hot. Seriously, President Pine must have been the first good-looking male to have been elected to the white house. Sure, some people thought that Obama was attractive. But there is a very big difference between attractive and plain sizzling hot. President Pine was hot, hot like magma. SNL had picked up on this little trait of his and exploited it for comedy’s sake. Even if he hadn’t been elected, people would at least be talking about him. A few people doubted that he could do the job. It seems that attractive men can’t be taken seriously in politics - especially when SNL makes a running gag about it. Once or twice, Joe actually wished that he had been born boring and political. Ha, he only wished that once or twice. For a reason too. Who would give up that university experience (yeah, you know what I’m talking about) to be taken seriously? At this point, during his debriefing, Joe knew that he would never give up his good looks. That would be like sacrificing your sharp mind or your amazing ability to uhhhh predict volcano eruptions or whatever. Speaking of eruptions, Joe hadn’t erupted in a while. The only debriefing in his life revolved around possible volcanic threats and such. In fact, he was listening to one right now.

Really, this was all a waste of time. While she prattled on about seismic activity or whatever, America was falling million dollars in debt. The American economy was in deep, deep trouble. It wasn’t only the recession, there was some deep seeded issues that needed to be solved. As his economic advisors told him, China would soon surpass them in economic capability. America wasn’t producing anything, it was simply buying and borrowing. How did America make all of it’s money? After World War Two, this wonderful country leant money to rebuild other countries. After it separated from Britain, America built a multitude of factories and began producing. Now America was borrowing itself into dept. That was not what made America great. For someone like Joe, who bled red, white, and blue, that realization set his blood on fire. A patriot at heart, he would make sure that his administration began rebuilding the country, starting with the economy. So excuse the president if he had no time for a geoscience lesson. He flunked that class anyway. Sure, volcanoes were cool, but only when the exploded. Apart from the footage of Mt. Saint Helens blowing itself to bits, volcanoes held no charm to President Pine. The woman lecturing him about Yellowstone held even less charm. Her hair was frizzy and her glasses swallowed up her face. Presentation, as Joe learnt during his high school forensics exchanges, was half the battle when it came to public speaking. Let’s be frank, people listen to pretty people. In a debate between a crooked-teeth hag and a striking model, people generally listened to striking models. It doesn’t hurt to be well dressed and easy on the eyes. Of course, being amazingly handsome can keep people from taking you seriously (as it did in Joe’s case), but it was sure better than being ugly.

“Blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah. . .”

That was all Joe was hearing. This really wasn’t worth is time. There was an entire economy that needed to be taped back together. President Pine had been in office for five economic quarters. During those five quarters - the human equivalent to a year and three months - the USGS had been constantly harassing him about Yellowstone. With the increase in seismic activity, the white house finally had to start listening to what they had to say. After all, a volcanic eruption had many economic implications. Oh yeah, and it didn’t look really good when the administration let thousands die in a volcanic eruptions. If Yellowstone was going to blow itself to bits, it would probably be a good idea to move the people out harm’s way. Failure to do so would result in criticism. Joe was already getting enough heat for not fixing all of America’s problems in a snap of finger. Apparently the American public could not see any of the good things he had done, like trying to solve the issue of water scarcity. Money had been deviated in order to purchase filtering systems and wells. Joe was trying to change the world, it wasn’t going to be easy, but that didn’t stop him from trying. Poverty was the one thing he wanted to eradicate. Apparently you have to take care of the fat cats who are looking for tax breaks instead of those starving kids in Africa.

“Blah blah blah blah.”

Joe mad a mental note to cut the funding to the USGS. Time was money, and this woman was wasting his time. “Excuse me, but I think that I’ve got to get going. Thank you for that fascinating presentation, but my secretary, Ms. Lilyhand, is already up at your headquarters dealing with this situation.” So there was really no need to bother the frickin’ President of the United States. Really, this geologist could have deviated the issue to someone of a lower classification. The white house had about a million different divisions, surly one of them could have dealt with this situation. Plus, Joe knew absolutely nothing about geology. All the graphs and technical terms that she had thrown at him meant absolutely nothing, apart from: you’re wasting my God damn time. “If Yellowstone shows any more symptoms, we’ll make sure to clear the area. Now, if you’ll excuse me I have to get back to-”

“Mr. President?” “Yes?” “There has been an earthquake at Yellowstone.” Joe automatically raised his eyebrows. Catching the motion he adjusted it. His body language coach was trying to correct all of Joe’s idiosyncrasies and bad habits. It wasn’t that his coach was trying to destroy Joe’s individuality, he was just trying to make him into a better politician. “Magnitude 6.8. There’s no report about Lilyhand or the geologist Stanford. We know that they were up at Yellowstone during the eruption, sir.” There was a pause as the boy who delivered the news bowed his head and existed the room. Crap. This wasn’t good. “So, Miss Johnson, what do we do now?”

[stick me on]

michelle baily vilin

the queen of hearts
twenty-four years old
seductive | manipulative | loyal
#00A3CC | anne hathaway

mathew boris hattigan

the drug-dealing mad hatter
twenty-five years old
possessive | agressive | honorous
indigo | ian somerhalder

chester kendrel langcaster

the club-owning cheshire cat
twenty-seven years old
friendly | level-headed | sly
darkseagreen | ryan renolds

[stick me on]

xxxxxxxxxxxedwin frederick voldorkxxxxxxx
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxthe womanizing geek

alright, just call me eddy.
didn't you do your research? i'm twenty-four years old.
i guess you could describe me as funny, shameless, and relaxed.
but it depends on who is doing the talking.
hands down, #68228B is my favorite color.
yeah, some people say that i look like charlie cox, but i don't mind.
no more questions. feel free to talk to my manager, cwumbiie.

[stick me on]

tonight tonight, he's gonna get it right
even losers can get lucky sometimes
all the freaks go on a winning streak
in a perfect world, all the geeks get the girls

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Va va vroom, baby. Have you seen that little slice that just moved across the hall? Edwin certainly had. Despite having a name like Edwin, the little genius was more than ready to slick back his hair and charm the new tenant. Lend me some sugar, I am your neighbor! Oh yeah, with smooth lines like that how could Edwin fail? He couldn't, that was the answer. Just ask the probability equations that were sprawled out over his white board. With his sharp mine for math, Edwin knew that this little lady would be falling all over him. Now there was only one problem: his name. Seriously, Edwin's parents should have known better than to name their son Edwin. A name like that just screamed "PANTS ME!!!!!!!!!" Oh yeah, that name also screamed "bully me and murder my social life." A name like Edwin was enough to doom a kid. Follow that up with a surname like Voldork . . . Did anything else need to be said? Voldork. When you have 'dork' in your name, you become the butt of so many jokes. Not even Uranus was the butt (haha.) of as many jokes as Edwin. The ironic thing was that Edwin's middle name was Frederick. Frederick was a completely normal middle name. Now, that could be interpreted symbolically. Edwin was normal inside and just surrounded by a geeky exterior. Edwin Frederick Voldork. Geeky Normal Geeky. See? There was some major symbolism right there. Too bad Edwin wasn't one for literature. Sure, he had breezed through English - but math and astrology was his main calling. Oh baby, there is nothing sexier than equations of string theory. Except for that new woman who had moved across the hall.

Edwin was a womanizer. Oh baby, there was no stopping him once he let loose those pick up lines. Unlike most other nerds, Edwin was perfectly comfortable with himself. Of course, he did get a little flustered around large groups of people - primarily jocks. Edwin didn’t have a very good track record with the strong, athletic type. Well, there was that time that he tutored the entire football team in high school. That was the one time that they got along . . . somewhat. Edwin ended up crushing on the quarterback’s girlfriend. He was a freshman. She was a senior. Apparently she, theater and cheerleading queen, and her friends thought that Edwin was adorable and snuggled him under their wings. It was amazing how much fun those senior girls had with their geeky little ward. The quarterback, however, thought that they were having a little too much fun with Edwin. From then on Edwin made a mental note to steer clear of all jocks and their pretty little girlfriends. But that didn’t mean that Edwin no longer eyed pretty girls. Hell no. Edwin was a womanizer, womanizer, womanizer, ohh. With his massive stores of pick up lines, of course Edwin was a womanizer. His personal favorite lines were related to Starwars. “Nice buns princess, and I don’t mean on your head.” And yes, Edwin did use lines like that. Alright, so maybe they weren’t so vulgar, but Edwin still had his pick up lines! Now that he was twenty-four, Edwin didn’t get flustered and nervous anymore. Having graduated high school early, Edwin was already back in school trying to earn his PHD in duel sciences. The company that employed him didn’t mind, in fact, they were actually endorsing his choice. Despite all of his work and studies, Edwin was slightly bored. Why? Well, there was a pretty girl who lived across the hall.

Was the girl across the hall smart? Edwin couldn’t help but ponder that question. He didn’t want to take any chances with his children. No matter how horrible it sounded, Edwin would die of shame if his children were every stupid. Ugh. Imagine having a child with autism or down syndrome. Even a savant would be a burden. Sure, Edwin might love his child after they entered the world. However, as of this very moment, Edwin knew that he would rather have a genius child then a retarded one. Nurture could only go so far. Nature had to provide the springboard from which gentle care and love leapt. It was slightly pathetic actually. . . Edwin was thinking about children when he had not formally met his neighbor. He supposed it was ok. After all, he was thinking of children in broad general terms. It wasn’t as if he was planning to have children with her. That would be slightly unnerving and strange - psycho almost. Despite his need for an orderly life, where everything was filed away alphabetically, Edwin did not have his entire life planned out. As a scientist he knew that there were many variables that could influence the outcome. Thus, Edwin was more than happy to just plan his day. Unfortunately, even that never went according to plan. When he was younger, Edwin used to get upset whenever something ruined his idea of what was supposed to be. Time and experience taught him to chill out. But today Edwin had a plan and it was going to go along flawlessly.

He planned to shimmy up to his new neighbor and introduce himself. He would bring her a little house warming gift and throw out a smooth line. “Do you have your library card? `Cause I’m checking you out.” Oh yeah. With lines like that how could he fail? (There were many answers to that. However, Edwin assumed that the question was rhetorical and that no one would answer.) After baking a pie and leaving it out to cool, Edwin took a shower and dressed himself. He wore a funny graphic t-shirt and jeans. At least he would make a good impression with his wonderful sense of humor and his baking. Edwin was a beast at cooking. He could make anything from cupcakes to a steak. Cooking had always been a nice little hobby of Edwin’s, one that his mother had instilled in him. Some of the other kids thought it was gay, but everyone loved coming over to Edwin’s house. It always smelt of Christmas in the Voldork home. With all of those sweets, how did Edwin maintain his thin frame? Well, the elder Voldork was a drill sergeant that was in combat during the Vietnam war. How he had produced a son like Edwin was utterly beyond him. However, once Edwin proved that his affinity for knowledge had practical merits, his father didn’t mind much. The only thing that frustrated him was that he would never get to play football with his son. Edwin was too busy indoors tinkering with his newest invention. Either way, Edward Voldork made sure that his son stayed fit. And since Edwin lacked any and all hand-eye coordination he took up long distance running. Thank God Edward Voldork had made his son run, if not Edwin would have been two hundred pounds. If he wanted to cook, he had to run. That was the ultimatum that his father had proposed. It suited Edwin fine. Pie in hand, Edwin adjusted his shirt and strolled across the hall.

Science Rule #1: Be daring.

All discoveries were made by daring men. Would Newton have discovered gravity if he didn’t get knocked on the head by an apple? Would Thomas Edison have invented the lightbulb if he didn’t try and try again? No. All scientists had to be daring and persistent. As a scientist, Edwin had to live his life by that mantra. That was what he was doing now: being daring. Edwin was going to introduce himself to his new neighbor. Hopefully she ate. Anorexic girls freaked Edwin out. It would have been incredibly awkward if she just trashed his pie or gobbled it up and hurled it into the toilet bowl. Ringing the doorbell, Edwin breathed in the scent of the pie. It smelt good. Maybe he was being over confident, but Edwin knew that his pie was pretty damn good. Hopefully she didn’t have a boyfriend. Edwin didn’t exactly want some macho man chomping down his hard labors. Alright, so Edwin baked for everyone. He loved cooking, baking in particular. Each culinary feat was something new and excited. It was like a scientific discovery. And there was some chemistry in cooking. Having graduated with a degree in chemical engineering, Edwin figured that it was a pretty good combination. He waited until the door opened, smiling at the woman who greeted him. “Hi, I’m your neighbor and I brought you some sugar.”

[stick me on]

RACHELHELENAPAYTON

Hey you, it's Rachel here. Now, you can call me one of three things: Rachel, Ray, or Payton. Skip the pet names please. If I hear the very whisper of baby or darling, rest assured that I will rip your little tongue out and feed it to the birds. Crap . . . I shouldn't be talking like that since - well, you know, happened. It was a nasty slice of business and any malice or disagreement in being seen as a motive right now. Honestly, it sucks and everyone is over reacting. Wait, I'm getting off topic here. So, if you've just met me, stick with Rachel. Ray is for acquaintances I actually like. Don't just come sliding up to me and try to call me Ray, now. That could get you into a whole load of trouble. I'm very particular about names, haven't you noticed? If you want to be safe, stick to Rachel. You'll know when you can start calling me Ray. Until then, don't take any chances. Oh, and my other name, Payton? Only call me Payton is your one of the coolest people in the world. Only a few people can use my last name, the girls I live with and James Franco. You don't want to mess with an Aries. So, when you wish me happy birthday on April 15, make sure you use the right name.

I wouldn't say I'm a rebel. I just do what I want and flash the finger and anyone who tells me otherwise. I'm not rebelling against anything. Seriously, what are rebels anyway? Skinny little punk high-schoolers with raccoon make-up and dyed bangs? Don't even put me in that category. I will cut you. Anyone who knows me will tell you that I'm not kidding. I'm one tough cookie - but damn, I'm moist and you'll want to sink your teeth into me. Now, doesn't that sound like a bad pick-up line? I suppose I should be telling you about myself. Honestly, I think you could figure it out. But, what the hell? I'll make it easy for you thick-brained retards. Being an Aries I like to run into things headfirst. I'm always right and the only way to do something is my way. Kow-towing and a**-kissing have never really been my thing. Neither have rules, for that matter. When I see I rule, I generally want to break it. Sure, some rules should be abided, like not littering. Other things, like having illicit sex in the airplane bathroom, tend to be a little more flexible. So I'm a little bit of a loud-mouth nasty cookie. Honestly, I couldn't care less what you think. I hate those type of people. I hate rules; I hate limitations. Other things I hate? Hangovers, pick-up lines, and rodents. Hangovers are self explanatory. I have a tendency to go a little wild at time, so the mornings after are pretty rough. Pick-up lines are just stupid. Sure, maybe there are a few sweethearts that can get away with it, but those lads are few and far between. Lastly, rodents just happen to scare the crap out of me. My brother once set his pet rat on me. I was so traumatized that I took him to the back yard and pummeled him. If you haven't noticed, I'm not the delicate sort of girl. Disney films and princess motifs weren't really my thing. I'm a hugeee fan of leather jackets and motorbikes. Those have to be two of the sexiest things in the world. And music is also a passion of mine. Actually, I'm studying to be a musician right now. Honestly, I don't really know what I want to do. I'm just taking things one step at a time. Maybe I'll sell my songs to some singer who gets her voice fed through the computer and make millions. That sounds like fun. On that note of fun, I love sports. Baseball anyone?

My life is one giant roller-coaster. Take the road less traveled, right? Wrong. I take whatever road I want. Ironically, that road started out in a nice upper-middle class suburb, the type with perfectly manicured lawns and white picket fences surrounding the large houses. My father was a criminal lawyer, thank God. Throughout my teen years, my father's occupation was instrumental in keeping me out of the big house. I don't have a single mark on my permanent record (apart from detentions) because of him. My mother was a homemaker. She was a demure woman, strong in her own way. She lived for baked goods and PTA meetings, it was funny and sweet at the same time. I absolutely adore my mother, we get along really well. The only thing is that I don't plan to follow her path. What a disappointment. When I was younger she always tried to sign me up for ballet and tap and cooking and everything that I wasn't interested in. As a child I just wanted to play soccer with my older brother, Billy (the one that attacked me with his rat). They wouldn't let me play because I would always beat them. Pussies. Luckily for my mother, there was somebody else to realize her dream of having a feminine daughter. My younger brother, Theodore, gladly moved into my pink bedroom and squealed with joy when he saw the headboard of my bed inscribed princess. I love Theo with all my heart. Actually, I'm glad that he's gay. Without him my mother probably would have torn my feet from my soccer cleats and forced them into ballet shoes. Naturally, I spent the beginning years of my life beating up on people who made jokes about my brother.

School was a breeze. I was clever enough to get by. All my teachers would comment, Rachel has great potential, she just needs to input a little effort in order to realize that potential. Really, I couldn't care less. I always knew that I was cleaver enough to make my own way somehow. I didn't need to got to Yale, Harvard, or whatever. Ivy league would have bore me to tears. So, after highschool, I moved to New York with the intention of going to some university that I couldn't care less about. All that I wanted to do was strum songs on my guitar and get rich. Yep, I'm a musician. Music is my only vice, apart from leather jackets and motorbikes that is. Then I got caught up in the whole escort thing. Wow. It was a blast. To get paid to go with men and party? I couldn't think of a better job. The only problem is most of these men can't seem to hold my attention. Why do you think they need escorts. Apparently I have this little habit of either ditching them or breaking the 'rules' that some of the girls set up. Honestly, I couldn't care less. Some of the 'clients' love my dangerous thing. That is really pathetic. I'm not dangerous at all. I don't wield a knife or send creepy parcels with pig hearts in them. Whoever did that was seriously twisted. Honestly, I'm a little freaked out. I don't want to let it show, since I'm usually really cool about everything. Not this. Nuh huh. There's something about death threats that can really upset a girl.

CWUMBiiE

[stick me on]

xxxxxxxxxxxrichard jonathan decanxxxxxxx
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxthe commanding officer

alright, just call me johnny.
didn't you do your research? i'm thirty-four years old.
i guess you could describe me as aggressive, rough, and realistic.
but it depends on who is doing the talking.
hands down, #8B0000 is my favorite color.
yeah, some people say that i look like robert downey jr., but i don't mind.
no more questions. feel free to talk to my manager, cwumbiie.

[stick me on]

you've torn your dress. your face is a mess.
you can't get enough, but enough ain't the test.
you've got your transmission and your live wire.
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

It was October 31, which meant it was Halloween. Rachel realized the ******** irony. Only a few days ago a nice little box had been delivered to the apartment that she and her friends shared. In that box was a pig’s heart, bloody, rotting, and with maggots crawling in the decomposing flesh. The girls had opened the package directly, as it was addressed to all four of them and they were lead to believe that it contained some wonderful surprise. It didn’t contain a wonderful surprise. Some sick twisted b*****d had sent them a pig’s heart filled with maggots. Rachel had freaked out and thrown the thing into the hallway before rushing off to the bathroom to wash her hands. She hadn’t actually touch the thing, but something about the worms writhing in the decomposing flesh freaked her out. Since that incident, Rachel couldn’t help but feel a little dirty. It was almost as if those maggots were ripping through her own flesh. Yeah. That wasn’t a nice feeling to be having. Since that incident Rachel felt more than a little rattled. However, the girls kept on doing what they did best: party. Rachel had managed to convince herself that the pig heart had been nothing but a joke. The idiot who pulled the stunt would simply announce it on Halloween and laugh at the girl’s panic. It must have been Bailey’s brother. That retard hated what his sister and his friends were doing. Whenever she got the chance, Rachel would rub up against him and throw a seductive smile his way. She loved getting him riled up. And what harm could it cause? He was cute, even if he did sneer down his nose at their income source. Despite that, Rachel knew that he wasn’t the one who sent the package. He might have hated what they were doing, but there was no way he would put his sister through such emotional trauma. Either way, Rachel had barely managed to put the incident out of her mind.

Whatever the case, pig’s hearts and death threats were the last thing on Rachel’s mind last night. It had been the usual job. Pick up the clients. Hit a few clubs. Get paid. Yeah. That was the usual order of business. Rachel didn’t usually follow protocol. She had gotten stuck with a stiff, some awkward man jolted by his mid-life crisis. He had an affinity for putting his hand on Rachel’s knee and trying to catch her eye. All in all, he was pathetic and boring. It wouldn’t have mattered if he was paying through the a**, Rachel was bored. So she ditched her client and his arthritis. That poor sop could navigate the dance floor by himself, Rachel figured. Before she left, she made the effort to tell one of the waitresses that her client was absolutely loaded. Obviously the man didn’t mind Rachel’s absence, he had someone to warm his bed and empty his wallet. Rachel really didn’t give a damn whether he minded her absence or not. There was no way in hell she was going to put up with him. So, naturally, Rachel did whatever felt right. In this case it was leaving the club and her friends behind to go for a midnight shopping spree. The department store was having a midnight sale and that seemed a hell of a lot more interesting then letting someone grind against her. Then, her arms loaded with new shopping, Rachel returned home and passed out on the bed. She was tired and nonchalant about her behavior, thus Rachel was able to sleep like a baby. When she woke Rachel knew that Elle was going to b***h at her. Personally, Rachel didn’t have a problem with Elle. Alright, that was a lie. The way Elle messed around with her married client bothered Rachel. Hell, Rachel knew that she wasn’t one to judge. Generally she was fine with letting people to whatever they wanter. However, this was crossing the line. It was one thing to ditch some boring b*****d (as Rachel did often), but it was another thing completely to screw around with someone who was married.

Obviously, the moment Rachel found out she let Elle know how she felt. Apparently Elle also had a problem with Rachel. The sultry blonde didn’t like how Rachel dumped her clients or started chatting with another man. It was putting the girls at risk, according to Elle. That statement made Rachel scoff. The stupid little whore probably thought that she was responsible for the lovely little package. How ******** ironic. It was Halloween and only a few days ago they were gifted with a pig’s heart. Rachel wanted to smack the jerk who sent the package and his stupid sense of humor. Halloween was Bailey’s birthday. Rachel knew that all the other girls where freaked out of their minds, Rachel certainly was, and she was the most lenient and relaxed. Even as he peeled open her eyes, the reality of the situation couldn’t escape her. They had been threatened with a decomposing organ. That type of s**t usually meant something. No matter. Tumbling from bed, Rachel knew that she would forget about the matter in five minutes or so. It was Bailey’s twenty-second birthday and they had a party to organize. Obviously there were more important things to worry about. Oh! And Bailey’s brother was going to be there. Rachel couldn’t help but to get at least a little excited. She always had so much fun with him. “Good morning Marshmallow,” she cooed, scooping a white fluffy cat into her arms. Rachel nuzzled her nose against Marshmallow's soft fur. The cat smelt fresh, as she had her bath yesterday. Peering around the apartment, it seemed that everybody else was still asleep.

Not for long.

With Marshmallow tucked in the crook of her arm, Rachel raced around the apartment, knocking on all of the girl’s doors. She started at Abigail’s room, shouting, “HAPPY HALLOWEEN!” From there, Rachel moved on to Elle’s room. Despite their strife, Rachel didn’t mind Elle much. The two of them lived together, after all. They didn’t want their bad blood to poison the rest of the household. Finally, Rachel reached Bailey’s room. Without invitation she raced inside, jumping onto Bailey’s bed. “Happy birthday sunshine!” Rachel exclaimed, lying in bed next to Bailey. Marshmallow wiggled free from Rachel’s arms and snuggled next to Bailey. It was the cat’s way of wishing her owner a happy birthday. For some reason, energy coursed through Rachel’s veins this morning. She was generally grouchy and unsociable before noon. Today, however, seemed different. Maybe because it was her favorite holiday in the whole wide world. Rachel had always loved Halloween. There was just something about trick or treat that was so inviting and naughty. As a child, Rachel loved dressing up and begging for candy. Once she grew, however, she found that she could do other things during Halloween. It was a holiday that allowed you to release your devilish side. Rachel already had an outfit planned out, a tight little thing complete with devil horns. Hopefully this holiday would be free of pig hearts and murder. For some reason, Rachel had an ominous feeling that something was going to go down.

[stick me on]

“MOVE! MOVE! MOVE! KICK UP THOSE LEGS! GET MOVING LADIES! MY GRANDMA CAN RUN FASTER THAN ALL OF YOU AND SHE’S IN A HOME FOR THE DEAF AND SENILE! PICK UP THE PACE YOU PUSSIES!”

Yep, they were ********.

Just this morning Johnny had received news that his troupe was getting shipped off to Vietnam. At first Johnny thought it was a joke, some sick repulsive joke. Then he realized that the army didn’t joke around. His troupe was going to Vietnam. Yeah. . . They were all going to die there. Every last one of them. “ALRIGHT! STOP IT! IN A STRAIGHT LINE RIGHT NOW!” Johnny’s throat was hoarse from shouting. He took a sip from his canteen as he watched the men sulk back from the obstacle course. God, Johnny felt like he was watching a beauty pageant. Except, instead of gliding gracefully his men were dragging themselves towards him like zombies hungry for brains. “Hurry up ladies! I have enough wrinkles already!” War had aged Johnny greatly. He was only thirty-four, yet lines marked his forehead and eyes. That’s what happens when you’re running through the jungle with thirty pounds of equipment on your back. Oh, and don’t forget those Viet Cong bastards hiding in the trees. That type of s**t could age anyone. What else was responsible for the crow’s feet that marked his eyes? Those lazy asses that were taking a millennia to get into formation. After what felt like a century of waiting, Johnny’s troupe stood before him. He began clapping very sarcastically. “Congraduations. It has taken you three and a half minutes to get here. Hopefully, when you’re in Vietnam fighting the VC you’ll move a little faster than that.” Johnny stopped clapping. He clamped his hands behind his back and slowly began pacing back and forth. “In six months you’re all going to be in Vietnam.”

“If you ladies don’t shape us, you’ll all be dead within a month of landing in Asia. Don’t worry about the VC killing you. You women are so week that you’ll probably die from exhaustion.” Hence the work outs. Johnny was trying to build stamina, but his troupe seemed more interested in meal times and bed times. It was six months into the training program and his troupe still couldn’t complete a continuous warm-down. Some had walk and others (Johnny shuddered when he saw this) actually stopped and walked. “I don’t care if you men have a death wish. However, your incompetence will also put your team in jeopardy. War isn’t a one person act. WE’RE FIGHTING COMMUNISM HERE!” Johnny stopped pacing and towered over Rhett. God, Rhett was perhaps the most pathetic specimen that Johnny had ever seen. With his delicate bone structure and petite frame, Johnny was amazed that he was even male. Luckily the army worked on a don’t ask, don’t tell basis. Rhett was most likely on of those more effeminate boys, the type that liked paisley dresses and tea sets. “So boys, I’ve organized a little bonus exercise for you.” Johnny gestured behind himself to a tall wooden pole. It was smooth, so there was no way a man could climb up using brute strength. At the top of the pole Johnny had fastened one of his own belts. The belt had a huge distinctive brass buckle. At the base of the pole was a wooden box, inside were weights that could be fastened around someone’s wrist. “If you can climb up that and fetch the belt while wearing these weights, then you might just have a shot of surviving. Now, another lap on the obstacle course.”



Johnny’s little you’re-all-going-to-Vietnam-and-dying talked seemed to pep the troupes up. They ran through the course with something that resembled enthusiasm. Johnny chalked it up to fear. He wasn’t sure whether or not his men would maintain this errr level of performance. (They still sucked.) It would take a few weeks to see whether or not these men realized that they were going to war. Johnny knew that a few dumb shits probably thought that he was pulling their legs. That was laughable. Johnny never joked, not with war matters any way. He had a lot on his mind, so Johnny went on a run, following the same trail his soldier's used. As he turned the final bend into camp Johnny blinked several times. Were his eyes deceiving him? Was someone actually climbing the post? Slowing down to a job, Johnny inched closer to the pole. Lo and behold, someone was actually climbing it.

It seemed that Johnny’s pep talk had done some good.

[stick me on]

text.

[stick me on]

✘langdon michael firrelli

████████████████████████████████████████

●● mike
●● twenty-five
●● april twenty-ninth
●● #104E8B

cwumbiie✘

[stick me on]

I will not get it on with Dashiell. I will not get it on with Dashiell. I will not screw my future bride’s best friend. I will not get it on with Dashiell. I will not -

It was hopeless. The only thing Michael could think about was Dashiell, a year and a half ago, naked in his bed and doing things that made his head spin right round. s**t. Michael was going to hell.

[stick me on]

What big eyes you have,
The kind of eyes that drive wolves mad.
So just to see that you don't get chased,
I think I ought to walk with you for a ways.
What full lips you have,
They're sure to lure someone bad.
So until you get to Grandma's place,
I think you ought to walk with me and be safe.

What a big heart I have,
The better to love you with.
Little Red Riding Hood,
Even bad wolves can be good.
I'll try to keep satisfied,
Just to walk close by your side.
Maybe you'll see things my way
Before we get to Grandma's place.

Little Red Riding Hood,
You sure are lookin' good,
You're everything a big, bad wolf could want.