Teenage Wastland.

Helpless and deprived, our orgy of irresponsibleness flourished unto the night. The king himself, Josh had already plastered quite a bit of wall and carpet with the fluids and arbitrary chunks that simply had no wish to stay in this stomach. This was as early as ten o’clock, although I could very easily be wrong for the mess of hours that had gone by carried no understandable meaning. Time did not pass properly, twas an unnatural state of affairs. All these assumptions, of course went unnoticed by the masses. Fueled by various poisons (socially acceptable ones, of course), we all took no notice of the hole we had ripped in the space time continuum. The cause, for such a fray to be brought about? Why to celebrate the eighteen years young (now old) Josh Brown had so recently begun to carry with him. We humans feel it important to contrast your ability to survive for eighteen years by presenting you with a night that has just as much ability to take those years away from you.

All whom dared to enter we’re given an invisible, implied disclaimer, that read differently for each whom received it, but generally stated: “All ye whom enter here, be prepared to get fucked” Those that failed to acknowledge the disclaimer would soon feel at very least, some form of regret. The only one whom really made true effort to advocate these unwritten warnings was the gatekeeper and household lord, Nico. The man willingly sacrificed a clean room not to mention poured a bucket of uncertainty upon his surroundings. He was a hero in the eyes of all. A statue would have been erected; alas the motor skills required to do so were destroyed along with sanity.

To the left was a pile of once sentient beings who in their original forms could not carry the sort of conversation they were carrying. To the right were the few that quested to pour into themselves as many immoral liquids as possible. In the middle were the others—the dancers, the screamers, the candlestick makers as well as those whom did not subject their body’s to the filth the rest had. To some extent they had a point. Why we bring ourselves to such self brutality is beyond true answer.

All and all, our chaos presentation was successful. There was not as much mouth excretion as expected and the perversional voice was quelled rather early. A later attempt was made to prevent our poorly sewn together Frankenstein from falling apart but the attempt was to no avail. This would not be the last we see of him though; he can never truly be subdued.

It is at the side of the human heart where cravings for escape from uncertainty lye, there is no certainty more clear and polished then the certainty of madness.