Post by danusun on Feb 11, 2009 23:16:38 GMT -5
Breathe deep, inhale the gray smoke which draws poison into your lungs, blackening them like charcoal on hands. Sip the drink which clogs your mind and turns blood toxic, vomit like you will never stop. Stuff your fat face with grease and carbonated beverages, fill your arteries, make your heart explode Bet your home on a loosing hand, feel the burning itch in your chest, the need to win…you will still feel the need when you are nothing but a rat on the street. Lay with her, your best man’s lady, caress her, grind her, look him in the eye and act like nothing’s wrong, until he meets you with a shot gun to the face…whoa pink mist. Go ahead; suck up life’s little deadly pleasures, one day you will realize you cant f*cking breathe, tumors cause bloody coughing fits…drown in it…ruin you life for the simple pleasure of doing what you want. Drink it up, until your blood vessels in your eyes burst and you are choking on your own vomit, die from liver failure, your children and mate wont mind…she’s with your friend anyway. Eat till your hearts content, grow to enormous proportions, rent a crane or fork lift to turn you over, die from a heart attack, that will save your family a lot of money…do you care if they miss the hell out of you? Lay with your best man’s wife, do things to her you never imagined doing with any one else, deny everything, get caught, your head will explode like a melon when .00 buck shot goes flying through it, it never may have occurred to you that a little reserve could save both parties families. So go on, live life to the fullest, smoke, drink, eat, gamble, and sleep with whom ever you choose…You only live once….right?
Rain had fallen for many days now, deep black mud smelling like sewage made sucking sounds under dinner plate sized clubs. Inky black mass of dreads lay limp on the bastard’s thick neck, piling off both sides and spewing over his almost black eyes. Mud caked and brambled flyswatter swept with slaps against his sides, covering the already mangy brute with lines of putrid muck. A deep musky smell leaked from the brute, he didn’t seem to mind he smelt of himself, and didn’t care to bathe it off. He was a large stallion, towing over all except his father, and who really cared about “dear ole Daddy?” Thickly muscled haunches propelled him forward as he crashed through the eerie boggy forest, grinning at the despair he viewed. It was not every day he found a slave trading group, and not every day one had discovered such deplorable living conditions.
He paused at a stream and studied it rather filled with boredom. Every land had a water source; the stallions would be complete idiots to not have one. This one was filled with murky water. Lung could not decide whether it was algae, turned up mud, or leavings from the auction…it surely didn’t smell like feces, the answer must be one of the others. Noisily the brute walked straight through the brook, not seeming to bother trying to jump or go around it. Where he trudged, the water seemed to turn black, the dirt and mud pulled from deep within his ebonite hide sucked away by the running liquid.
Lifting both front tree trunk thick legs at once, he touched down on solid ground and pulled his carcass from the water, the bank breaking loose under his massive weight. Without shaking off the water, the brute let streams of disgustingly dirty aqua run from his well muscled body. Ebon Lung continued his long inspection through the land, and made the decision. Stride slowed to an abrupt halt as an uncomfortable silence pulled over the land like a thick blanket. The only audible sound was the drip, drip, drip of the moistened stallion. Taking a deep breath, he opened his mouth showing dirty ivories. The voice heard was extremely deep and dirty, raspy it had been called. The voice at a whisper could have forced any other to look his way. If any bastard wants to try to keep me from having these lands… malevolent laughter bubbled from his throat, as well as a smile which never reached black eyes. I’d like to see him try. There the bastard stood and waited impatiently a response. He would wait three days, and if none had come by then, he would claim this land for him and his slaves…well mostly him…he wasn’t that generous.
[/size]Rain had fallen for many days now, deep black mud smelling like sewage made sucking sounds under dinner plate sized clubs. Inky black mass of dreads lay limp on the bastard’s thick neck, piling off both sides and spewing over his almost black eyes. Mud caked and brambled flyswatter swept with slaps against his sides, covering the already mangy brute with lines of putrid muck. A deep musky smell leaked from the brute, he didn’t seem to mind he smelt of himself, and didn’t care to bathe it off. He was a large stallion, towing over all except his father, and who really cared about “dear ole Daddy?” Thickly muscled haunches propelled him forward as he crashed through the eerie boggy forest, grinning at the despair he viewed. It was not every day he found a slave trading group, and not every day one had discovered such deplorable living conditions.
He paused at a stream and studied it rather filled with boredom. Every land had a water source; the stallions would be complete idiots to not have one. This one was filled with murky water. Lung could not decide whether it was algae, turned up mud, or leavings from the auction…it surely didn’t smell like feces, the answer must be one of the others. Noisily the brute walked straight through the brook, not seeming to bother trying to jump or go around it. Where he trudged, the water seemed to turn black, the dirt and mud pulled from deep within his ebonite hide sucked away by the running liquid.
Lifting both front tree trunk thick legs at once, he touched down on solid ground and pulled his carcass from the water, the bank breaking loose under his massive weight. Without shaking off the water, the brute let streams of disgustingly dirty aqua run from his well muscled body. Ebon Lung continued his long inspection through the land, and made the decision. Stride slowed to an abrupt halt as an uncomfortable silence pulled over the land like a thick blanket. The only audible sound was the drip, drip, drip of the moistened stallion. Taking a deep breath, he opened his mouth showing dirty ivories. The voice heard was extremely deep and dirty, raspy it had been called. The voice at a whisper could have forced any other to look his way. If any bastard wants to try to keep me from having these lands… malevolent laughter bubbled from his throat, as well as a smile which never reached black eyes. I’d like to see him try. There the bastard stood and waited impatiently a response. He would wait three days, and if none had come by then, he would claim this land for him and his slaves…well mostly him…he wasn’t that generous.
Ooc-if my writing style is to forward...tell me and ill back off.
[P:-1150][P:-1150]
