I am that good looking.

As my little sister played, the dogs took her away.

And I guess she was eaten up okay.

No, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no,

no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no.

Cupid put too much poison in the dart.

This is the epitaph for my heart because it's

Gone, Gone, Gone

Turns her voice into:

Sugar Water.

I had a dream last night.

A group of people had gathered me, and a few hundred other people in a hall, and we were all sitting in front of a stage. Upon the stage were about ten people tied to posts with bags over their heads, and a few others standing around them.

One of the people on stage announced that they were going to be burning Catholics at the stake.

He informed us that the people tied to posts were all Catholics, and that there were a few others suspected in the audience. He began to read a list of names, and some burly people dragged those names one by one to their own post.

And then they began to light their captives on fire. One by one. A man announced that he was not a Catholic, but an Anglican. They burned him anyway.

And I sat there and watched.

Then all of a sudden, one of the kidnapped pulled himself free. From his pocket he drew a light machine gun, and with it he slaughtered the murderers.

Everybody cheered.

And then I woke up.

Upon a Fearful Summons

It's midnight. The doors are locked. The curtains are drawn. The house is empty. The only light is the soft glow of the computer screen as I write this message.

They're coming; I know they are.

I try to sleep but all I hear is the sound of beating drums. Every time I close my eyes I fear that it's the last I'll ever see of the world. I feel as if someone has take sandpaper to my heart, and they'll just keep scratching away until there's nothing left inside of me.

"Just one more breath. Come on. One more."

I don't know how long I've been here. Minutes turn to hours. Hours turn to days. Days turn to weeks. I don't know how long it's going to take, but I know what's coming.

The sound is getting louder. At first I could barely notice it; just a soft beat in the background of an empty room, like a ticking clock. They've never believed me. "I can't hear anything," they'd say. Well, I could hear it. I still hear it. It's not going away. They're almost here.

Thump. Thump. Thump.

I haven't slept in days. I can barely eat. My eyes are bloodshot. My mouth is dry. I can barely lift my fingers. I feel as if I am about to collapse at any second, but I know I won't. I can't. The moment I close my eyes I'm gone. I know it.

Thump. Thump. Thump.

I can hear them outside. Shuffling. Murmuring. The sound is almost deafening to my ears. I cannot take much more of this. This is the end, I'm sure.

Thump. Thump. Thump.

The sound stops. It's quiet. All I can hear is the soft hum of my laptop. This is it. I know it.

Ding-dong.

My doorbell rings.

I'm done. I cannot take anymore. I stand up slowly and begin my first step towards the door, taking my laptop with me. The floor creaks under my weight. I'm reminded of an inmate walking the green mile. I hold my breath as I approach the door. My hand slowly reaches out.

Click.

The door flies open. I am greeted by the visages of a thousand angry street sharks. Half of them are on motorcycles. The other half are performing elaborate dance routines from such popular Andrew Lloyd Webber musicals as Cats and Evita. I hear one sing Common People in the voice of James Taylor. Two are playing catch with the ghost of Kublai Khan.

"Hello," they say in unison. "So good of you to join us."

I turn around, and notice a mirror. In the mirror I see a face staring back at me. It is not my face, but the face of David Bowie from the movie Labyrinth. The floor opens up, and I fall through the earth. I see nothing but darkness. A voice calls me by name and I wake up.

I'm in my room, sitting upright in my bed. It was all a dream. It's morning. My curtains are open. The sun is out. The birds are singing. It's a beautiful day. I sigh, and fall back on my pillow.

"What a strange dream," I think. "At least it's over."

I wake up, and it isn't a dream. The titular creature from the movie Pumpkinhead is staring at me, its gaze unmoving. My hands are tied. I try to scream but I have no mouth. I try to tell them I'm popular on the Internet but they cannot hear my voiceless voice.

The world pans upward, and it was all in a snow globe. An autistic boy stares at it. His pupils turn black and he lets out a shriek.

Another autistic boy wakes up. It was all in his head. He was in a coma, and in his nightmares he dreamed of me. I was the doctor. I wink at him and walk out of the room, clutching my clipboard. As I walk through the door, a mist creeps in.

And you were the serial killer.

It was a dark and stormy night. Very dark, and very stormy like a painting depicting a night that is in the middle of a thunderstorm.

Pico opened the door, his clothes dripping with water from the aforementioned storm. He took a few steps inward and stopped in his tracks.

"Oh hello Darnell," exclaimed Pico, "I didn't see you there with no pants on. And also no shirt on."
"Yes hello Pico," said Darnell gayly, "oh my, look at you. You look like a really wet person. Let's get you out of those clothes and into my anus."
"You mean, like, sex?" inquired Pico.
"I mean exactly that." said Darnell, matter of factly.
"But what about Nene?" asked Pico, remembering that Nene is also a character associated with Newgrounds.
"What about Nene? If you know what I mean." responded Darnell.

Pico smiled wryly. He knew exactly what Darnell meant. Darnell meant that Pico and him were going to have sex with each other, and Pico understood that. It was very romantic.

"Mphhmphmphmphm" said Pico, with Darnell's massive eight inch cock in his mouth.
"What was that?" questioned Darnell.
"I said, I-" began Pico, but he was cut off when Darnell forced his nine inch cock down Pico's tight throat.

Pico's gag reflex was triggered. The pack of oreos he ate for lunch came gushing out of his stomach like a waterfall, only backwards and with vomit rather than water. Darnell's seven inch dick was covered in partially digested food and bile. He felt a burning sensation, both figuratively and literally. He was taken aback, and in a moment of surprise he allowed his bladder to relax. Steamy urine filled Pico's mouth, and he drunk it like a young calf sucking on his mother's teet. He plunged Darnell's urinating dick back into his mouth and sucked it dry, the urine and vomit in his mouth forming a green fluid that flowed from his lips.

The sensation was too much for Darnell who always had a fetish for this kind of thing but was too afraid to tell anyone. Semen gushed out of the tip of his penis like semen does anyone else's penis, only moreso because he was so turned on. The semen, urine and bile formed a healthy concoction that Pico happily guzzled.

The two collapsed on the floor, naked and in a pool of their own bodily liquids.

"I love you, Darnell," muttered Pico.
"What?" asked Darnell.
"I said I love you!" Pico yelled and plunged his lips onto Darnells, and the two locked in sweet embrace.

A taste overwhelmed Darnell at that moment. It was the taste of love.

The end.

Check out my new flash animation: The Lamp.

You'll laugh, you'll cry, it will change your life.

I don't like your girlfriend.