piss off.

SO.

What are you doing Friday night?
Or Saturday. Or... y'know, Friday or Saturday.

They both work. Eenie meenie miney moe that shit.

Khaos, you're a fucking cow and oh, right, FUCK YOU.

Gaia, no one gives three shits about you and the state of your wrinkled and irrelevant old cunt, for fucks sake, so get off the rag already.

Boo hoo, I'm Prometheus, most cleverest mortal ever and eternal cock-sucking douchebag OH MY GOD IS THAT AN EAGLE IN MY LIVER? Good fucking luck, arsehole.

Let the alcoholism begin.

[Everything he says is in the same drawling and accented monotone, muffled and muttered at times as he's obviously talking to himself/his game, but c'est la vie. Gunshots and shouting in English, Russian and German can be heard, but is obviously coming from a television or computer, along with the clicking mashing of buttons on a game controller.]

Boo fuckin' 'oo. Man up, you lot've been complaining 'bout this fucker for months.

[A tinny explosion, a voice says something about Allied forces in a heavy Russian accent. The button tapping goes on.]

Zoom in on my utter inability to give two fucks. Jesus fucking Christ, Trotsky wannabe, get fuckin' lost 'fore I shank you. I enjoyed that.

It's so fucking cold. I'm like just totally fucking waiting for my god damned fingers to fall off the next time I try to open something. I mean. FUCK. One of the models got pneumonia because NOT TURNING THE HEAT UP + BEING A CHEAP MOTHERFUCKER + NO CLOTHING is not the perfect equation for... healthlinessness or something. But fuck it was COLD, I thought I'd never be able to even put the camera down 'cos your fingers just freeze like that.




Ugh. Going to lean over the sink for-fucking-ever.

Isn't the body summat like 76% water? Or liquid?
I think it's all leaking out my face.

murrrrrrrrrrrrrrr.
too lazy, too sniffly. fuuuuuuck.

Can you feel my unhappy face, Big Hoss? CAN YOU? IT'S LIKE SUPER FUCKING UNHAPPY.

On that note, we need to chitchat.

CALL OF DUTY: BLACK OPS IS MINE! Fuck yes.

If you're going to run your blasphemous mouth about how it's a rehash then GET THE FUCK OUT.
This shit has fucking attack dogs after you get a kill streak! Your arguments are invalid!

So, like...

I found my people.

I did a fucking triple take, I SWEAR, it was NUTS. They were all ARE YOU SURE YOU'RE NOT FROM LONDON? and I was like UH, YEAH, I'M FROM LIKE... NEW YORK CITY which totally shattered my fucking little meat-bag heart because that's totally not true at all but then again it kinda fucking is? You can't go around now and be like NO, DUDE, I'M FROM GREECE LIKE... NOT THE RIOTING GREECE BUT FUCKING AWESOME GREECE WHERE YOU HAD TO BE SO BADASS JUST TO STEP OUT OF YOUR DOORWAY.

Except I never did that, but that shit doesn't count. Does it? It doesn't count, man, it doesn't count. No, no. No. Dude. No. Shut the fuck up, it doesn't count.

FUCK.
I'm going to ramble like those stupid girls and I fucking hate doing that, this summer was like... like... PAINFUL. In a totally-not-cool-Acheron way. In an oh-my-gods-if-I-could-I-would-rip-my-eardrums-off-or-better-yet-her-tongue-out way.

And now I'm bored.

TL;DR: fucking work dragged me to London for-fucking-ever and I got sweet free shit, then cocksuc- I mean, Cronus, dragged me back here but I thought I was still in London and THAT shit was fucked up, and then... something probably happened but I'm starving and this is boring and I'm bored and hungry and yeah.

My throat is fucking raw. This is so fucked up.

Phanta Phanta, dont'cha wanta~ like get me a grande vanilla bean creme frappuccino or something? It huuuuuuuurts. I'll pay for it and whatever and you can get something, too, but I'm just too lazy to get up and... ugh, fuck it, whatever.

Oh. Yeah. Playing Pokemon and watching the screen flash signifying the SLOW AND PAINFUL CAUSED-BY-POISON DEATH of Chimchar, Pippin, makes me want to cut myself. I'm so sorry, Pippin.

I'm really tired.

SO LIKE.





YOU ALL SOUND REALLY FUCKING ANNOYED.




It makes me tingle. ♥

[hear that slamming of cupboards and shuffling around of various pots and pans and boxes of cereal that are only empty cardboard? yes, Cocytus does, too, perhaps that is part of his irritation, but not all of it. he's obviously on the phone, digging around for something that doesn't SUCK.]

My fucking meatbag skinsuit THING is BROKEN.

What if it gets worse? [DING. wrong thing to think about, because the near panic in his voice sets in almost immediately.] Oh my FUCK, I need to fix it now. Where's the ass I need to kiss to get a new one?

[let it be known that a restless Cocytus is... really not something you want around, ever. there's a thud of feet on the ground and then a whine and the very distinct sound of scratching (or at least attempting to scratch) through denim.]

I just got this piece of shit, it should be lasting me like... the next sixty years, but no, Cronus that cheapskate bitch has to give me a rip-off.

Ow, motherfucker, what the hell... Ow. Fix itttttttt. I get hungry and I get itchy and Tartarus' crusty ballsack, this sucks so much, thi-

[he stops dead in the middle of his word and the phone clatters onto a surface, probably the counter-top since it doesn't break, and what can be heard is 100% certified Cocytus brand wailing. we're very sorry neighbors, Phantasos, very sorry.]

WHAT IF I HAVE CANCER I DON'T WANNA SHAVE MY HEAD!

So, like, I know you all really fucking hate Cronus.

But this is really fucking amazing. You guys are whining like someone kicked your fucking puppy. It's just the truth. Don't be a pussy. Assgardians. I love this.

I mean, at work today some model was all like

"CHASE CHASE" wtf CHASE? so lame "MR. ADAMS SAYS THIS BRA DOESN'T MATCH THE REST OF THE OUTFIT"

So, technically, it's my job to find this chick something else to wear. I don't know why the hell this shoot didn't have her in a shirt, but what the hell ever, not complaining, mortals can do whatever the fuck they want. Go away.

ANYWAY. I totally didn't MEAN to say it but I was just like "THEN JUST TAKE IT OFF. YOU'VE GOT NICE TITS."

And then Mr. Adams was like "CHASE, THAT'S A GREAT IDEA. WE'LL DO A TOPLESS SHOOT."


I win. The truth rocks. How long does this brilliance last?