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Going Ape Shit Press 022
going ape shit #22 by lord valgamon
aren't open submissions fun boys and girls?
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I just had a very interesting experience and I felt compelled to
document it. Earlier this evening I found it to be quite stuffy in my
bedroom, so I opened the window about five or six inches and pulled up
the shade to allow some cool air to flow into the room. Little did I
know that my bedroom light acted as a homing beacon for thousands upon
thousands of night creatures who usually fly blindly at the moon for
lack of anything better to do at such late hours of the night. (I guess
they have races, too). To my horror, a swarm of insects penetrated the
gap left by the open window and began buzzing incessantly around my
bedroom. I was in a state of shock, and nearly lost control of certain
muscular areas of my body. Thinking fast, I grabbed the nearest solid
object I could find, which just happened to be my copy of "The New
Riders' Official Internet Yellow Pages, Second Edition." I swiftly
leapt from my chair and dove towards a hideous-looking moth which was
making its way up my Iron Maiden poster, its twig-like little bug feet
leaving microscopic tracks of germs and filth as it climbed so skill-
fully. Positioning the binding of the encyclopedia-like book directly
in line with the moth's slender frame, I reached back and then heaved
the book forward with a burst of strength that rivaled Hercules. The
sickening crackling sound that followed turned my stomach. I hit the
bloody thing so hard that I had actually imprinted it into the wall.
This senseless act of violence must have instilled utter terror into
the miniscule hearts and minds of the rest of the swarm, because they
all flew out the window immediately upon seeing my ruthless and
brutal killing of one of their own. Feeling triumphant, yet somehow
remorseful, I grabbed a handful of tissues and began cleaning the guts-
smeared binding of the poor book, who never asked to be used as an
instrument of death in the first place. Then my ultimate challenge
stared me right in the face: removing the ghastly, mangled, squelched
carcass of that infernal moth from my once-pure-and-pristine-white
bedroom wall. Using that same wad of tissues, not much unlike the ones
I so frequently use for masturbation, I proceeded to scrape the
yellowed, oozing remains of the foul insect from the wall. I then
brought the wad into the lavatory across the hall, where I tossed it
into the toilet. After urinating on the soaked wad, I flushed it down
the toilet, confident that I would never hear from it again. But I fear
deep down that I may have recurring nightmares in which the moth I so
ferociously slaughtered comes back to haunt my sleep for eternity...
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yippie!
