The Chronicles of Abby Normal:
Dazzling Dominatrix of Darkness and Despair
So here I am again, to open my veins and spill my pain onto your pages. Finally, after toiling at my day-slave job, which is totally lame and I now understand the ennui of passing all of eternity in total boredom and despair, Gladdy called and was all, “Are you hashing tonight?” And I was like “What do you care, douche nozzle?” And he goes, “I've got this beer, and we have to go because I get to RA and blah blah blah you never let me do anything fun bluster bluster and I need you to drive me home.” So I was like, “Whatever.” And we went to the start of the hash.
First of all, we met in the gloaming parking lot whose darkening and coldness totally, like, reflects the gloomth that is my mortal existence, and there was some really awesomely cheap beer there, and I drank some of it. Second of all, there were, like, 50 people there and we formed the unholy semi-circle of the wiccan coven, which would have been totally stealth if so many people weren't dressed up like clowns. One of the clowns, Stinky, droned on at length about all the rules and regulations and fascist dogma of the trail, which would be ultimately fucked anyway, but I'll get to that in a sec. Anyway, after like nine eternities, he's all, “Are there any questions?” And I was like, “Yeah, is there going to be a quiz later? Because this shit is not exactly rocket science.” And he totally cowered in his little clown pants after the verbal bitch slapping with which I had just smote him. So Clown and his harem of co-clowns scampered away. Skanks.
There was this other ho, who was admittedly totally hot, and I guess the unholy coven wanted to bring her into the fold of the nosferatu or whatever. Or probably they just wanted to bone her. And they were all like, “What is your occupation and have you ever had inter-species sex and are you worthy of this honor” At any rate, she was sent away to endure some sacred cleansing ritual so that her heart would be as black as the raven locks of the hipster bitch who ganked my seat at Starbucks last week while I was just up for one second getting a refill of non-fat caramel amaretto machiatto. They named her Inspector GrabTit or something like that. It was pretty badass.
It was after this that Gladdy was like, “On out, bitches!” And we left to try to find trail. We ran for like five minutes before we found a true trail arrow pointing back from whence we came, and I was like, “Fucksocks!” because we hadn't even gotten to the beer stop yet. Let me just say here that the nosferatu are not geniuses of logic, so when we came upon this cryptic mark reminiscent of Chinese fingercuffs, everyone was like, “Huh?” And so when we tried to follow what we had assumed was the second half of trail backwards, we ended up wandering around Golfworld and Metro Lighting like silver-eyed zombies who have had a vague whiff of living human flesh. Luckily Gayblade was like, “Behold! I bring you knowledge from the future.” And flipped out a most fly GPS unit to lead us directly to the beer, which is a good thing, because while I remained outwardly aloof and chilly in my grief, on the inside I was weeping the bloody, crystalline tears of the undead, and they fell and were shattered on the sharp craggy rocks of this miserable life.
And we finally got to the beerstop and I tasted the first drop of that clear, cold ambrosia that is Miller Lite. OMG! It was so fucking good...like coming twice with Skittles and a Coke. So I drank the whole thing, but by the time I was finished almost everybody had already left, so it was just me, Gladdy, Bernie, Dewey, Hummers, and her totally boneable fuckpuppet Battleshit who I would do on sharp gravel if I had the chance. But Bernie was like, “You are mistaken. Lazyass is just yonder. We can catch up and walk with him.” And we were like “Where?” And Bernie was like, “He's up there. You can see his reflectors in the light.” And we were like, “Thanks, Columbo,” But he must have been propelled at top Canadian speed, because we were all gasping for breath like asthmatics in gym class dodgeball from trying to catch the fucking Turbo-Ghost of Lazyass by the time we got to Brentwood High (gag). It was around this time that we were passed by a kid on a bike with reflectors. It was also around this time that some crusty soccer mom pulled up next to us and was all “Where's Brentwood High and what are you guys doing and I am so ashamed to be driving this lame ass mini-van.” And I was all “What's with all the questions, Bitch? Are you some kind of thought police or something?” And she was like, “Look, I'm just a little lost,” And I was like “Take your polio infested blankets elsewhere, Christopher Columbus.”
I was just about to wither and crumble to dust like so many cheerios under the floormat of my existence and enter the darkly realm of eternal slumber when we at last found the end of this clusterfuck of a trail. I feasted upon the sweet sweet sustenance of cheezy puffs and PBR light. We brought Clown and his co-clowns (who were really like Sirens or the three Graces or some other totally smoking mythical Greek creatures) for being duplicitous hoes and leading us all astray. We also brought in Hymen Hunter for being so scrumptious, and we forced them to do our bidding in a fight (beer chug) to the death (end of the beer), which Clown totally won, and the delectable morsel of man meat who is Hymen Hunter was awarded again for his hotness. Hummers swung us low wearing this ginormous cowboy hat and then bid us away, saying “Go. And tell no one what you have witnessed here tonight.”
Addendum: OMFG. Those t-ravs were so freaking good, but Gladdy bogarted the whole plate and I only got one after I pointed out that he is a scourge on humanity and if he didn't give it I would totally tell everyone that he secretly loves High School Musical 2 and practices the choreography in front of the living room mirror.
Abby Normal (aka Plot My G-Spot),
Humble Minion of Darkness, Foreboding, and Dread and Eternal Love Slave of Lizzardo, My Most Fly Dark Lord