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A Straight-Up Pimp by Ray Printer Friendly

Man, you wouldn’t believe how tempted I was to pull “Making Reality” off the site tonight. It’s not even close to being finished, in case you’re wondering. It was one of those that I started writing, and it was going so well that I figured I would have it finished in a day or two, you know?

And then I woke up this morning and thought, “What the hell? I can’t finish that! What was I thinking?”

Sometimes that really works out for me, because I’m forced to finish writing a story that I would normally throw into the scrap pile. Other times, I just end up writing a story that’s total crap. So we’ll see, I guess.

Yeah, man, I know that that’s totally going to get you to read it. “What? An unfinished story that might turn out to be crap? Let me at it!

I have true gift for advertising, you know?

Anyways, since I’ve decided to leave it up, I promise to finish it. I can’t promise that there will be an entry every day, or that it will be any good, or…wait a minute—those incredible advertising skills again, huh?

What I meant to say was, it’s going to be the greatest story that you’ve ever read in your entire life. Beings from space will actually come to this planet after reading this story, specifically to get me to sign their computer monitors and their alien boobs.

This story is going to be so mind-blowingly incredible that just by hearing about it, your alcoholism has been cured. And your mom wants to have sex with me. Sorry, man, but you have to take the good with the bad.

Although other than me doing your mom, there’s not really a bad side to this story, and just between you and I, me sexing up your mom is probably not as bad as you might think. I mean, unless you’re thinking graphically, like she’s all tied up on the bed, covered in grape jelly and Hot Wheels toys, and she’s got an eye-patch and a pirate hat on, and space boots. If you’re thinking stuff like that, then it’s probably as bad as you think, but if you’re thinking thoughts like that about your mom, you probably deserve to be traumatized, you know?

It’s you mom, man. Gross.

So, um, yeah. Compared to this little rant, pretty much anything I post afterwards will seem wonderful. Mission complete.


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