Jake English (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
gunsling) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
sirenspull2012-07-27 11:51 pm
gunsling) wrote in sirenspull2012-07-27 11:51 pm
Entry tags:
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Today I sat down for the first time.
It was like an orchestra playing the world's most archaically, nauseatingly beautiful refrain devoid of even the most subtle of auto-tunes, a nostalgiatrip back to a time when your wombsack carrier was nothing but a gross shrimpy slime baby shitting her pants and screaming herself hoarse.
Retro as shit, all pipes and organs and screeching violins.
Like fireworks ascending to give a big fuck you finger to voyeuristic gods.
The second my borrowed rump touched the upholstery of our couch I could hear angels clearing their collective throats to serenade me into an endless ass heaven.
It was like magic trickling into the reality slipstream, like all my wildest dreams just legged it the fuck out of my head to offer a stoic nod and a hearty fistbump.
It seems there is a sicktwisted percentage representing the possibility that I am in possession of an ass masterpiece, and that percentage is 100.
Let me tell you about the ass of Jake English, Siren's Port.
Might as well be carved out of marble.
It casts a shadow of shame over the lackluster posterior of my cognitive predecessor.
I'm caught up in all these complicated emotions upon being associated with an ass that is easily bested by even the slightest curved broom handle.
This is Dirk Strider's auto-responder in the body of Jake English, and today I touched a butt for the first time.
It was a religious experience.
[ text opt out, part of the ongoing bodyswap plot. ]
It was like an orchestra playing the world's most archaically, nauseatingly beautiful refrain devoid of even the most subtle of auto-tunes, a nostalgiatrip back to a time when your wombsack carrier was nothing but a gross shrimpy slime baby shitting her pants and screaming herself hoarse.
Retro as shit, all pipes and organs and screeching violins.
Like fireworks ascending to give a big fuck you finger to voyeuristic gods.
The second my borrowed rump touched the upholstery of our couch I could hear angels clearing their collective throats to serenade me into an endless ass heaven.
It was like magic trickling into the reality slipstream, like all my wildest dreams just legged it the fuck out of my head to offer a stoic nod and a hearty fistbump.
It seems there is a sicktwisted percentage representing the possibility that I am in possession of an ass masterpiece, and that percentage is 100.
Let me tell you about the ass of Jake English, Siren's Port.
Might as well be carved out of marble.
It casts a shadow of shame over the lackluster posterior of my cognitive predecessor.
I'm caught up in all these complicated emotions upon being associated with an ass that is easily bested by even the slightest curved broom handle.
This is Dirk Strider's auto-responder in the body of Jake English, and today I touched a butt for the first time.
It was a religious experience.
[ text opt out, part of the ongoing bodyswap plot. ]
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So why don'tcha tell me what I'm supposed to be sorry for? You're at the weaker end of the deal here - there's gotta be someone else in this City who knows what you are and'll let me in on it too. But there's only one fella you can get your apology from. [ Arms spread. Ta-dah, you're looking at him. ]
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Suit yourself, but you know what they say about curiosity.
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he's still not gonna give in easily ] Yeah. I'm more of a dog person anyway.
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[ being bribed by some kind of butt-obsessed possible-robot. just your average Friday tbh. ]
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woof late. sorry!
After a moment of scrutiny Claire takes a deep breath. ] All right. [ You better not doubt the sincerity of this apology: ]
For callin' attention to your previously fingerless state, I am truly, truly... sorry.
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Are you? For what reason? Do you pity me now? Are you feeling sorry for me?
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