Archive for the Vent Category

Like Pledge, only nonedible

Posted in Random, Vent on March 7, 2011 by nonediblehuman

Once upon a time there was an Orange, named Lemon, and he was sort of tangy, though mostly only if he didn’t frequently get juiced.

He was at his ripest age, an entire month old from Pick to Buy date.

His skin was orange, but his smell was citrus like.

Lemon hadn’t many friends.

Though, it wasn’t surprising, since his lack of organized structure was off-putting.

All the other oranges were 1,2,3,4,5,6,7,8,9,10,11,12,13,14,15,16,17,18,19,20,21,22,23,24,25,26,27,28,29,30,31,32…

They couldn’t figure out why it was that this strange odd little Orange was named lemon.

Even the lemons 1,2,3,4,5,6,7,8,9,10,11,12,13,14,15,16,17,18,19,20,21,22,23,24,25,26,27,28,29,30,31, and 32 didn’t want to swing from the tree with this little Orange.


He died.

Like all damn fruit.


“Tasteless With BBQ Sauce”

Posted in Story, Vent, Zombie on March 3, 2011 by nonediblehuman

Warnings: Gore, Horror, Zombies, Rape(though mentioned not in detail) Pretty pointless but it makes me feel better.


Crunch. Slurp. Crunch. Slurp.
It was a continuous, aggravating noise, and all I wanted to do was turn and punch the man in the face. His eating habits left much to be desired. Frankly, I was a bit at the end of my rope.

“Could you please eat more quietly?” I grit out, angry and frustrated. How could I enjoy my own meal when he insisted on being so perverse in his own eating?

He merely shrugged in answer, continuing on in making obscene sounds.

Shoving it to the side, I contemplated the pile of bones in front of me. They were still warm, flesh covered, and raw. So deliciously raw. The pungent wafting of the blood was making my mouth salivate. It didn’t need anything else, just fresh was good. Losing myself into the tantalizing smell of my dinner, I went to bite into an arm.

SLUUUUUUUUUURP. Crunch crunch crunch.

Munching away on the bones, slurping the bone marrow from the splintered leg, he had once again interrupted me from my feast. Eyes narrowed I contemplated the removal of his head. Yet, it was more work with less reward, for his decaying corpse wouldn’t taste as good and I’d have not a husk to hunt with.

“Could you please, please maybe, not make so many noises while you are eating?” I ventured a go again, perhaps he’d take more to the nice approach.

His teeth were coated in red, and had bits of flesh stuck here and there as he grinned at me. Shaking my irritation from me, I once more purveyed the mutilation.

The blood was starting to coagulate, globbing unappealingly even to me. Biting into the arm was decadent, the squirt of blood, the tear beneath my teeth of the muscle and tendon. Wrenching back my head, tearing a chunk clean away, I chewed in pleasure. Taking a second, and then third bite I reveled in the feel of life it gave to me.

Inch by slow inch I neatly, and efficiently stripped the bone of skin, tendon, and muscle. The blood was sweet, the marrow though was pure bliss. Hard to get, but worth every bit of effort. Better than blood and flesh, it was like eating pure life, and it tasted just as good. I finished with the arm and moved on to the next one.

I was just again about to bite into the arm.

Sluuuuuuck. Sluuuuck.

That, was depraved. I refused to watch him perversely take his pleasure with his husk’s lower extremities.

This may be our private hell, destiny a sham and fate a shit, but some things you just didn’t stoop to.

The irony struck me terribly then, as all ironic thoughts do.

For, how much worse could eating a fellow human be than to rape a dead body?

It was one of the intrinsically instinctive thoughts all humans had.

Murder is bad.

Rape is bad.

Cannibalism is bad bad bad.

And, yet, here we were.

Thinking these thoughts didn’t put me off of eating, for no matter how repulsive I may have found myself to be now, I wasn’t about to stop being.

Life is about suffering and hating yourself, if you can’t die, there’s obviously a reason you’re meant to survive and agonize.

Re-engaging in eating, I left the face for last. Faces tended to be the dessert of the body, unless of course they were wearing makeup, then it was like eating shit.

I heard him finish, and then go search through her house. He was a much faster eater, though less efficient in not wasting. My meal was filling and my hands were losing their slightly green tinge as I finally made my way down her legs.

Legs were my least favorite. They were always heaviest in fat, girls were onto something with that Cellulite sally mentality. Yet, it was food, and though the flesh was gamey, the blood was fresh and sweet.

A bottle rolled towards me on the floor, he had entered the room while I was pulling strips of skin away and rolling them up to chew.

I grabbed the bottle and turned it over.

Jack Daniels Barbeque Sauce?

“It’ll help with the fat,” was all he said.


Cheers. Because when life gets you down, Zombies are amazing.