The end of the multiple realites of a quantum forgerie syndicate.

The monks had infilitrated the bastard son of George W. Bush’s secret illuminati social reality war. The feelings were not the meanness of a bitter revenge. The filteration system had failed to intersect the bacterium and they had all gotten sick. A nun who had been a double agent for a group of investors that loved to hug trees before they cut them down and turned them into military styled bath-tubs jumped up and down and down and down and down and down until they flung themselves into the meaningfulness with all of their hearts and batteries. They purchased a silicon breast implant for the money they would of spent gambling their destinies into a peanut fund to help feed the starving elephants of Africa. They needed to get into their new pair of pants so that they didn’t feel so frustrated all of the time. Their lives of debauchery were finally getting a little bit old and they’d have to spend more of the time they’d rather spend selling out, selling their blood to the mysterious corporate network that peddled the blood of CEOs. This nefarious scheme was set up rather recently to help infiltrate the last great frontier, the rich and deadly world of juggling diamond ear-rings that one just stole from the undead neice of some kind of seriously over-wealthy and over-weight man who happened to be a millionare. This can’t be gotten in less than 29 minutes and those who try fail miserably, so their was only one choice and that involved a little bit of bribery. Since chicken processors don’t really enjoy anything but slaughtering chickens you kind of had one choice when attempting to bribe them and seeing how the body guard of the soon to be robbed millionare hostess’s wife was one of those type of people we had to break into a mc-donalds and ressurect the dead bird that his mom had sold to the mennonites for 2.50
Now the first time on television one almost always appeared fatter than the best time you had sex with a gorrilla, but lately things were starting to reverse themselves and gorrila sex sitcoms were becoming all of the rage and everybody started to look fatter than when they were having sex with a gorrilla so you really had to pick and choose the bloopers in order to really get the right style of boudeix for the right moment. I always spent rare chinchilla blood on the meat and could never afford to burn them their maggots in order to get a really good and greasy finish on the car top. The carrots themselves meant business and even if they had to sell out completely they meant to get their piece of the pie as long as it involved some sort of cannibalism and desecrating the image of the pope. Jumping from one pond to another the jersey devil wove his flag and shouted “yipper Ripper ROOOOO!!!” nobody suspected anything since they were all blind and stupidified by their televisions, hardly anybody went out at dusk and stared at the oblivion of a terminal illness or even at the horizon sliding out of existence. Now the bugs were all going to infurirate the writer when he tried to do said things and got bit time and time again. So the end of this line will happen in another decade and perhaps any moment now but we all really know that the year now is 3170 and the feeling of doom has subsided from the humyn race. We get the feeling that they had hardly spent their name on our welcoming mat before the planet had started to regret inviting us into existence. With our ass being wiped on pristine virgin rain forest and then our shit being buried deep far under the ground doused with chemicals that rendered it infertile we started to feel really weird and gross ourselves out. The burning chemicals of the forest fire that would never start or stop and only continued as a sort of sacred image on the forest fire network television station was starting to gain sentience, pretty soon the fire would realize that it had over stepped its boundaries and that its existence was pretty much set up so that it would fail or else it would destroy all that it meant to save and then they would regurgitate their feelings and the pain would heal and new creatures would adapt to the fertile ground. The mutant weeds and bacteria that had set up so that they could devour the concrete were quite efficient at what they did, and pretty soon they were releasing the strange-hold of humanity from its pathetic joyless debacle and the world was in bloom and the grass was growing out of the cracks and wild goat herds were wandering around foraging on the remanents of a societal implosion. The zombie crisis had pretty much subsisted after 30 days and 30 years and we all kind of burped and smiled and realized that being zombies was no good, so they all just dropped dead and out oozed the bacterium that had infected them and I smiled and fixed up another drink and realized what I had done. It felt foolish yet good and then the world sort of melted and we are all here staring at the screen, realizing that our own quantum destiny is no longer foretold but that we have the presence to fix it and solve our solutions for the mantras of sun time and we have 3 trillion years to continue purchasing our own investements and that you not me need to clean up this mess and I will do it anyways because that’s the kind of guy I am. THE END….