:: Porkchop Serum ::

:: Friday, March 12, 2004 ::

Sandy stirred on the linoleum. Articulating his arms and legs, he stayed flat on his back, keeping his eyes shut. Sandy felt safe inside the darkness yet a cold chill brought him back to the reality of his situation. Eye's still clamped shut from fear of what they would see, he was jolted by a bright orange flash and a stabbing pain at the rear of his skull. Sandy ran his fingers through hair matted with blood and over a golf ball sized lump.

"Fuck me", he whispered to himself. Unsure if he was alone of was being towered over by his captors.

Matt inched closer to the immobile Sandy, positioned himself and let out a wail, "CAROLLINNNNNEEE!!!" Sandy spasmed from fright, catching Matt across the face with his elbow.

"DUDE!!", Matt quickly subdued Sandy like one of those troubled teens he once administered.

"Open your eyes you little bitch. We need to get out of this place."

Sandy reluctantly sat up. His eyelids still slits, he blinked furiously, looked at Matt and swiveled his head to survey their surroundings.

"Um, are we in a fuckin coffin?", Sandy asked quasi-calmly.

"It appears to be. I've been trying to keep myself sane by singing Outkast to myself. I wanted to wait till you got up before I totally lose my shit." Matt was starting to twitch.

The two dazed captives were inside a ten by ten by ten room with completely barren walls. No doors or windows or any evidence that there was a way in or a way out. Even though they were basked in light, it eminated from ghostly fixtures. Either invisible or non-existant. In any case, the lack of any discernible lamps or bulbs did not weigh heavily on Sandy and Matt's minds. They were stuck. Perhaps with a finite amount of air. No food, no water. No nothing except the clothes on their backs.

They looked at each other.

"Oh Shit" they said in unison.

:: sandy 7:50 PM [+] ::
...

I'm really pushing my body. Tonight, after a fairly moderate chest workout, i returned home. I cooked some broiled salmon. Quite good actually. Just one filet with a mountain of rice pilaf sent me into an on-again off-again food narcolepisode to the Bourne Identity. My triceps and pectorals are still swollen. Trembloids still find a home in my upper extremeties, reminders that I did something correctly.

I'm left exhausted though. Its only ten and I'm headed to bed. This is the time when I would spit the venom onto the blog. I'm putting the phone next to my bed. Here I go. Decending...

:: sandy 10:11 PM [+] ::
...