#the fact that debark has to be at stupid in the AM is terrible

[hxllblazer-a]

I shall be home proper in approximately 5 hours then imma make it everyone’s problem 😌

[caredogstips]

In The Shadow Of Two Fangs: A Harrowing Tale Of Vampiric Terror

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You are at the library. Which book would you like to read?

Read The Dog Who Got Hit By A Car On The Moon, by Jeffis Kleen.

Read The Dog Who Got Hit By A Car On Mars, by Jeffis Kleen.

Read The Dog Who Got Hit By A Car On The Moon Again And It Was The Same Car, by Jeffis Kleen.

Excuse me, I think youll is my finding that that notebook is awfully boring and bad, says an old person standing behind you. Jeffis Kleen is a terrible columnist, and thats one of his worst volumes. I should know; Ive speak them all. You experience, Jeffis Kleen is my father. I am Leonardo Kleen.

Okay…

Well, I didnt really ask for your opinion, old person.

I like Jeffis Kleens works. He is a brilliant sci-fi writer who understands what it would be like for bird-dogs to get hit by cars on other planets.

Might I show another journal? I have a very special one in mind for you, as you seem like a special reader. Yes, you certainly do have a allure about you. An indisputable halo. You visualize, I dont give this volume out to precisely anyone. Its been in our collection for 100 times, and everyone who has read it has either shed themselves off a connection or be president. Now I am paying it to you…

Take the book.

Not much is known about the man who wrote it. It appears to be a diary of kinds , notable for the fact that it provides as the only subsisting historic report of the events which it claims to describe. Occasions that appear to have greatly affected the author, and indeed, “the worlds” itself.

He hands you the book, and you instantly notice that it odors strangely of garlic. Your hands tremble as you sit down at a nearby desk.

Open the book to the title page and begin to read…

June the fifth, eighteen hundred and ninety-six,

You arrive today in the hamlet of L—- after a lengthy excursion from the capital city, where you are a student at the University of K—-. The focus of your studies is discipline, people fatal blow to God. You pride yourself on your skepticism of the supernatural, and wear it proudly on your person in accordance with the arrangements of one of those Jesus fish patches that has hoofs and the word Darwin inside of it.

The purpose of your stay to L—-? A subject of the rich botanical offerings of the region, focusing primarily on the ones that reek really good. You will prevent this publication during your bide to document your sees, as well as anything of note that might pas. You do not plan to stay long, though this has nothing to do with the stories “youve heard” as small children about such regions of F—-, your beloved motherland. Legends of strange people that haunt the ground and know not fatality. None of this frightens you now, as you debark the civilize and leave the depot. You are a man of intellect. A scientist. You know that every phenomenon in this world can be explained with science. Even slugs.

Hello, kind tourist, enunciates an age-old villager standing outside the modest teach terminal. May I furnish you a ride into city on my as? He is a fast donkey. Most mules are slow, but mine is unusually speedy. You know why? He is afraid. We are all afraid here. Even donkeys, who are the dumbest of all Gods characters, can tell theres something wrong with this country. Something dreadful and decayed and exceedingly pointy.

What have you to fear, sir? Dont you know God is dead?

No, thank you, I will simply amble there by myself.

God help you.

Walk to township alone.

Oh, God is dead? Thats great report. One less circumstance for me to worry about. But “youre supposed” reminded, my friend. There are things worth horror more than God. Now, how about that mule travel, eh?

Pay the old-time villager for the ride into town.

I feel Ill simply move there on my own. Its precisely down the road, isnt it?

I frequently charge twenty gromels, but its on the house if you can educate my stupid son how to caress. My son has never kissed before in their own lives, and he is a complete and total embarrassment. Delight learn him how to make out so I no longer have to wake up every day and have my first made be, My son cant mack with the best of em.

Teach the age-old villagers son how to kiss.

This is my donkey. His appoint is Waterfalls. Please, climbing aboard, and Waterfalls and I will take you into town.

Climb into the cart.

I am the old-fashioned villagers son. I expend my daylights straying the countryside with my pup, and I cant kiss for poop. Kind stranger, will you learn me how to do the lip kindness I have heard so much about?

Sure.

Wonderful, speaks the old villagers son. I can practice it on my bird-dog. Now, how do I do it? Kissing, I symbolize?

Put your lips on it.

Smoosh your lips into the dog.

Delicately target your cheeks on the dogs face.

Follow your heart.

Slowly and romantically punch the dog with your lips.

Take your cheeks and deliver them to your hounds face.

Smooch that pooch.

The old-fashioned villagers son kiss the dog. Congratulations. You taught the villagers son how to kiss.

Youre welcome.

Thank you so much, species stranger! declares the old-fashioned villager. It is important to know how to make love. Otherwise you might have a make-out accident and croak. All right, come with me!

Go to the donkey cart.

The old-time villager lets you off at the hamlet tavern and razzes off into the fading light of day. Eventually, you have arrived! You pick up your suitcase and approach the inn.

Go inside.

You set off down the itinerary into town, suitcase in hand. Off to the side you find a particularly glorious botanical specimen, and you set about saving it in your journal.

Make an enter about the specimen in your journal.

Species: Flower Location: On the side of the road Smells: Pretty good

Wow, you think to yourself. Science is awesome!

Put your journal away and continue walking.

But the moment you elevate your head up from your periodical, you notice something deeply embarrassing. A sudden fog has expended the track onward. You have the strange feeling that you are being watched. A coldnes flows down your sticker. Your palms sweat. The mane on the back of your neck stands on end, then your limb whisker, chest fuzz, and pubic hair. Pretty soon all of your mane is standing on end, and it looks really weird. Three of your teeth fall out. Then, from behind, a spokesperson whisperings in your ear…

Good evening.

Scream and turn around.

Oh, what a grisly see! Standing before you is a terrifying mantled dame with fangs as long and as sharp-worded as spears. You look wide-eyed into the look of the wretched animal, clutching your Darwin patch, altogether petrified.

Theres something I should tell you, and its that Im a ogre! she roars in your appearance, her icing breath the rank odor of putrid chassis. And now Im going to do the vampire concept and eat all your blood! How about that, huh? How do you feel about that? Probably not very good!

Yes, you are correct. I do not feel better about that.

Thats impossible. I believe in science! And science answers vampires cant be real!

Oh, yeah. I forgot. Bye.

And with that, the ghoul withdraws into the forest, never to be seen again.

Wow. Science IS breathtaking!

You Utilized Science To Testify That Vampires Dont Exist!

Done already? Well, I suppose you used science to prove that vampires dont prevail. Well done! Science really is fucking awesome.

Return to Checkpoint.

Start over.

Start Over

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