Tuesday, August 21

let this shot glass pass from me...

after the inevitable post-prandial tears and vomiting, alt.me and regular me had a few things to discuss. first: we had to agree to never try to fuck each other again. there wasn't much of an argument between us on that point.

second: whether or not we should bother saving the universe(s).

the universe(s) and i (or us, i guess) live in a constant state of disagreement. i'm fairly certain, as i've mentioned before, that the sole purpose of existence is to test the limits of my patience, of my goodwill, of my kind and generous nature and, the extent that my easy sense of humor helps me, and all those around me, deal with the stresses and paradoxes of creation.

so, in a very real way, i can safely argue that the universe does actually revolve around me.

this is fact, and if the endless anecdotes and stories you've read to this point haven't convinced you of this, you are an idiot and i hate you.

but don't stop reading.

seeing as i succeeded in besting it so many times over the years, i think that the bastard has decided to up the ante and wants to pit my desire for survival against its desire to torture me. 

it's one thing to niggle and harass me, to tickle me to death with a thousand flutters of an oortfly's wings, to fan my sore asshole with the sharp farts of an asteroyster, or to have a million space monkeys ejaculate in my eye.

it's quite another thing to tempt me with having to choose between the continued existence of the universe and my own eternal misery, or a short, happy death for both me and the whole of creation.

this shit, oh universe, this absurd version of burridan's ass, may have gone too far.

why has it come to this? because, after long and drunken conversations, we've determined the only way to kill the simp is to put it back where it came from. that means it has to go back into us. since it's in a kind of accelerated, emoticon fusion, there's no way to stuff the whole damn sack of misery back into alt.me. and we're rapidly running out of time.

preliminary calculations, jotted between doodles of hypothetical alien genitalia show that, since the simp was originally created with approximately one megayear of sadness, which took about 500 hours of emograph recording, we had whatever that was, minus the time it had returned. as a maximum.

which left us about 24 hours to absorb it all. after that, it'd be too powerful for the two of us to handle it. and, let's not shit ourselves... who the fuck else is going to volunteer to re-absorb 2 millenia worth of mankind's misery, just to save the miserable shits who griefed it all in the first place.

only me and someone equally as stupid as me.

so it would appear the universe wants to see if i'm willing to sacrifice myself to get rid of it. it thinks that i'm too selfish to do that. it thinks that i care too much about me to take it out.

if the fucker wants to play chicken, it's time to start running. the question is... towards it or away?

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