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C'mon, craziness called inspiration.

I've discovered that the easiest way to write is to pick something completely insane, run with it, and see what you can do to make it crazier.



So there I stand, facing some angels that just told me our world's on the way to kicking up space daisies. Being the brilliant example of our species that I am, the first words out of my mouth are:

"Oh, shit."

The leader angel -- I'm guessing the leader, 'cause he's the one who's looking down his nose at me the most -- scowls just a lit bit meaner.

"You are not helping your planet's case in the least."

I glance down at my feet, looking for inspiration in the sand. I check out my date's feet too, then give her a quick once-over just for good measure. My first thought is something along the lines of 'Damn, bet I'm never gonna see her naked.'

That's when I learn that my dear angel buddies can also read thoughts. Especially loud ones coming from the brain of a horny guy.


"How absolutely repulsive," states a female angel in the back. I assume she's a girl, with her hourglass figure under a very thin flowing robe.

Still in my "smart" mode, I ask, "What?"

"The way you look over anything female in a manner not unlike a man choosing a steak from a butcher." She's upped the staring down at me factor to the point that she's rivaling the leader guy.

It clicks in my very slowly moving brain that she's hearing what I'm thinking, which is quickly followed by a mental shout of, "Holy fuck!"

The whole group cringes at that one.

After they recover (raising the snooty level yet again), the leader shudders with disgust and gives me a full on glare. Their little humming choir music slowly begins to sound like funeral dirges.

"You, most uncouth and disgusting example of a rather horrible species, have sealed my decision. Your race will be terminated in exactly twenty-four hours as of... now."



It's all about the glowing, humming, psychic angels from outerspace. Mwahahaha.