Greetings SODA readers,
The author of SODA is taking some time off in order to live-tweet his experience reading Stephenie Meyer’s “Twilight.” You can follow his experience at @mikeyarsky or simply search Twitter for #mikereadstwilight. Feel free to join in, mock, and give your ironic and/or sincere support.
He is also taking some time off to move SODA to its new home on Internet radio. Stay tuned for further details.
Regards,
SODA
Oh man, just you wait. I got seven more months to really do a number on this cunt. Think about it: I’m taken up residence, make her puke a bunch, give her headaches, get her all worked up so she’ll get pissed off at some innocent old sap…and, here’s the best part, I’m gonna steal as many nutrients as possible. Parasite, you ask? Pah! Such a term for my occupation doesn’t do my line of work justice. Mine…oh man, it’s so much worse.
I know these sweet digs I have here, sac and all, aren’t going to last as long as I’d like. It’s small, cozy, and free, and I understand it’s a temporary arrangement, but hey, I didn’t ask to be born, did I? Hmm, I should save that for later, if we get in a fight or something.
She thinks she has it bad now, what with the constant war for nutrients I’m waging, oh man, wait until you hear this: I’m going to try to break open her vaginal canal by punching through it. I’m gonna wait until I’m larger, obviously, and we’ll see how she screams and moans as I burrow my way out of there. It’s gonna be so great.
Don’t worry, I have a back-up plan if the doctor slices me out of here: I’m going to grow up to be a crippling disappointment. I’ll be a drop-out, drug-addict, drag queen who works at, and finances, a liquor store two blocks from the elementary school. That’s how you hit them the hardest. And who said homosexuality wasn’t a choice? That’s like, the most brilliant tactic for this sort of thing.
The best part is that I can still blame her for all of it, and she’ll feel bad for it! And if she doesn’t, it gives me the best sob story ever. “She doesn’t care for me at all,” blah blah blah. Get some sympathy pussy, maybe. Hmm, that’s the best. So delicious. I hope to ravage one in no time, assuming this all goes according to plan.
So guys, it’s pretty late. And guess what? We’re all drunk. And, given there’s a tragically under-utilized piano right here, I think it’s high time we keep the momentum of this rager up by having all of you sit down behind me and let me play you some of the classics.
As a forewarning, I’ve done some pretty cool things to this tune. I added a whole other line of counterpoint and everything. It’s like all tricked out, you’re going to love it. Seriously. It’ll blow your mind. Still I’m pretty drunk, so if I make a mistake, you know…like, it’s not…I mean, it’s not indicative of how I usually play, so…I hope you like it.
…Get it? See? It’s a classic! It’s like, the quintessential piano piece, right? Hey, look, I can do the chords with my left hand, and the melody with the right. And I’m talking to you guys over it! Hey Timmy, remember when you had to play the melody and I could only play the chords? You would sit right here, right next to me, on the piano bench, and we would play and laugh? Yeah well, I don’t need you anymore. I’m doing it myself, tha–
Ah shit, I just fucked up. It’s…I’m really drunk, I swear, is the thing. But wait, this is great. If I play it slower and in 6/8, it sounds like a Motown song. You know Motown? Jeez, this doesn’t seem to be going over as well as planned. You guys like the ‘Almost Famous’ soundtrack? Billy Joel? How about “Twinkle Twinkle Little Star”? Anything that just uses the white keys, I’m game for.
Hang on, there we go, pretty much done. So, you guys got any requests or anything? Anyone? I even know the first few notes of Super Mario Bros. 3, you know, the da-da-daaaaa da-da-DAH thing, you–where’re you guys going?
Oh great, here comes Jarrett with his oh-so-awesome banjo. He’s so funny and quirky and clever because he has a banjo. Hey, why don’t you play Deliverance over and over again until I split my side…in BOREDOM. (Nice!)
See, there it is, he just did it. Of course he did. Jesus Christ, this party got stupid.
Okay, Mandy. You win fair and square. But I hope you realize that I’m not going to stand for this. And your mother doesn’t need to know, either. Because then she’ll tell her parents and her sisters, and unless you want the family Christmas dinner to become loud and unhappy, I suggest you keep your mouth shut. Hey you, look at me, not the TV, okay?
Before you dare get suspicious that maybe I let you win, I will have you know that a loss at Connect 4 is way too humiliating for me to even attempt feigning incompetence. And trust me, the defeat only worsens with age. By my age, you’re expected to know how to count to four. Your age, though, is a different story.
God, this is just unfathomably awful. First off, I’ve been counting to four much longer than you have. I am exponentially superior in the art of four-counting. Hey, you, get away from that SpongeBob doll; I’m talking to you.
Second, you didn’t just manage to connect four, you managed to connect five, which is just a slap in the face. Why couldn’t you only connect four in honor of the game’s title, like a civilized person? That’s a whole pillar of salt being forced into the festering, bloody pool of my exposed entrails.
I’m sorry, that image is probably too explicit for someone your age. Oh God, please don’t cry. Are you getting upset? No, of course not, because you’re nodding off. Yoo-hoo, wake up.
Alright, I’ll admit it: it was impossible for me to bring my A-game today because taking care of you is so exhausting. You know, as in nurturing you and providing you sustenance? It’s tiring. I can barely keep my eyes open, just like you right now. Not to mention taking you to school and cleaning up after you; my responsibilities distracted me so much that I couldn’t focus properly. You understand, right? Of course you do. Don’t drool on yourself.Why do you refuse to pay attention? Were you even paying attention during the game? You know what, I bet you weren’t. I was the one who discovered my crippling defeat; you said nothing. I suspect your little victory was an utter fluke. You didn’t even shout ‘Connect 4′ at the end like you’re supposed to. Or ‘Connect 5,’ I guess, which, God that hurts to say.
I can’t believe it. It’s sickening how you’ve besmirched me with your mere child’s play, and you’re not going to get away with it. Just you wait, Mandy. Just you wait.
You know what? I let you win. So there. You know what else? Go to your room, that’s what. And no more Connect 4 in this house! From now on we only play Trouble, Sorry, and games entirely based on chance. And be sure to come back down the stairs again when your mother comes home; the last thing I need is for her to suspect anything.
Greetings all,
Since updating is not regular and by no means on a discernible routine, you are welcome to get immediate notification when a new item is published. Just follow this ol’ chap: http://twitter.com/mikeyarsky.
Regards,
P. A. Cowlfield
Douchebag Enterprises
