You are the end result of a “would you push the button” prompt where the prompt was “you have unlimited godlike powers but you appear to all and sundry to be an impetuous child” – Zero, 2022
You are the end result of a “would you push the button” prompt where the prompt was “you have unlimited godlike powers but you appear to all and sundry to be an impetuous child” – Zero, 2022
It's a giant factory-state here, a City of the Future full of extrapolated 1930s swoop-façaded and balconied skyscrapers, lean chrome caryatids with bobbed hairdos, classy airships of all descriptions drifting in the boom and hush of the city abysses, golden lovelies sunning in roof-gardens and turning to wave as you pass. It is the Raketen-Stadt.
Down below, thousands of kids are running in windy courtyards and areaways, up and down flights of steps, skullcaps on their heads with plastic propellers spinning in the wind rattling and blurred, kids running messages among the plastic herbage in and out of the different soft-plastic offices - Here's a memo for you Tyrone, go and find the Radiant Hour (Weepers! Didn't know it was lost! Sounds like ol Pop's up to somma those tricks again!), so it's out into the swarming corridors, full of larking dogs, bicycles, pretty subdeb secretaries on roller skates, produce carts, beanies whirling forever in the lights, cap-gun or water-pistol duels at each corner, kids dodging behind the sparkling fountains WAIT that's a real gun, this is a real bullet zinnnggg! good try, Pop, but you're not quite as keen as The Kid today!
You are the end result of a “would you push the button” prompt where the prompt was “you have unlimited godlike powers but you appear to all and sundry to be an impetuous child” – Zero, 2022
You are the end result of a “would you push the button” prompt where the prompt was “you have unlimited godlike powers but you appear to all and sundry to be an impetuous child” – Zero, 2022
Hmm. Apparently I'm the only fan of the quPRNj movies around here. v_v
Säure got a lotta gall picking on other people's language like this. One night, back when he was a second-story man, he had the incredible luck to break into the affluent Home of Minne Khlaetsch, an astrologer of the Hamburg School, who was, congenitally it seems, unable to pronounce, even perceive, umlauts over vowels. That night she was just coming on to what would prove to be an overdose of Hi-eropon, when Säure, who back in those days was a curly-haired and good-looking kid, surprised her in her own bedroom with his hand around an ivory chess Läufer with a sarcastic smile on its face, and filled with good raw Peruvian cocaine still full of the Earth - "Don't call for help," advises Säure flashing his phony acid bottle, "or that pretty face goes flowing off of its bones like vanilla pudding." But Minne calls his bluff, starts hollering for help to all the ladies of the same age in her building who feel that same motherly help-help-but-make-sure-there's-time-for-him-to-rape-me ambivalence about nubile cat burglars. What she means to scream is "H¨¹bsch Räuber! H¨¹bsch Räuber!" which means "Cute-looking robber! Cute-looking robber!" But she can't pronounce those umlauts. So it comes out "Hub-schrauber! Hubschrauber!" which means "Helicopter! Helicopter!" well, it's 1920-something, and nobody in earshot even knows what the word means, Liftscrewer, what's that? - nobody except one finger-biting paranoid aerodynamics student in a tenement courtyard far away, who heard the scream late in Berlin night, over tramclashing, rifle shots in another quarter, a harmonica novice who has been trying to play "Deutschland, Deutschland Úber Alles" for the past four hours, over and over missing notes, fucking up the time, the breathing ¨ . . . berall... es ... indie ... ie ... then longlong pause, oh come on asshole, you can find it - Welt sour, ach, immediately corrected . . . through all this to him comes the cry Hubschrauber, lift-screwer, a helix through cork air over wine of Earth falling bright, yes he knows exactly - and can this cry be a prophecy? a warning (the sky full of them, gray police in the hatchways with ray-guns cradled like codpieces beneath each whirling screw we see you from above there is nowhere to go it's your last alley, your last stormcellar) to stay inside and not interfere? He stays inside and does not interfere. He goes on to become "Spörri" of Horst Achtfaden's confession to the Schwarzkommando. But he didn't go to see what Minne was hollering about that night. She would Ve OD'd except for her boy friend Wimpe, an up-and-coming IG salesman covering the Eastern Territory, who'd blown into town after unexpectedly dumping all of his Oneirine samples on a party of American tourists back in hilltop Transylvania looking for a new kind of thrills - it's me Liebchen, didn't expect to be back so - but then he saw the sprawled satin creature, read pupil-size and skin-tint, swiftly went to his leather case for stimulant and syringe. That and an ice-filled bathtub got her back O.K.
You are the end result of a “would you push the button” prompt where the prompt was “you have unlimited godlike powers but you appear to all and sundry to be an impetuous child” – Zero, 2022
You are the end result of a “would you push the button” prompt where the prompt was “you have unlimited godlike powers but you appear to all and sundry to be an impetuous child” – Zero, 2022
Comments
^^yes
^^^yes
http://www.hardcoregaming101.net/penguinland/penguinland.htm
I had to painstakingly piece together all those Green Hill graphics. Good to know I haven't lost my ambition
uh, sometimes
is it MY email
Down below, thousands of kids are running in windy courtyards and areaways, up and down flights of steps, skullcaps on their heads with plastic propellers spinning in the wind rattling and blurred, kids running messages among the plastic herbage in and out of the different soft-plastic offices - Here's a memo for you Tyrone, go and find the Radiant Hour (Weepers! Didn't know it was lost! Sounds like ol Pop's up to somma those tricks again!), so it's out into the swarming corridors, full of larking dogs, bicycles, pretty subdeb secretaries on roller skates, produce carts, beanies whirling forever in the lights, cap-gun or water-pistol duels at each corner, kids dodging behind the sparkling fountains WAIT that's a real gun, this is a real bullet zinnnggg! good try, Pop, but you're not quite as keen as The Kid today!
Also, what is with this typing font?
*hugs CA*