Newgrounds.com — Everything, By Everyone.

HAH!

Take comfort comrade that you are now thinking like an ARTIST! You will NEVER be satisfied with your work! But that's a GOOD THING! You just gotta know when to STOP!

HA HA! HE'S A WRITER!

Carlos wasn't expecting anyone. He wasn't dating or sleeping with anyone as far as he knew (nor did he black out recently, he thought with relief). He didn't even think it was Antonio, barging in with another passion filled complaint about his dishwasher's indecency in his own home. Tax payers? Jehovah's witnesses? By god, whoever he was, he wouldn't submit to THAT rabble. He whetted his annoyance as he began to unlock the door.

If they had grown up together, went to high school, and kept in contact with each other after they left school, Carlos would've known who the woman at the door was. She was tall, thin and blond. That yellow hair seemed to flow for miles, parted save for the bangs, that didn't cover the eyes, but obscured the eyebrows. Those eyebrows were natural, thin haired and the same colour as their overlord hanging off her scalp. Her eyes, deep and emotional, were not besieged by any makeup. She didn't need it though, with her beautiful cheekbones and flawless face. She wasn't bad in figure either, Carlos observed. Not overly chest heavy, but not mosquito bites either. She was dressed in a white blouse, and a green skirt.

"Carlos?" the woman asked

"Yes, that's me..." Carlos was a bit hesitant to answer this woman. Maybe she was Jehovah witness...

"You don't remember me, do you?"

Carlos was at a loss for words. Did he remember her? Could he? How far back did he have to reach back into all those lusty nights of half-decent sex would he have to...

It was then that Carlos spotted the bag. It was a sack, a grey sack that he had seen before. There were always books in that sack, as there was now. And there was one person that Carlos knew in his entire life that carried that bag.

"Dorothy...Anne?"

Yes, Attention... Or how about "Cry for help"

It's almost hilariously ironic in a sick way if you think about it: They want someone to notice them so that they can stop being depressed, and the world just says "Boo hoo, Emo."

Oh well, i couldn't expect more from our generation. Which is why i'm always surprised and pleased when someone actually give a chance.

So in a word, no. Slitting your wrists isn't the way to do it. Talking out your problems is.

Hallelujah- brings tears to me every time.

That and any of the Wings for Marie from 10,000 days.

Up he went to the seventh floor, past the piss stain, and towards his small lifeless apartment. It used to have a number on it, but the only remnants of that was the imprint on the door, how everything inside the outline of his room number was slightly cleaner than the rest. Carlos shoved his hands in his pockets, hoping he hadn't locked his key in the restaurant. Sadly, Murphy said he did. Carlos sighed, bending over to look under the door mat. The key wouldn't be there, he knew. There were only so many places to hide a key, and at the rate this apartment got robbed, Carlos needed to hide it and hide it well. Underneath the door mat was a long scar in the rug, like it had undergone surgery. Carlos pulled part of the carpet off the ground with one finger, and shoved the other in. out of that small, dark, dank, cockroach infested lair, he found a key, covered with things he didn't even want to know and I don't even want to describe. He blew off all the bug poop before sliding it in the lock, turning, and then opening the door. Carlos kept this key underneath his carpet, just in case.

His home wasn't much, in fact, his home was nothing. It was just a single room, and possibly the best convenience in the sty was the toilet's proximity to his urine-stained mattress. It was useful for dreams of waterfalls and the aftermath of Antonio's usually horrible food experiments. And they said Hispanic people tolerated spicy food. There was a dresser and a stove, although Carlos never used it. He always ate at the restaurant. Maybe that was why he was getting paid nothing... Aside from that, mouldy carpet and a pile of unwashed clothes made the place all that better to live a life like Carlos's.

Carlos did have somewhat of a hobby, aside from watching comedians and playing "the bitch" with his boss. In a pile beside the unwashed clothes, there was an assortment of books and scraps of metal and wire. Ever since he was born, Carlos had a knack for inventing, and even now, in his dire straits, he would spend a couple of bucks he had saved away to buy a wire, or a light bulb, or whatever he needed to complete an invention. He was going to go big one day, he knew. At least he hoped.

Carlos lit up one of the cigarettes, and took a long drag. Love hate relationships were always the best, Carlos thought. He loved and hated his job, he loved and hated his life, he even loved and hated his knack for knowledge and inventing. He loved and hated almost every girl he had ever dated, did or met. Even...even...

The doorbell rang.

At 3/1/10 09:47 PM, traintrack6 wrote:
While sergeant sighs and tells the medic to tend to him. "Normally," he said to the rest, "a half crazed and bizarre monologue is enough to keep you FNG's on a stable plane of thought, by way of comparison. I guess that that only works when the violence has at least been realistic. Anyway, tell me more about these 'imps' you keep bringing up."

"They're crazy, Man." Said a squarely built soldier, hispanic, and about six feet tall "They say stuff that burns into your soul! I've been on tour in Bosnia, Somalia AND Iraq, and i can tell you these guys give me the willies more than any others, man!"

Carlos took closing time to do something that he didn't do at home: watch TV. The fat man was lying when he said he couldn't afford to give his dish-washer a raise. Carlos got no complaints from him about the electric bill. He liked to sit, with the remote in his hand, and watch anything to get his mind off work: comedians, talk shows, the war in Iraq. They were his style of humour, and he needed it.

However, Carlos could only watch so much TV. Tomorrow was the Fourth of July, and Carlos, at long last, had a day off. Maybe he'd go and see his brother. He was an IT for some company, and made much more than Carlos. Bastard. Oh well, he was family. That was all he could ask for.

After sweeping and cleaning, Carlos closed the door, locking it in place. Carlos never got why he had to lock up; there was nice, thin windows looking into the restaurant. Besides, the TV's were most likely the most expensive things. Carlos's apartment wasn't too far away; In fact, it was across the street. Around him, the city had aged into a slummy shithole that was perfect for the average drug dealer to score. Carlos didn't like it, but he had to live in it.

The foyer always seemed to have a decorative junkie leaning against the wall, tripping from whatever drug was on sale. In some sick sense it was beautiful if you concentrate on it long enough, but Carlos was tired, and didn't want to look at another person suffer. Maybe he had it well off, considering that the guy in the foyer was dying, but hell, Carlos knew that death had to happen sooner or later.

The stairs were the only thing that Carlos took when he went up to his flat or down to his work. He did it partially because he wanted to exercise off the coffin sticks, and partially because the elevator was broken ninety percent of the time. Carlos did exercise regularly, just to shake off the smoke. But at the moment, the LAST thing the dish-washer wanted was to exercise. He just wanted to go and sleep.

Carlos wasn't a bum, though. He worked hard, and he worked long. Overtime, if need be. He worked as a kitchen boy. He scrubbed pots and pans, swept floors, cleaned bathrooms...all that gritty stuff we would not do ourselves, yet blame the Hispanics for stealing. And so he worked as we zoom in upon his life, scrubbing a dirty plate at the wee hours of the morning. His boss wants him late, so Carlos works late. Anything to appease the "man".

The shift soon wound down as the last patrons left. Carlos always felt sad to see them go. He had to admit, deep down inside, that he did like this job, the same way a heroin addict likes getting high, only to realize that, low and behold, they are addicted. Maybe he would love it if it left him with more than just poverty level living. Fuck, he could barely pay for the phone in his house.

"Ramon." His boss, Antonio, was a fat man, balding, bags of skin big enough to carry bricks if they weren't already filled with fat. He was a bit heartless, and reminded Carlos of why he DIDN'T like his job.

"You finished with those dishes, scum?" Scum was a joking nickname, but half the time (albeit most of the time) it became his real name.

"Almost, fat man." Carlos sighed

"Hey, respect me." Antonio kept his temper well "I pay your bills, you honour me!"

"I could pay more bills if you 'honoured' me with a raise." Carlos had been pushing for a while to get a raise. He needed it.

"I can't afford to pay you as it is, scum!" That corny Italian accent was getting on Carlos's nerves. Nevertheless, he bit his tongue; he didn't want to go look for work again.

"Look, I left you packs of smokes on the counter. That's your bonus." Antonio grabbed his jacket

"Thank you, oh sweet, fat Antonio, for fuelling my addiction." Carlos pulled the stopper from the drain, the water slurping into the drainage "Maybe I'll call you when I commit suicide and you can serenade for me. You can sing your Italian folklore to me while I cough up that sweet, sweet benzene."

"Shut your mouth, scum!" Antonio waddled to the door "Remember to lock up. If I find money stolen, I cut you!"

"I wish you'd cut yourself." Carlos muttered under his breath as the bell above the door rang, signalling the dish-washer's dominance over the restaurant.

Chapter 1
Carlos

Carlos Ramon was always a joker. That was his calling; his can of worms, whatever, it was just him. He had seen many things in his life, but he never quite lost his sense of humour. Given, it had taken a turn to the cynical, but it was still humour nonetheless. It should be noted that Carlos life was, to put it both accurately and bluntly, shit. To have a sense of humour at this time shows either great stupidity or great strength. Carlos was not stupid, though. Far from it.

Carlos's childhood was great. He had great friends, he loved his school, he had prospects. He was a smart, diligent student with a quick wit and a mischievous smile. Yet, through the hardships of life and the ravaging effects of puberty, the mischievous smile was invaded by facial hair, and slowly, the baby fat melted away, and the cute boy became a handsome man. Although the intelligence and the wit and the work ethic didn't seem to leave Carlos, it was accompanied for a bitter distaste for the world, and a pessimistic covering to the man's personality that made him less than attractive.

He was however, in his physical form, quite attractive. His Hispanic shade accompanied with his muscular body would've made him any woman's eye candy, but of course, he wasn't all good. Carlos only shaved once in any given span of time, and he had quite the stubble collection on his face. He washed, of course, but saying that he smelled "nice" was a lie. He had become a smoker since he was twelve, and he smelled the part well. His face also showed those signs of smoking, and he was getting worse as the days passed.

Every day, since the Frizz died.

Before i post my first chapter, I feel it's right to post a disclaimer.

I have taken a favourite show of my childhood and turned it into something depraved. I felt like i have done it with class, but others may not seem to. As destroying childhood shows is common (for instance, Pokemon Porn comes up with 852,000 hits on Google), i want to make it clear that i by no means with to disrespect the author of the books nor the producers of this show.

However, if you are one who is against taking childhood shows and turning them into something depressing, perverted or whatnot, i suggest you proceed with caution. Also know that you have been warned.

Let the harvesting commence.

Well Said Hallowed.

At any rate, it's disappointing that this is coming to a halt. I would've like to submit something before the end...

Be interesting to see you guys put a new spin on things. I always felt the Inferno fascinating. It'd be nice to put a new spin on the seven circles.

Let's look at this from another angle.

suppose you aren't yourself. Will you be happy knowing that everything you do is in one way or another a lie? If you aren't proud of who you are, how will you feel all the time you are putting up a facade? Some people i know look back and see it as depressing.

We have the freedom to express ourselves, and we can change ourselves as we see fit. We can be whatever and whoever we want to be. If we don't do that, can we trust anyone if we can't even trust ourselves to be who we actually want to be?

At 2/25/10 02:51 AM, joshhunsaker wrote: People in the military wear clothes. Therefore wearing clothes promotes violence. Hooray for puerile logic!

I'd like to mine your soul for Awesome.

At 2/25/10 02:46 AM, Synnxile wrote: As long as everybody is in touch with their true(positive) self then there would never be any crime. Nobody will ever do this though, because they "think" it can never possibly happen. If this was to happen, though, there wouldn't be any need of enforcing ridiculous laws.

Summary - Everyone's thoughts manifests their own realities.

But a Human's first instinct is survival. How can we not be sure that our true self isn't an animalistic one? Are we just going right out and say that a human's way of thinking is superior to animal? Survival doesn't come first?

Also, why assume that people will not want to get in touch with their positive self. What is religion trying to do anyway?

Last, that last comment would imply that this reality doesn't exist.

If Quagmire was real...

...

he would not. get. laid.

heh...well, Camo looks childish outside the military, but you should totally bring that up as some sort of infringement of freedom of expression.

Or riot. choice is yours.

At 2/25/10 02:38 AM, rayneveres wrote:

possibly, i haven't done much digging, but i was under the impression that they worked somewhat like the badges on kongregate; you get the achievement and it highlights it or something similar. like i said, i picked up a few, and i got the "Medal Get!" message in the corner, but i lookes at the row of medals below and nothing happened. i was just curious if someone could enlighten me as to what was going on.

OH! that!

Yeah, just hit refresh and they'll show up. You'll reload the game and stuff, but you'll see them.

They also show up on your profile if you want to check them out and admire the fact that you can bench press 10 LBS with your clicking finger.

At 2/25/10 02:33 AM, devils-son62 wrote:

lucky for you it dose.
But u can only get it one you reach lvl 31.

...

um...

what if you're just playing Fallout 2?...

At 2/25/10 02:30 AM, Synnxile wrote:
Wrong.

See, If you were born without money, without government..without being forced to get an Identification Card, SSN..and all that stupid shit, you would think otherwise

The projection comes from the projector, and guess who's the projector. Have it your way

We're talking about what humans would do at a very basic level. Hobbes, Locke and Rousseau stuff.

Human need organization and value. that's why we created currency and government.

Wouldn't it be more that we made those things for the sake of ordering our society rather than active forms of oppression?

At 2/25/10 02:21 AM, rayneveres wrote: yeah i've been playing a few games and the medals aren't registering or something. i'm new to these parts, at least officially, so am i missing something? thanks, =)

a soul and a philosophic mind. get going on getting those.

I'm not sure what your problem is, comrade. maybe they show up elsewhere?

At 2/25/10 02:19 AM, devils-son62 wrote:

But what about the pipboy an it just wont be the same if i cant go V.A.T.S.
You people have to think about these things.

lol, hey, i'm just here to loose weight. unless the pip boy comes with calorie counter, it's all BLEH!

Well if people are being condescending, let me send some condolences your way.

My graduating year was the only year someone from my highschool didn't die. I'm happy for that. but that means that for the last couple of years, someone has. It's always a shocker, and i was lucky to have never been close to someone who had died.

At 2/25/10 02:20 AM, Synnxile wrote:

At 2/25/10 02:16 AM, Wolf-Raven wrote:

Are you trying to pose a question at whatever you can?

no, i wasn't.. I wasn't just seeing if you picked up on what i was trying to get at. Well normal human beings use about 10% of their brain. eehh

I'd say you probably use about 5%. you should catch up some, what do ya say?

ah. i see. Well being condescending is typical of the preacher, so I'm not too surprised.

Frankly, If i am just using 5% of my brain power, i might as well devote it to the great philosophical questions that i've been pondering for the last couple of years instead of worrying that i'm not using the other 5%. or 95%, for that matter.

Remember the good old days when Nationalism simply meant pride in your country and there was minimal racism in it?

Because i don't.

I play Trombone and Piano. Want to learn bass.

However, show me anything other than base clef and i freak out and start tripping.

no joke.

At 2/25/10 02:12 AM, Synnxile wrote:

At 2/25/10 02:05 AM, Wolf-Raven wrote: heh...another person who knows the secret to life. Another person who knows the path to enlightenment. Another idea that will promise Utopia.

Focus on trying to make the world a better place rather than thinking that you will make it a better place.

but what are you doing when you're focusing?

think about it

focusing on how to do good without coming off as preachy.

Are you trying to pose a question at whatever you can? Kinda like carpet bombing? You may hit something?

Aye. I crafted myself a prison shank and shanked IE.

In all seriousness, don't even think about re-installing it. It's a walking STD.

That goes for the rest of you Windows junkies. Don't play into the walking STD.

I love anorexia.

Anything that makes it look like a Halloween setting or a zombie movie is A-okay in my books.

Fuck trying to accept ourselves as who we are.

And here i was thinking that we were going to be living in a nuclear wasteland.

How about we revise this plan a little:

The Fallout 3 diet
1.Start a nuclear war. Call up Iran and tell them to invade Israel.
2. Find a vault
3. Wait a couple of years
4. survive.

You built muscle AND loose weight!

heh...another person who knows the secret to life. Another person who knows the path to enlightenment. Another idea that will promise Utopia.

Focus on trying to make the world a better place rather than thinking that you will make it a better place.