fuck1ngusernam3 (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
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acatalepsy_rpg2018-09-07 03:34 pm
fuck1ngusernam3) wrote in acatalepsy_rpg2018-09-07 03:34 pm
video | dated at the very end of week one
[The video opens on a patch of dirt, a leg stretched out along one edge of the screen. Next to the leg a number of very small muddy spots map out a connect-the-dots picture that more creative minds - or just anyone who's ever been a bored teenager - might recognize as a sort-of accurate depiction of one particular x-rated body part. A voice, cracking and hoarse like it has to drag itself over gravel to get its words out, starts speaking immediately.]
Hey, you know what makes me-
[His coughing is harsh and wet but it's only a few seconds before it stops. Hank mutters a curse under his breath, just audible, and hacks up a loogie, spitting it so it lands just so off the end of the art in the dirt next to him. The dirt there goes wet and dark, and with this artistic rendering of a drop of splooge, his masterpiece is complete. When he leans back the camera's in a different position; in the opposite corner from the dirt the screen shows the massive head of a Saint Bernard, taking up a good part of the screen and the majority of Hank's lap.]
You know what makes me feel better when I'm feeling like shit? Bitching about it. Let's bitch, guys. Tell me how shitty you've got it right now. It's not like anyone's got anything else to do here, right? I mean, not unless someone can get this big furry boulder to unglue itself from my lap. I'd have something to do if he'd just play. Look, watch this, it's pathetic.
Hey, Sumo. Fetch.
[Anyone with motion sickness might want to look away; the screen jerks around wildly as the arm with the camera on it moves to grab a rock and hold it in the air like Hank's going to throw it. Then the screen goes still again as Hank has to lean forward to cough, his dog's big, placid face now taking up the whole view. Sumo gives a single low whuff, lifts his head, and apparently settles himself right over the camera because the screen goes dark. There's the muffled sound of Hank cursing, trying to say Sumo's name between coughs, and then nothing as Hank manages to work his other hand under Sumo's jaw and shut the recording off.]
Hey, you know what makes me-
[His coughing is harsh and wet but it's only a few seconds before it stops. Hank mutters a curse under his breath, just audible, and hacks up a loogie, spitting it so it lands just so off the end of the art in the dirt next to him. The dirt there goes wet and dark, and with this artistic rendering of a drop of splooge, his masterpiece is complete. When he leans back the camera's in a different position; in the opposite corner from the dirt the screen shows the massive head of a Saint Bernard, taking up a good part of the screen and the majority of Hank's lap.]
You know what makes me feel better when I'm feeling like shit? Bitching about it. Let's bitch, guys. Tell me how shitty you've got it right now. It's not like anyone's got anything else to do here, right? I mean, not unless someone can get this big furry boulder to unglue itself from my lap. I'd have something to do if he'd just play. Look, watch this, it's pathetic.
Hey, Sumo. Fetch.
[Anyone with motion sickness might want to look away; the screen jerks around wildly as the arm with the camera on it moves to grab a rock and hold it in the air like Hank's going to throw it. Then the screen goes still again as Hank has to lean forward to cough, his dog's big, placid face now taking up the whole view. Sumo gives a single low whuff, lifts his head, and apparently settles himself right over the camera because the screen goes dark. There's the muffled sound of Hank cursing, trying to say Sumo's name between coughs, and then nothing as Hank manages to work his other hand under Sumo's jaw and shut the recording off.]
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[He listens to it for a second, the wry half-grin growing into a full one.]
Fuck me. This is amazing.
You do look like a pop singer though, like. You can not honestly argue with me on that one.
[Not that he's trying to get her to agree - he's protesting cheerfully, mostly for the hell of it. And, like. She does.]
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I mean, you're not wrong about me. I'm a pop singer. But you asked me about what music I liked to listen to~
They're called Fire Bomber. Basara's their guitarist-- he's a genius. I've covered some of their stuff before, branching out from my usual styles a little. I'm not quite as good as he is.
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I'd rather be me.
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I could cover his stuff, but it'd sound completely different. That's not to say I wouldn't kill it-- it'd just be different.
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[A little chuckle.] Are you feeling better? Sufficiently griped out?
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Yeah. Yeah, maybe. For a while.
Thanks.
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I'll let you know if I put on that concert-- maybe I'll make a fan out of you, too.
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You know what, never say never. I'll see you around, Sheryl.