If spite could manifest itself in physical form, it would no doubt resemble our confection-spitting abomination. I mean, really, what is more devious than the idea of a non-functioning vending machine?
I will share with you my typical experience in dialogic form.
Hello! Here are some tasty things housed in my plexiglas belly. Gaze upon them! But, despite the fact that you possess the necessary prerequisites (i.e. tender, desire and motor-function), I will not dispense these pleasures to you. I mock your unhealthy dietary choices.
Actually, now that I think about it, perhaps it is doing me a service. No matter! I will not be scorned by an inanimate object unless, of course, that object happens to be the Fortress' VCR's clock. I decided to vindicate the imprisoned treats with heavy munitions. Unfortunately, our lair suffered appreciable splash damage.
The Sphynxter cakes survived, however. At the very least, I now know what will be sustaining the cockroaches and Joan Rivers when your inevitable apocalypse takes place.
|Prologue | Previous|