Stepping through the door was hard for Marvin.

Stepping through the door was hard for Marvin. He hadn't left his home in seventeen years. At first, he just hadn't seen the need. After a little time had passed, he
finally walked through the kitchen door and into his living room. Sure, the ultimate goal was to walk out the front door, but Marvin really just wanted to experience the rush of
year's gone by. The Rush Limbaugh of 1991. Marvin could hear his voice pumping through his living room's sound system. Somehow this voice was too much. He simply could not leave.
He was repulsed, yet oddly enough enchanted with the mood altering effect of the pronuncation of the letter "F". But sadly that same pronunciation made him wet himself then crave a
open-faced peanut butter and banana sandwich with an overabundance of extra-crunchy peanut butter so that when you bit into it your lips and teeth smushed the banana down into the
nut chunks and it is SO good. That aside, I have got to admit I've never gotten the hang of making real sandwich, you know, with bread, stuff, bread. Are you even listening?" Greg
took that moment to stop trepanning his head. "No, dear please continue with your sandwich monologue." A few minutes more and he would hit the frontal lobe releasing
Satan's Minions from the nightmarish portal contained therein. Normally, this treatment merely caused irreparable brain damage, but this man was quite different.
He was a street-smart poet: craning his neck, Dante peered into the gaping earth."So, that's it?" he said. "You should see my 'hood. You can't walk ten feet without
killing a man with a rusty butter knife. I normally piss in one's corn flakes, but I decided today would be a good day to make you a rusty slice of toast.

Started: 2011-04-24 20:36:47
Finished: 2011-04-30 01:34:41

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