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Project 30, Chapter 10 |
| Written by Project 30 | |
| Wednesday, 06 August 2008 | |
Chapter 10 - JJ Tyler
Detective Davidson, I can tell by the way you're looking at me what you're thinking, but I need to let you know I'm married. What's that? Sorry, you're a dude. I need contacts, I have cataracts, and renal failure. Again, I apologize.
I got involved with StoriesVille when I was looking for a way to make the internet more about me. There just wasn't enough me out there in the code, the matrix. So I decided to scribe some stories and get them out to the people, those starving for the J man's words. Excuse me? No, there hasn't been hardly any response at all. People are totally overwhelmed with literal literary genius.
I traveled here from Texas on my Segway. It's slow, but it gets like 700 miles to the gallon. Well, if it used gas it would, but it's electric so I have to use my abacus to figure that out. It took me 23 days to get here--it was like a spiritual journey. Then I had to hurry up and get a plane ticket.
I could be wrong, but I think the main reason we are all here is to honor what I've done for the site. In fact, I wouldn't be surprised if there was some sort of plaque for me, or like a blue ribbon or something. I did get a door prize, but it was a bill for how much data we have been using collectively. It was written out in word form, so I'll have my assistant decode it later. Who? My assistant is my mom, yes. She's great, always fluffs my mittens for me before I go out. It's summer, but my mittens keep my hands moist and juicy.
I'm not sure how Admin died, I really don't even know his name. It's Jay Admin? Well that's somewhat ironic, but I don't actually want to laugh because the body is not quite cold. I always got along with him fine, until he gave me this bill in a fancy box, now I could think of at least 8 ways I'd like to watch him die, suffering horribly before he does so. This was way too quick. Who killed him? Well, that's easy. One would assume Max Booth, because he's really into death and people dying, but really those are always the guys who help old ladies across the road by holding their groceries or guiding them by leash. I think you have to go with Mr. Nice Guy,--P. Neale. All that nicety gets caught up in your throat and eventually you spew out some hatred some way. He's your man. Unless you think the press coverage would be good for my short story career. In that case, then I'm your man, for a while. Handcuff me if you will, but leave them loose for me, I've got a terrible scooter rash that demands itching. Watch my mittens. Copyright 2008 Project 30 |
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