Kiwitober 2021 - Inktober's autistic cousin - Thank you for a great one!

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DAY 6: OBESE
 
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Day 7- "Fungus"
If you have a low constitution or have the supreme autism affliction and are venturing in the woods, you find yourself unlucky enough to come across this beast you must ignore everything it says. It may offer you friendship, then the beast will tempt you to fornicate with your own mother. You must kill this creature before it attempts to coat you with it's potent spores. Luckily, this eldritch horror has poor eyesight in the swamp it resides in.
 
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Day 7 - Fungus
This one is pretty dumb, but was fun to make.

Lyrics:
the fungus is amongus
gang green gang, powderpuff cant confront this
hella frickin hella chonky hella big chungus
clean your feet bitch, you don't really want this
it's smelling so unctious
I can hardly function
step into the room like you just stepped into your my lungs bitch
know I'm smelling shrooms when I get that certain itch
like theres the daughter of a glowie and pyscho in my premesis

all that said, guess I didn't leave myself room
to go into detail bout a weener like you
your fungus that you posted only the tip of the shroom
got yourself into a tussle, like a truffil thats you
a little bit of trouble nothing that you can do
thought you'd win it all, turns out you can only lose
cleanliness is godliness there aint a speck of god in you

so go ahead and call me a mycologist
the most epic rotting trolling college kid
if only fate had come sooner
RIP to Max and long live goober

the fungus is amongus
gang green gang, powderpuff cant confront this
hella frickin hella chonky hella big chungus
clean your feet bitch, you don't really want this
Click to expand...
 
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Day 7: Fungus

It begins as a
joke, running
back and forth
between the
narrowing
gap that
separates
us
on
the
bed-
sh-
e-
e-
t-
s

“I'm afraid I'm gonna
hafta hose you down
with my bioweapon,
ma'am. If you'll just
remove your lilac
pant-suit.”

It's top-secret
government-approved
bedroom role-play,
rubber-stamped
by the CIA
to weed out
enemy agents.
They call this one
Election Night 2016
(Hilary Clinton edition)

Another night:

“I'm sorry agent,
but you don't
have proper
UN clearance
to inspect my
bioweapon.”

“Can I swipe
my card through
your scanner
one more time?”

etcetera, etcetera.

9 months later
the punchline arrives
puking breast milk
onto the tie
re-gifted to me
by General Mattis.

You know how,
after a while,
a joke stops
being funny,
then, if you
keep telling it,
the funny
comes back
through repetition?

How about this one:

18 years later
some guy
called Hank
reaches me
on my secure line.

And you know
when someone called
Hank contacts you
it's either bad news
about the car that
you gave him to fix,
or he's behind a desk
at Langley, idly pointing
his service weapon
at the water cooler,
readjusting the sight.

Guess which Hank
I'm talking to:

“Your daughter's been
mailing her foot fungus
spores to state senators,
claiming that it's anthrax,”
he tells me.

“We were about
to authorise
Edgelord Protocol,
but we figured
we'd give you
a run at her first.”

Following
standard
procedure
I read from
apology form 13a,
before burning
the document.

“Hey, I got a girl her age too,”
commiserates Hank.
“She's desperate to get Trump
back in office, so she can
take a shot at the President.
When she does, I'll
clean it up, because
she's my daughter.”

Because she is
my daughter, I
clean up her mess.
Flash false credentials.
Divert evidence.
Review the list of
nations with
anti-bioweapon treaties
where she cannot travel.
Sell her spores to a
failed state for use
in their germ
warfare program.

Recall the time when
she was 8 years old
After we had
searched for hours
for her missing
Hamster but couldn't
find it anywhere.

On the couch,
Playing Super Mario Bros -

Bella, jumping on the heads
of the Goomba mushrooms
that she named after her friends,
laughing hysterically.
 
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