I write about robots too much
Franz was sitting alone in his basement playing Metal Gear Solid 2 when a robot walked in. It crossed in front of the TV, carefully stepped over the controller’s wire, walked over to the supply closet, took out a jar of tomato sauce, and walked back over the wire and out of the room.
Franz sat there for a minute. Raiden was naked and sneaking through Arsenal Gear, carefully covering his undoubtedly large manhood while doing cartwheels behind crates. The colonel called him and started talking about how he was a worm in his past life and that he needed scissors 61. Franz continued guiding Raiden around clueless Arsenal Gear Tengus, whom he noted had an American accent, unlike the previous guards who were all Russian. The Colonel called him again.
“You’ve been playing the game for too long, Jack.”
It was at that point that Franz realized he had just had some weird vision about a robot getting spaghetti sauce from the basement closet.
“Yeah maybe I have…” Franz responded aloud.
He called Rose, who was also acting pretty strangely, saved his game, and turned off his PS2. He plopped back down on his couch, turned on Wheel of Fortune, and buried his face into his pillow.
“Goddammit, why couldn’t she just walk to the train or something,” he mumbled. Then he gradually faded into a world where Wheel of Fortune was merely an inconsequential din in the background and into a world of cute girls and robotic maternal figures.
My plans for the day fell through so I have nothing to do. That is the best time to write apparently, as this is the best thing I've gotten down in short story form in a while. I will continue. This may end up being long
Franz sat there for a minute. Raiden was naked and sneaking through Arsenal Gear, carefully covering his undoubtedly large manhood while doing cartwheels behind crates. The colonel called him and started talking about how he was a worm in his past life and that he needed scissors 61. Franz continued guiding Raiden around clueless Arsenal Gear Tengus, whom he noted had an American accent, unlike the previous guards who were all Russian. The Colonel called him again.
“You’ve been playing the game for too long, Jack.”
It was at that point that Franz realized he had just had some weird vision about a robot getting spaghetti sauce from the basement closet.
“Yeah maybe I have…” Franz responded aloud.
He called Rose, who was also acting pretty strangely, saved his game, and turned off his PS2. He plopped back down on his couch, turned on Wheel of Fortune, and buried his face into his pillow.
“Goddammit, why couldn’t she just walk to the train or something,” he mumbled. Then he gradually faded into a world where Wheel of Fortune was merely an inconsequential din in the background and into a world of cute girls and robotic maternal figures.
My plans for the day fell through so I have nothing to do. That is the best time to write apparently, as this is the best thing I've gotten down in short story form in a while. I will continue. This may end up being long