somehow I posted in the wrong tab. ew.

Oooh! Storytime!

The time? 12:40 AM. The Date? August fifteenth, some year that sounds cool and would warrant a black and white flashback.

I had just finished my edgy dark coffee sans cream and sugar and leaned back in my chair to stare outside of the dimly lit cafe into the rainy streets or whatever. Cue moody jazz music.

It was going to be a long walk home, and I hadn't brought an umbrella. I hate noir weather.

As I walked through the barely lit city streets, boots filled to the brim with water and my somewhat-expensive leather cliche trenchcoat strangely dry because leather is too much of a -hipster- to get wet, A small Volkswagen pulled up to me, red as the cherries in Pac-Man.

A kid stepped out. Looked like a toddler; have no idea why he was driving, but he had the look of an attorney and the hair gel-filled head to match, so I didn't bother to ask where his mother was. Boy was as much of a man as he was ever going to become.

He gave me a cough drop. said that if I didn't keep warm and got a cold in this weather, I'd cough in the midst of drinking chicken soup and drown in noodle broth.

Bless that kid's heart.

Is your name written like this? 支援竜

Si, Hombre.

Hiss.

That not you spell my name, but whatever, I'm used to it.

Oh and what was the promise? Please don't make this another Menoah Tree plot line that never gets told.

"Oh and what was the promise? Please don't make this another Menoah Tree plot line that never gets told."

Oh! I'm glad you asked! The promise I upheld is crucial to the nature of my hissing, and my explanation would not be complete without it!

I totally forgot to add this part and did not have to take a brief hiatus to fabricate a plotline, no siree, hiss!

Actually, let's skip that, It isn't important.

Okay, so you know that ten-year old that gave me that cough drop, lest I perish from Campbells? Well, it turns out his mother's brother's sister's uncle's grandfather was a rich bureaucrat who had obtained his wealth through greed and destructive frugality.

Never before had a man as vile, as deplorable as this slick-haired con-artist walked the earth. But to the outside wold, his wealth was a mask of gold, one that made him seem as attractive as the glamorous lifestyle with which he lived. He wielded his monetary power like the scepter of a corrupt king, directing the masses this way and that with bribes, blackmail, and bigoted blasphemy.

and he also kicked puppies.

anyways, this man's grandson's niece's brother's sister's son had a quick mind that was outmatched solely by the sharpness of his wit,, and even at the meager age of 7 this kid had a brightness that shone with more luster than all of the riches of the old man. Of all of the treasures he had accumulated; wit was one that always eluded his grasp, so he despised this young lad with more fury than the enraged Valkyries of yore. Several times he attempted to quash the dreams of this kid, including attempting to run him over with a bus, burning down his house, and sending him an 8-track of nothing but "surfin bird" by the Trashmen.

Poor lad, hiss.

YOU MADE THE THREAD.

Feel free to move it to gremlin chatter... you know, where it should have been all along?

*pointed look*

Nope, Bazaar.

I am notttttttt~

hiss~,

For the umpteenth time, I hiss because there's a rattlesnake coiled around my keyboard and this is the only way to placate it.

Are you calling me a fabricator of tales hiss?

I am utterly APALLED, Hiss!

Maybe we should stop invading hiss privacy.