Seriously, the whole situation: Very gritty. From the atmosphere to Lord Humungus's Rhinestone jockstrap. So gritty."Right right. But you gotta milk that cow until the liquid runs red. Right? What else are you gonna do? Right? Am I saying 'right' too much? I feel like I am. Am I right?" "You're right. Shit. Now it feels weird when I say it. Listen, Chaz - I'm already goddamn bored with this coke. Would you do me a favor? Come over here and choke me a little while I take this next hit." "God you're so fucking jaded and I LOVE YOU FOR IT," Chaz replied, removing his belt and skipping around the desk. "So, what do we do when something's become stale and unprofitable?" Geoff's voice rose to a squeak at the last syllable, strangled off by the seal-skin leather of Chaz's $14,000 belt, ironically adorned with a Pabst Blue Ribbon belt buckle he paid an intern to find at a thrift store. "You don't mean..." Chaz's grip on the belt slackened as the realization dawned on him. "We reboot the entire concept of the reboot!" Geoff rasped, before momentarily passing out and falling to the floor. He awoke almost instantly, sporting the kind of erection only asphyxiation and power-dealing can invoke. He crawled back up to his desk and depressed the intercom button. "Janice, ETA on that cappuccino?" "Five minutes, sir." "Army of wolfmen, Janice. Army of wolfmen."
That blood is on your hands, honey."Where was I? Oh, right. Reboots: What are all reboots?" Geoff continued, his voice regulating. "Gritty," replied Chaz instantly, as if it were a muscle memory. "That's right! We take lighthearted franchises and give them a gritty reboot. What I'm proposing is flipping the script: Give gritty original properties a lighthearted reboot." "Oh tits," Chaz whispered reverently, "I know we just thought of this, but I already want to run it into the fucking ground. I want to bury it." "I want to more than bury it. I want to take it up to the hills and push it off a cliff," Geoff continued, a blank, frenzied expression overtaking him, "I want to push it off a cliff and then jump off after it, following it all the way down to Earth just fucking... just fucking beating the shit out of it as we fall like Gandalf and the Balrog from Lord of the Rings. I want to die beating this into the fucking ground."
FUUUUUUUUUUCK YOOOOOUUUUUU!"I can't even properly picture it," Chaz said, weeping cocaine blood onto the pressed slacks that he had sewn onto him every morning for an optimal fit. "I'm too wired for gritty." "Understandable. Want me to hit you with some examples?" "Absolutely yes. I want you to hit me until I recover repressed memories about my father. I don't want you to ever stop, ever. No safe words. Wow! This cocaine is bringing me to a dark, dark place and I just could not be happier about it!" "I'm thinking
Like this, but replace the gun with a bouquet and the cigarette with a kazoo!"Holy shit you just ruined my language center! I'm not even hearing words anymore! I agree with the all of the sounds you are making, even though they are not forming coherent concepts in my brain!" Chaz began rabbit-punching his own legs. "We can reboot everything! Everything! I'm thinking a digital remaster of The Terminator where all the gunfight scenes are digitally replaced by high-fives." "I love you; I want to fuck you; I just might kill you." "I'm fucking rebooting the gritty reboot of
"I don't recall how this happened, but I'm pretty stoked that it did!""I'm going to run down there, and then when I get there I'm going to keep running in circles while I talk because I feel like if I stop moving now I'm going to die!" "Do me a favor on your way out, Chaz?" "Anything! EVERYTHING!" "Bite Janice on the arm; keep her doubting." After the door slammed--the unique resonance of the wood reverberating like the shockwaves of a distant explosion--Geoff sauntered over and flipped the deadbolt. He made his way back to the floor-to-ceiling windows that looked out upon the Los Angeles skyline. He took a deep breath, and held it. Slowly, he undid his belt, lowered his slacks and underwear to the floor, and pressed his bare balls gently against the cold, slick glass. After a moment he began, almost imperceptibly, to gyrate his hips. The balls issued a soft, plaintive squeak as they ran across the surface, like windshield wipers in a light drizzle. "All for you, Hollywood," he whispered affectionately. "That's all for you."
You can pre-order Robert's book, Everything is Going to Kill Everybody: The Terrifyingly Real Ways the World Wants You Dead on Amazon, or find him on Twitter, Facebook and his own site, I Fight Robots where you can read his exhaustive store of Spongebob Squarepants/C'thulhu slash fiction.
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