Died in a Blogging Accident has lived up to its name and died... in a blogging accident. That is to say it has concluded. You can still re-live the magic by clicking here to start at chapter 1. For genuine criticism of XKCD, please click the top link to the right (XKCD Isn't Funny).

Sunday, September 14, 2014

DiaBA - mid-season clip-show

Previously on Died in a Blogging Accident...

“Randall doesn’t know how lucky he is.” Rob monologued. “She is too good for him. She deserves me, a man who truly appreciates her. It is a great cosmic injustice that she became Mrs Munroe, when she should have been Mrs Rob Mason. Believe me when I say that I so desperately desire for hot sweet Megan-loving, that I would go as far as to kill the man she claims to love.”
“But why now? Why not two years ago when people actually gave a fuck?”
“She had cancer. And Randall’s been playing it for sympathy.”
“The bastard!” sneered Carl.
“Well now it’s come back in both tits, and it’s terminal.”
“I’m sorry to hear that.” said Carl. “Megan is a truly special woman.”
“Yeah.” said Rob. “If I act fast, I may be able to get her while she still has hair.”
“Then I wish you good luck.” said Carl. “So tell me, has anything else happened while I’ve been gone?”
“Randall went public with his lactation fetish.”
“I always knew he would.” said Carl. “Christ, I dread to think how that’s affecting Megan.”
“Woman who have had mastectomies don’t lactate.” said Rob. 

When Rob got to the front door, he realised he had forgotten something.
“Mom!” he called out. “I’m leaving town for a while.”
“For how long?” came a voice from the downstairs bedroom. 
“Indefinitely.” said Rob.
“Why, is someone is wrong on the internet?”
“Yes.” said rob, cringing at the reference.
“You should just ignore them.”
“No Mom, Xkcd is a disease, and it's reached pandemic proportions.”
“Could you at least change my bedpan first?” the helpless woman pleaded.
“Fuck no... thanks.” he said politely.
Rob squeezed his way through the front door of his crumbling suburban abode, leaving his bedridden mother to die.

“Is it not a magnificent thing that I, Randall Patrick Munroe, do?”
“Won’t that kill him?”
“Probably...” said Randall. “Anyway, pretty cool for something I made in my free time, right?”
“Don’t kill him.” Megan almost begged.
“Why not?” inquired Randall.
She choked up. Megan knew that if Randall went through with this plan, she would never feel Rob's burning member up against her wet pleasure-garden. But she could never tell him, so she invented a lie.
“Because... you want him to be looking in your eyes when you kill him, knowing that you’ve won.”
“Hmm, a face to face defeat is tempting. Alright then. I shall disable the explosives.” Randall declared.
Megan gave a quiet sigh of relief. That would buy her some time, but for other reasons her time was still running out.
“Now will you please do one more thing for me?”
“What’s that, Megan sweetie?” he said, walking towards the door.
“Will you let me the frak out of this ball pit?!” she screeched, rattling against the heavy chains that bound her arms.
Randall peeked in through the doorway. His ball pit occupied an entire room, the largest room in the house with tunnels and slides everywhere, and in the corner sat Megan, wriggling about within the two-metre radius that the chains allowed her. She looked so beautiful and vulnerable.
“You know I’d never do that, my dearest darling danish.”
Megan sighed with sorrow. Desperately, she reached for her usual sympathy card.
“But cancerrrr!”
“And I vowed to take you in sickness and in health.”

The prisoner was running out of insults, so he reached for his trump card, the one thing that would offend Randall the most.
“You don't even look like Black Hat Guy with that thing on. You just look like a loser wearing a black hat."
“It's called a fedora.” Randall snarled “And it makes me look badASS.”
He walked over and flipped a switch on the machine, and it began to make a whirring sound. Then walked over to his 13-inch Macbook Pro, hovered his finger above the keyboard for a moment, taking one last look at his captive, before slamming down on the enter key. Suddenly the program snapped into action and the machine began to work, executing thousands of lines of code.
“What's it doing?" cried the captive as a strange white noise from the headphones filled his ears.
“It’s filling your head with… romance, sarcasm, math and language.” Randall proclaimed.
“You can't… no, NO! Turn it off! Turn it off!”
Randall tried his best evil laugh. “MWAhahahaHAhaHA!”
“Ahh! Make it stop! RANDALL, GET OUT OF MY HEAD!”
Randall took one last chance to gloat at his captive before his mind was wiped. He strutted over to the chair, and took the headphones off for just a second to whisper in his ear: “Who is your god now?”

“Do you know what else I hate about XKCD?” Rob postulated.
“That you don’t anything better to do with your time?”
“The fact that some people claim it has characters. Black Hat Guy is not a character. He is a series of unrelated incidents linked by an item of clothing. And don’t fucking get me started on Beret Guy, or that godawful Megan ‘character’.”
“I AM that Megan character!”
Rob and Megan glared at each other, with mutual angry tension in their eyes. Silence. The whole room had gone quiet. Suddenly and forcefully, they kissed each other’s brains out in a passionate mutual embrace of rage-filled horny lust. It felt so awfully wrong. He knew she was already dating Randall. She knew he was an enemy of XKCD and everything it stood for. Yet it made their loins burn for each other all the more.
Suddenly an Android phone sounded out. Megan broke from the kiss and pulled it from her pocket. It was a text message, from Randall. It only said one word, and three punctuation symbols.
Milk? :)
Megan explained that she had to run, her boyfriend was hungry, and when he gets hungry he gets angry, and when he gets angry he gets... well, she didn’t want to say what the third word was. Hastily, Megan said goodbye, knowing full well that they knew that they would probably never be able to see each other again. Rob understood, and replied that he would always remember that moment they shared together.
“Whatever happens.” he said “Till I die and after I die, and when I find my way out of the land of the dead.”
And he meant every word of it. As he watched his precious Megan slide out of the doorway, every fibre of his being yearned so much to be the one suckling on Megan’s succulent buds, that he could think of nothing else.
Rob had cum in his pants. He took off the XKCD shirt, and wiped it up, then ate it.

Rob stumbled back into a wall. A table was pushed into the window, breaking it. Rob made no effort to stop himself. The wall buckled under his weight, and then he rocked forwards. Android Carl readied itself into an attacking stance, but then Rob took two paces, and fell on top of the Android, crushing it. There was a dull crunching sound, and the twitching of a robotic limb. Rob pushed himself up, as the Android Carl spoke its last words.
“The process com.xkcd.destroyRobMason has stopped unexpectedly. Please try again.”
But Rob didn’t give it time to try again. He force-closed it as quickly and thoroughly as possible by stamping on its neck, several times just to make sure. Finally he picked up the remains of the robot, and ate it.
Rob looked around. People around him were gasping in shock. He’d already caused quite a scene in this cafe, but now he couldn’t see why they were still staring at him. Then he remembered.
His fly was still open and his dick was hanging out. Remorselessly, he zipped himself up and made for the exit. But the people around him continued to stare disapprovingly. So he shuffled back to his table, wiped up the cum with a pair of ten dollar bills, and left them as a tip.

“Wait, who’s that guy?” said Capn, pointing to the stranger behind them, who had a cropped haircut, and a red college hoodie with armpit stains. He had been standing there for a while, but Capn was the first one to notice him.
“Dunno.” said Rob.
“I don’t trust him.” said Kitten. He took a few steps towards the man. “Oi, mate...”
“Chris Houlihan’s room.” said the stranger.
The five of them stared at him.
“Ohhh, it’s this guy.” said Rob.
“Eh, is it a video game reference?” asked Raven.
“Chris Houlihan’s room.”
“STFU already.” shouted Kitten.
“Don’t feed the troll.” Raven cautioned.
“Chris Houlihan’s room.”
“Chris Houlihan’s room.”
“Is that all he says?” Ann asked.
“Chris Houli...”
He never finished the sentence, because Capn had swung himself forwards and punched the troll in the face.
Capn aimed a flying punch at his chin, forcing the man’s jaw closed on his tongue. And still he didn’t fight back. Capn punched him several more times, then kicked him too the floor.”
“Chris Houlihan’s...”
“Shut the fuck up!” bellowed Capn, and he proceeded to stamp on his neck. 
“That’s enough, Capn!” said Raven.
“Shut up the fuck piece of shit die die die!!!”
Capn continued the assault until he broke every rib in the man’s body, and there was red stuff everywhere. The sight of blood seemed to calm him. “Sorry guys.” he said, shrugging his shoulders. “I’ve had a bad day today.”

A hook-nosed figure squatted on the roof of Inman Square Fire House, his beady eye pressed up to the sights of a sniper rifle. Through his magnified view of the plaza, he saw them scatter and regroup. He took great pleasure in firing the next few shots, though he only intended to scare them. One of them may have ricocheted and hit a pedestrian, but Capn was the only one he’d needed to kill. Then he relaxed the trigger, and checked the time a digital pocket watch. Not a second too late. He folded up the weapon, climbed down the ladder, and persuaded the security guard to look the other way with a sack of money. Then he slinked off into an alleyway.
He took out a crumpled piece of paper from his pocket. It depicted a stick figure without a face, lying bloodied on the floor. There was a date and time written below it. He pulled out a lighter, and set fire to one of the corners, watching blithely as it burned away, before dropping it on the ground.
From the same pocket, he took another piece of paper, and unfolded it, more carefully this time. It depicted a man and a woman as stick figures in a bed, having quirky stick-figure sex, with another date and time below them.
He pushed a few buttons on his pocket watch, and the digits changed. Now it displayed 31 hours, 41 minutes, 59 seconds, and counting down.

Before the others could stop him, he rang the doorbell of a top-floor apartment directly above Randall’s. An annoyingly shrill female voice answered.
“Who’s this?”
“Hi,” said Kitten in his worst fake American accent. “Me homies an’ I recently acquired the flat downstairs. We wanna come take a look round yur place and intr’duce ah-selves.” 
“Doesn’t Pat live in that apartment?” said the voice.
“No he does-in’t. I just lost mah key so I gots to use yurs.”
“Um, I don’t think so.”
“LEMME THE FUCK IIIN!” shouted Kitten. His accent had gone completely redneck.
“I’m calling the cops.” said the woman.
And her voice cut off.
“Stop it, Kitten.” said Raven.
“Okay, let’s move on to plan B.” said Kitten. “I’m breaking in.” 
Kitten shoved his fist through the glass door, and twisted the handle from the inside. There was blood on his wrist, but he wiped it on Ann’s ironic T-shirt.
“...the fuck?” said Rob.
“Wait, did she say Pat?” said Raven, but Kitten had already ran in.
“His middle name.” said Ann.
“Oh fuck this.” said Rob, and ran in after him.

The world around Raven and Ann cascaded into an ebony nightscape. Shapes of the tangible world shifted in and out of extra dimensions to reveal a landscape with everything in the same place as before, but looked completely different, and was out of phase with reality.
Everything here was made of shadows.
The ground below their feet was seen as the floor of an endless empty chasm. The houses and buildings were delicately angular mountains of twisted darkness. Trees had been replaced by black dendritic skeletons, with skinny tendrils hanging from their brittle branches. Their heartwoods glowed with a cold red life force. This colour was mirrored by the cold red sun hanging low above their heads. The rest of the sky was a bone-white void, which was slowly crumbling apart. And there was a thin layer of grey ash covering everything around them.
It was neither a fiery Hell, nor a cold world lost to sunlight. Raven and Ann did not feel hot and more than they could feel cold or room temperature, because temperature as a concept did not exist here. It was hard to even remember what heat felt like.
“Welcome to the Nether World.” said Raven. “Try not to get too comfortable here.”

At once, Ann started to glow brighter than all the cars on the freeway around them. Light from the heavens poured into him, and he hovered gracefully, six feet off the ground, arms outstretched. His T-shirt and jeans vanished, leaving him completely naked as his body re-shaped itself as female. His hips widened, butt tightened, and she began to grow breasts. Still bathed in that silvery light, her hair lengthened and became luminescently pink in colour. She stretched out her hands and began to revolve as clothing appeared in the air and wrapped itself around her lithe yet full figure. It formed into an overly elaborate nurse’s outfit with a low neckline to display the cleavage of her shapely bust, which was growing larger by the second, stretching the silky fabric. As a final flourish, the outfit gained frills on the sleeves, and a giant red bow on the back to match the two in her hair.
“Hali!” she screamed, the Japanese word for needle, and a giant pink syringe materialised in front of her. She grasped it in both hands, held it above her head. She touched down on the ground in a pose that showed off the curves of both her chest and her bottom.
“I am Mahou Shoujo Ann Apolis M.D. And I am ready to see the next patient. Now Kitten-kun, what seems to be the problem?”

“Prepare for shujutsu!” said Ann Apolis M.D, waving her scalpel at Kitten, so quickly that her arm became a blur. Kitten flinched for a few seconds, but was apparently unharmed by her cutting until his clothes fell to pieces, having been shredded by the scalpel.
Kitten stood before the busy highway, naked, missing an arm, and confronted with an angry magical girl doctor. Rob and Raven laughed haughtily at him. And from sheer embarrassment, his nose emitted a fountain of red blood.
Before the cold could kill his boner, Ann Apolis M.D. grabbed Kitten, and raped him there and then.
“This will only hurt... alot!” she promised as she pressed him against the cold hard concrete, and forcibly extracted his seminal fluid. Then she plopped a pill into his mouth, washed it down with a glass of water and started again, rocking back and forth on his sore genitalia.
“Now, hold still while I make an incision.”
The frenzy of limbs moved fast amid Kitten’s screams of pain as she opened him up, added to the incision with more. And because of the way Kitten squirmed, she kept finding new parts of him to cut with the scalpel. Every few seconds, she shouted something else in butchered Japanese, and picked up another surgical tool.

DISCLAIMER: this story and its characters are fictitious. Any resemblance to persons or cuddlefish living or dead is purely coincidental.

Author's note: Thank you for bearing with me so far on slow updates. I wanted to post a new chapter today yesterday, but I eventually made the difficult decision of delaying it another week to get it written exactly how I want it. In the mean time, I hope you enjoy this recap, and chapter 8 will be posted on Sunday for the patient few who have stuck it out this far. You guys are the best. :))

1 comment:

  1. I am deeply disappointed and I'm going to cry myself to sleep every night now that the new chapter is delayed #nohomo