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Post by Betelgeuse on Feb 28, 2011 13:02:47 GMT -5
Betelgeuse landed with a thud, hurting his behind on the plastic tree he had landed on. He never learned. He must really learn to curb his temper if he wanted people to stop sending him back to this stupid world of plastic and astro turf. Especially people who knew his name. A commercial won't help him out of this mess.
He walked around kicking the ground and cursing to himself. Alone again and nothing to do. He spotted some flies above but they refused to land and he sure was hungry. Silently he cursed again.
He wondered the plastic street kicking little metal cars and carrying on a conversation with himself. He was angry. WHY WAS HE TRAPPED HERE AGAIN!?
God it's lonely here. The boredom was just angering him more. He had almost traveled the whole model by now. He was back at his grave now. How depressing. This is all he had. He ventured inside to go turn on his television... maybe read the obituaries to see what sad sap he could persuade to let him out of his hell hole. He sat in his comfy chair and picked up the paper. He stared at it but couldn't read it. This isn't fun and not what he wants to do. He needed action.
Once again he climbed out of his grave. Boredom and anger were taking over.
"AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!" He screamed. "YA BUNCH OF IDIOTS!" He yelled, to no one in particular since no one could hear him. He kicked a car and broke a tire. "AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!"
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Post by Mort Rainey on Mar 25, 2011 16:25:27 GMT -5
His butt was getting numb, hunched over in the driver's seat, he sighed for the millionth time after hours of driving. The view before him seemed like everything else he had passed, houses and random shops, all worn and similar. For a moment he thought he had gotten lost but, the map and his surroundings told his this place was plain and perfect. He missed his cabin back on his patch of nowhere but, he could do without the arthritic sheriff and the stuffy towns people. He shouldn't miss the sleepy damp town, they didn't want him there. The Sheriff had asked him to leave because of them, Mort knew the geyser was probably the one who stuck the idea in their heads. One hand on the steering wheel and the other pointing his way on the map on his legs moving to his face for a second to rub the sleep out of his eyes, and that was all it took for his car to swerve in a zigzag down the street and into a mailbox. He killed the engine and got out of his car. The mangled mail box of a house on a hill lay on the hood of his mud and rain splattered Jeep. Small black and gold numbers gave him a sigh of relief. He wouldn't be getting into any trouble so soon, he had just ran over his own mail box to the house he just purchased. His new start and new hiding place, away from the bogus charges of the needle pointing Sheriff. Without bothering to move his car he dug around it for his bags, only the things he needed to pass the night. Later when he was well rested he would move in properly and go out to get some cleaning things to make the house at least livable. "Thought you weren't a clean freak, you like things a bit dusty?" The southern drawl echoed in his head accompanied by a laugh and a chuckle, the chuckle reminded him he wasn't alone. "Not a neat freak, I just don't want creepy crawlies and vermin in my food and stuff. Imagine a rat or roaches nesting in your hat." his voice was irritated and mimicked the crunching gravel under his feet as he carried a back pack over his shoulder and two boxes in his arms. Getting the door open had not been easy but, he manged without getting too wet as the flood gates opened for the third time that day. Thunder made him jump inside and lock his door with a frightened look on his face. Setting this down on a hard wood kitchen table, left behind no doubt, he began to explore his new home.
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