Jobs Sister Alice should never ever EVER have

--Commedian--

"-at's when I realized I was wearing her bra! A bada-bum, you get that dipshits? Yeah, I see that guy in third row knows what I'm talking about, the pervert! I can smell you getting hot and bothered from here. The Hell kind of stuff you get off to, Grannys Gone Wi-"

"BOO! You suck!"

"...Excuse me. Did you just interrupt me? Are you heckling me? Shut up! It was a retorical question, numbnuts. Do you get your jollies off of heckling old ladies? Does it make you feel big? Does it fill the void of your monotonous nine to five job? Does it make those hours for you sitting glass eyed and slackjawed at a computer screen regretting you never went for that degree easier? But you know, really, why you never got that degree. You could have gotten it if you applied yourself, but you were too busy chasing skirts. You bagged and tagged yourself a college sweetheart alright, but youg love tends sour so quickly, doesn't?

"You hate her and can't but help to to see her face attributed to your failures, and you know it's wrong and hate yourself for it. The only joy in your life is fantasizing about the sweet young thing your boss has hired on as his secretary. You dream of steamy encounters in the copy room, and everyday, you work yourself up to ask her out. But you don't. And you never will. Now quit your blubbering and get the fuck out of my auditorium.

".....Wasn't that juicy stuff audience? Seeing as I seem to have overstayed my welcome, hows about a little histroy trivia. In Ye Days of Olde and Shite, jesters were the only ones who could tell the King and Queen the truth without fear of execution. Usually."



--Kids' TV Show Personality--

"Hey kids, today we're going to learn about the letter 'F'."


--Charity Event Organiser--

"...The fuck is this? Two hundred bucks? I wouldn't wipe wipe my ass with your two hundred bucks. I don't think you quite understand the scope of things there. You see that. That's a motherfucking panda. It's cute and adorable and the national symbol of China. You wanna be the fucker who goes down in history as a mass panda murdering sociopath. You wanna be remmebered as the guy rememberd by kids as 'Mom, wy aren't there any pandas anymore', except he'd say it sounding way more diseased sounding because kids are fucking disgusting, and then the Mom'd go 'Oh I'm sorry honey but this fucker killed 'em all!' Is that what you want? You are going to give until it hu-THE FUCK ARE YOU GOING?! DONATE OR I'LL RIP YOUR GODDAMN THROAT OUT WITH MY TEETH!....A wise choice, sir. You an' me, we are going to save some mother fucking pandas."

--Walmart Greeter--

"Welcome to Walmart, get your shit and get out........................God, I hate Walmart."

Weeping May Stay for The Night

His hands ached from the cold. Or maybe it was the rubbing. But he couldn't stop. He'd been washing his hands in the church's shared dingy bathroom for twenty minutes now. But he couldn't stop. He could still smell the blood. Years and years and years and years and years later, and he could still smell the blood. He had it down to routine now, wash and scrub and rub until he couldn't stand the cold of the water anymore-cold water was always best for blood, he'd scrubbed it out of enough floors to know-and then he'd towel off and rub and scratch and then he'd want to take a step to leave.

 but he wouldn't. He'd turn back to the sink and start the process anew. Rinse and repeat, rinse and repeat and repeat and repeat and repeat and repeat and repeat and scratch and tear and then he'd realise.

Staring at his shaking hads, he'd realise the blood was his own.

He'd stay that way for a while and then he'd wring out the towel-doing his best to ignore how closely the motion mirrored the practiced action of wringing a neck-and he'd get a rag cloth and scrub the blood out of the basin.

When all was done, he'd go back downstairs with his best smile on his face and someone would ask him what took so long. He'd make a joke and they'd all laugh not ask anymore about it. He'd talk and laugh and feast as well as any of them, until all eventually succumbed to fatigue. He'd see each one as they slowly trickled out personally, the very face of hospitality, as he asked after their grandmothers and aunts.

They'd all leave happy and well fed, and then he'd turn out the lights and finally retire to his own bed.

Then he'd just lay there and stare at the ceiling for a while. He'd forgotten how to cry a long time ago-but that was okay, he didn't have anyomore tears left to shed-and he'd wait for release that never came.

 And rinse and repeat.









....Hrm, I'm not really satisfied with this one. Somethings missing, I think.

Erosion

Wall sometimes worried that, somewhere, something had gone terribly wrong. None of his friends ever seemed to remember that there was a time when they would have been more likely to raise a frothing glass of questionable liquid instead of heavy artillery at the others arrival. Humans just changed too fast for him to keep up.

He was sure Father Squid had explained the root of these sudden changes back near the beginning of  things. Back when Wall could still understand what what the old priest said sometimes. Not that Wall needed to be told how things started, he was there, and his memory ran long. Not as long as, say, Sister Alice's but still quite farther a than a human's. He wished he could just ask Sister Alice about all this; she'd been dealing living among humans far longer than he had.

But Sister Alice didn't talk much anymore.

He wished he didn't think so much, he certainly didn't used to, but here where nothing ever seemed to change; it was the only thing left for him to do. God, he missed being able to move about as freely as whatever whims took hold of him.

Oh sure, there were upsides to being a whole building now instead of just one dinky wall, he'd certainly never been more powerful, but it came at the cost his former forms mobility.

But all that paled before all the purpose he had now. No longer Shuma Gorath's annoying tag-along, or everybeings little cosmic joke, he had drive now.

Jaxx had given him direction and he would not fail. Not that he was quite sure exactly how he fit into the ex-sentinnel's plans, but he didn't anyone truly new where they stood in Jaxx's equation of the new order.

David certainly didn't. The trader was always so jumpy around Jaxx anymore. Almost like he was afraid of him. It all seemed kind of silly, but David had never been known for making sense. Why, he wouldn't Dave wouldn't even answer him, whenever the traitorder was summoned to the fortress, when he asked him whenever Dave could use the little nifty machine he'd adapted from Sine's Fictioncraft to restore him to his priror form. He'd just keep ignore him, keep his head down and keep walking. He wasn't very sure he liked David much anymore.

Shield! That was it. Or at least the answer to something. It was something Father Squid said that he could actually understand.

Yes, he would be Jax's Mausoleum of Madness and shield him from anything that would keep from finishing.....whatever it is he's been doing all this time, sitting on his throne and grinning.

It was all enough to make Wall worry, sometimes, that something had gone horribly wrong somewhere.