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fizzwillard

Dragon Style
Adam is douche bag. He smells like bacon and body odor. I can tell which of these make me want to put him in an omelet and eat it. I’m hoping it’s the bacon but I’ve been wrong before. But enough about me and my omelet dreams, I find most people aren’t want to get in an omelet anyways, well there was that one chick. ***** was crazy. Ok, lets get down to actual business. If I could be any whimsical fair tale creature I would be an elf. I mean dragon. Yes dragon. Would be badass. An elf would be fun, but nobody sees what happens when the frolicking stops, it’s not pretty. Yeah so dragon it is. Just think of all the possibilities, fire breathing, flying, being green and such. Ok, so Pete the dragon. Pete…this will not do. I must find a better dragon name. How about Terrence. Any disagreements here? Good. Terrence the…the…Funambulist. Nah, i'm pretty sure being a dragon is hard enough and adding tight rope walking would prolly just add lot of heartache to the mix. That and I would rather not take all that time practicing. And if I’m a dragon with a belly, most likely due to the large amount of caramello bars I consumes, nay! DEVOUR, on a semi-hourly basis, it would be most hard to maneuver myself on a tiny rope across treacherous ravines and such. Ok so funambulism is out. Terrence the… (I asked Adam what his favorite word was, and considering the boy will probably end up piling **** at a traveling petting zoo, his response was poop. Despite the oddly charismatic ring “Terrence the Poop” has I do not wish to be known as the “defecating dragon.” If I went by “Terrence the Poop”, some other smart dragon or gnome or something would eventually stumble upon this clever alliterate nickname, leaving me wallowing in my own misery and cursing my excremental epithet. So it seems as if we still haven’t picked a dragon nickname for myself. How about we just go with “Terrence Cotton Candy.” I like it. Seeing as I like cotton candy and all. Yep, we definitely picked a winner here. I know Cotton Candy isn’t exactly the last name one would expect to be assigned to a fearful being such as a dragon but I’m a different dragon than the ones you’ve read about, I’m new school, I ain’t your mama’s dragon, I am going to drop stuff like its hot, I’m gunna make all the *****es crawl, and I’m going to Michigan, and Arizona, and Texas, and then to Washington DC to take back the white house, RARAARARAAGGHH!

Day 1 of Dragonizing.
I decided a good way to announce my presence to the dragon ready world was some sort of high flying, fire breathing extravaganza and such. So I went to the 7-11 and bought a cherry slushy. It was about ten, maybe fifteen minutes into slushy time when I realized I was supposed to accomplish some sort of dragon activity. Then I realized I hadn’t really found my dragon identity yet. I decided to smoke weed and make a list of dragon goals.

Goal 1. Somehow use my dragon skills to procure free Cherry Slushies.

Goal 2. Drink each free slushy as if it is my last, savoring each slightly-solidified cherry slurp with an almost romantic delight, causing the greatest of euphoria emanating from every pore, and each time giving me a new outlook on life and a reason to live. That reason obviously being another cherry slushy.

Goal 3. Stop treating cherry slushies like they are the only important thing in life. (This goal shall be abandoned if it in any way compromises the success of goal 2)

Goal 4. Be such a cool dragon that I have a fan club that worships me and makes novelty t-shirts which can only be worn with acceptance at a comic book convention or wherever nerds hang out nowadays.

Goal 5. Read a lot of books so if any angry mob starts yelling at me I can recite a bunch of really poignant lines about acceptance from the classics and then the angry mob won’t be able to help but look at their actions objectively for once and realize the err of the ways. Then hopefully I make such an impression that they buy me a cherry slushy.

Goal 6. Buy stamps. This really doesn’t pertain to dragons I guess but I need some stamps so I can send in my winning bottle caps, then wait patiently 8 weeks and get my officially licensed NFL scuba gear.

It was just after this I start to reach peak highness. I wrote a few more goals but I’m not sure they are attainable, coherent, or even involving actual words.

Goal Slappy: Well I wish I was a rattle snake oh yes I do, I could do so much happy mischief it be not funny when all the eggs are broken in the sink but at least we can still eat watermelon on Sundays.

Goal forensics: I captain thine ferocious flag and wander ‘round the room spreading my kerosene cheer like jolly old St. Nick. Just remember, being a rabbit may sound like a winning idea when you wake up, but its not so funny when you’re passed out in the garden covered in Grandpa Willy’s chest pain.

Goal ELVIS!: candorjuice and pork salad…make hearts dizzazzle and monkeys swing from trees. They have much disease.

Goal Japanese Wannabe: Write a bunch of kick ass haikus.

At this I decided any more goals would just make my head hurt so I ate a bag of cheetoes and feel asleep in the refrigerator.

Day 2 of Dragon Days

I woke up from a dream in which I won a 12 round boxing bout against Carmen Electra, and for some reason I was feeling very Japanese. So I decided the nip in me should attempt to accomplish goal Japanese wannabe.


Underwater me,
So wet and furry I am,
Lather me with jam



Dragons be happy,
Flying cowboys of the dark,
Please, can I ride you?

Digging with my spoon,
Into soft peanut butter,
The fury awaits you.

Yes I really am,
Good with words and sex a-like,
Which do u prefer?

Yay, big day today,
The carnival is great fun,
Not when daddy hits


After my haiku-ing left me with a more than adequate poetic experience I decided to take my new found Japanese lifestyle to the streets. I purchased a pair of sandals that had a certain sushi-obi-esque flair to them. I was now feeling so utterly Japanese I could feel nothing but sake in my veins and burnt seaweed in my underpants. Wait, never mind, I just got so damn ****faced last night after all the drugs, my bad. I wanted a traditional Japanese domicile. I recalled learning that most Japanese citizens live inside their washing machines to conserve space. Those little Japs are so smart, always finding new ways to save money. I was so excited that I didn’t have to buy a new house; I hastened home without delay, burst through the door to my house, and quickly took up residence in my washing machine. It was a little cramped but if those crazy nippons did it so could Terrence C. Candy. After about an hour some smartass turned on the spin cycle. It was finally time I had the full Japanese experience. I bit my lip, blew my nose and said a silent prayer, for this was my rite of passage to fully embrace my new found Japanesity. The Kenmore spun me around with erotic precision. It was destined to make me its *****. With each rotation I could feel my insides spinning out of control, my humors were becoming so intertwined with each other I had laughter coming out my ear, kidneys floating around near my shoulder, and happiness now resided in my foot. The pounding I was taking was nothing compared to the ever increasing imminence of the beauty and glory that comes along with being a Japanese Dragon. ****, I forgot that on one of my recent ether binges I decided to re-work the power of the washing machine to provide for a 2 minute turbo session at the end of the spin cycle. What does this mean? This means that this little dragon is in for one hell of a ride. Luckily I have something they don’t know about. I have my own special 2 minute turbo session. I call it the powerplay, and it generally only comes about when it’s times to rock and roll with a female dragon. But today this washing machine is gunna get my sweet lascivious, high-flying, earth shakin, fire-breathing dragon love barbecue. Bam, the switch turned on, the proverbial switch in me also turned and damnit ***** we are ready to rock! The Kenmore’s red light turns on , my eyes go from pale blue to ferocious bright yellow, the sweet sound of scraping metal announced the drive of the Kenmore and I acknowledge with steely readiness in my voice as I proclaim to the dirt removing devil, “It’s on *****.” Its turbo love shake powers proved slightly more turbulent than I thought the machine possessed. No matter, it was time to rip it up dragon style. It knocked all my limbs this way and that but it didn’t get the best of my resolve and I cried out, “I like it *****, slap me again, slap me again.” I was reaching the threshold, the point of no return, the point at which no Asian made appliance could defeat me. Bam, I thrashed against the side of the beast, BAM, hits me to the other side. “RAAAGGHH, is that all you got, piss off slutcake, I haven’t even begun to rock your world, this is going to be the best night of your life.” Finally I had had enough. It was time for the machine to get the barbecue that’s been coming to him. A small flame left my nostril, the begging of the end was now in sight. A quick hump and the machine is knocked off its hinges. The sound of the banging metal shakes the house with a fury, “That’s right *****, I’m gunna ride you to hell if I want to. I hold the cards now slut, I’m an erotic sundae with an ace in the hole!” Another hump and another hump, perfectly on time, perfect in step and the washing machine was at my mercy. A look from above sees a washing machine, totally helpless getting thrown around the room, back and forth, side to side, headlong into walls and there is not a thing on earth that could stop the insanity of the dragon barbecue. It was like one of Grandpa Willy’s barbecues; we would bring down the hizouse with fried chicken and watermelon and the party didn’t stop til six in the morning. We have now entered the deepest level of barbecue and the humps came one after another, “Like rapid fire baby,” I urged on myself even though I could see it in my *****’s heart that he was beaten and could take no more. The water of the spin cycle still swirled around me, soothing my every pore and gathering my strength for the final canticle. Kerplat! Bam! Woosh! All the sounds of the barbecue were at full volume and the erotic fury was firing on all cylinders, to any onlooker this must look, sound, and feel like the battle of the century; the Kenmore was now a good thirty feet from its usual resting place, and the sounds coming from inside can be describe as the sounds of titans controlling the sky. The hump was in full effect and each subsequent push ended with a good five foot jump of the Kenmore. “Eat it, ***** , I am the alpha male! I make all the brothas pay and all the *****es will get laid! That’s what I thought you garden variety wanna be appliance slut, you can’t handle the power of the barbecue!” Suddenly an image of grandpa Willy entered my mind, there he was, completely intoxicated, mounting the doghouse with banjo in hand, to give us the show of a lifetime. While he reached the doghouse summit with much difficulty he stood tall and god-like above us all and proclaimed. “What’s shaking all my sweet *****es, you better be hard at work, cuz I’m a gangsta! I’m a ****en rock star! All you *****es will get laid.” This thought deep in my mind, and the powerful humping now readying it self for final deployment I exclaimed, “I’m a dragon foo, I’m a ****en cowboy, I’m gunna ride you, ride you all night long ****er!” Then at this instant of time, when the two immortal syllables of “****er” left my lips with rapid speed, all the water, that had been gathering strength with each rotation and each hump was ready to explode. And there it went, the final hump knocked the hatch straight up in the air and the water followed like OLD ****ING FAITHFUL. And as the water shot toward the atmosphere I flew up with it, floating above the pitiful machine I had just made my *****, I looked down at the city lights and couldn’t help but think of grandpa Willy as he passed out, leading to a massive unconscious belly flop into the pool. (Auntie Bebe wasn’t pleased) I floated there, more powerful than a god, everyone in a three block vicinity had heard the struggle and stood in complete awe of me; I looked down, winked and with a single breath sent a rush a smoke at them warming their bodies just as I had already warmed their hearts with my never say die attitude and determination in my fight against the Kenmore. The feeling was so much for me a single tear ran down my scales and landed on the ground and when I looked hard into I saw an image of Grandpa Willy, floating in the pool, with a smile on his face and a bottle of whiskey in his hand, “ah, I love barbecues.”

After this I went to the post office and bought stamps then came home and read Moby Dick. So I had already finished goals, 5,6, and Japanese wannabe. I decided I had already completed a lot and goals 1-4 through looked pretty hard so I decided to tackle goals, Slappy, forensics and Elvis. I really had no clue, in my current state, what the hell any of these things meant so I got high hoping my state-dependant memory would take over. It didn’t and I ended up watching Sealab 2021 all night and making a 3 mile hopscotch course, which I never got to do because I fell asleep.