I really don't like this anymore. What started out as a simple little 5 minute thing in my head has turned into 10 pages of who-fucking-knows-what-I'll-tell-you-who-bullfrog-god-that's-who. I mean what happened? Why is this taking so long? So I may just end it the idea soon. Details can be filled in. Things can be adjusted and edited. Or new things can just pop up like deleted scenes!
Yeah, I'm a little bit not myself at the moment. My painkillers, since I'm allergic to painkillers, have an effect on my brain. I'm not thinking straight, well I never really think straight *pause for expected lol'ing* but you know what I mean. I'm crazy...er than usual.
But Leslie might just decide to end it, since neither she nor Richard has talked to me in a while. I'm getting the silent treatment from them. It's like I'm God for creating them, and I'm too lazy to watch them every second of every day, and they've disappeared on me. Okay, that sounds more like bad parenting than godly powers, but you get it. I created them (yes they are fiction for that one person who asked me if this is based on my life). This is my world. A world that only exists inside my head.
Writers are gods. We create our own universe with things in it. We basically create life inside our imagination. We are Isolus (in a way). I'm not saying that we branched off from God and live as the billions and billions of siblings travelling the galaxy together creating worlds to play in, though that does sound like fun. Where was I? Oh yes, I'm lazy.
So y'all (yes I use "y'all" since almost every language in the world has a 2nd person plural and most "civilized" English speakers refuse to accept it and make a proper one) can expect an end to "Big Dick, Little Dyke" soon. Well at least an end to this chapter of it. The whole thing might take a while. I'll just have to write something else to meet this goal and amuse the (what is it now 7?) readers who are actually interested in, or have nothing else to do but read my insane little stories.
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