Maggot
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Maggots free porn video
Maggots
By Bill Hart
Another one.
Don't they ever get tired?
There was once a time when I despaired over getting no
responses to the stories I posted on that Internet bulletin
board. But after the responses finally started coming, I
just sort of figured out I'd been kind of lucky.
At that time at least I wasn't beset by people continually
saying my shit stunk. And just how did they ever know with
certainty that someone else's shit was any more or less
fragrant then their own?
Besides, it never took much to be a critic as far as I was
concerned. Particularly, if you wrote the same review to
forty-seven stories and considered yourself clever for
doing so. Those are the kind of people - and I use that
term loosely - in serious need of a real life transplant.
Constructive criticism was something I could live with. But
what I was currently being sent couldn't be construed as
constructive in the slightest. I was determined to make
these senseless attacks stop once and for all.
I used to have this really weird dream back when I actually
worried about receiving such nonsense. It centered about
this large hoard of marauding maggots. I constantly heard
them whining in their tinny little nasal voices, "Your shit
stinks! Your shit stinks!" But I never did figure out why,
if they thought it was so damn awful, they kept gobbling it
up like there was no tomorrow?
Maggots are just funny people.
Critics, on the other hand, are simply peculiar.
I suppose some sort of exposition of my dream might be in
order. But somehow that seems more likely to be a story for
another place or another time. Of course that all depends
on if I remember it the same way when the right time
finally comes to tell it.
I wouldn't wager any large sums of money on it
Besides, there's always the chance I won't give a shit
about that stupid dream by the time I'm ready to talk about
it. By then, the damn maggots might have eaten it all away.
I'm digressing.
Aren't I?
I don't mean to digress, you know?
Sometimes it's just far easier to digress than undress.
It's just that my train of thought tends to derail from
time to time. I'm always wishing it wouldn't, but it still
does.
I wonder if I should tell the insurance company about that.
But maybe that's not a real good idea. Knowing them, they'd
up my rates to some ungodly rate or cancel the policy on my
toy train set. And I've only had to make that one claim
when those stupid maggots wouldn't stop at the gate with
the flashing lights. That accident was all their fault and
they know it.
I'm doing it again.
Aren't I?
I'm never going to get any better if I don't continue
taking my medication. I want to get better. I really do.
But I don't like the funny way those pills wiggle down my
throat and crawl around inside my tummy.
I don't really think the maggots want me to get better.
They're mean and nasty. They're back now, you know. There
are more of them now then ever before. And I don't even
have to dream about them. They don't say a word, but they
appear to like my shit now. I just wish they'd go away and
leave me alone.
The people here think I'm mad. I think that's why all the
walls in my room are so soft. I hate to disappoint them,
since they've been so good to me while I've been here. But
I'm not mad - I know it. Hell, I'm not even angry... unless
it's at those hellspawn maggots. I really wish they'd let
some other people see them.
They've let me continue writing, you know. They say it's
good for me. But for a while, they'd taken away all my best
pencils. They said something strange about not wanting me
playing with sharp objects. During that time when I didn't
have my pencils, I had to write down my stories using
crayons. I liked the pink one better than any of the
others, but then the damn maggots broke it.
After that, they laughed at me.
I was so mad at them for breaking my crayon, but after a
little nap I felt a lot better.
However, I still don't know why I took that nap, but I was
really glad I had. I felt so much better when I woke up. I
wasn't even mad at the maggots.
My next story's getting posted soon. They finally decided
to give back my Internet privileges. It's about time.
The people who have always liked my stories will
undoubtedly like this one too. And those who don't probably
won't like this one either. I'd be surprised if they did.
This one, although I won't tell which one it is, has its
own little surprise attached to it.
It's a spell.
Oh me, oh my. I've ruined the big surprise.
But it won't really matter. The people here don't believe I
can cast spells and send them out as file attachments.
However, they don't believe I see all those damn maggots
either. In a way, that works to my advantage. If any of you
out there were to try telling them about the spell I've set
into motion, you might easily wind up in the room next to
mine. Although I wouldn't mind having a new neighbor or
two, I don't think any of you would like that room very
much. It's dark in that room; it doesn't have any windows.
Oh yes, the spell. You don't have to shout at me, you know.
There's nothing wrong with my hearing. I'm very sorry I
digressed again, but I just can't seem to help it.
Once the story is in place on the bulletin board, the spell
will then activate. It will see to it that those making
destructive personal attacks instead of reviews will be
irrevocably transformed. It will also make certain that the
transformed person knows of his or her alteration.
If you like the story or write something the spell
considers even marginally constructive, then nothing will
happen to you.
On the other hand, if you write a destructive criticism or
engage in a personal attack, then you'll be treated quite
differently. Those dissing me will be swiftly transformed.
Into what you ask?
I don't have the foggiest idea.
Nor do I particularly care.
I've left the entire transformation up to the will of the
spell. It will look deeply into their minds and find
whatever it is they most despise in the world. And that's
what they'll become and remain for the remainder of their
lives. This simply seemed the most fitting revenge I could
devise.
I heard that.
Why would I want to turn them into simpering bimbettes?
That's such a hackneyed and banal solution. Besides, I'm
certain some of my detractors might consider that some kind
of reward. That's not at all what I intended.
Don't yell. I thought about that too, but it really wasn't
any good either.
There are already too many maggots in the world.
Besides, what could be more devilish than knowing you've
been changed into what you despise most? Particularly - and
I'm certain it will happen to a few - if you look in a
mirror and still find yourself looking back at you.
The End
Mei
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