BoutCheetah

I was getting my daily dose of Spunj the other day, and in the middle of the best part, something happens. This loud, piercing blare tears through the air molecules from my TV to my eardrums, frightening me in to a near-coma state. I recover in seconds, only find that I am no longer watching Spunj. My mind didn't even focus on what was there flashing on the screen, I was more shocked by the fact that something had occurred to cause my TV to no longer be playing Spunj. After the synapses in my brain start firing again, I can finally focus in on the TV. No sooner after my brain begins to work again, it shuts off. My temporal lobe melts as the vile dirt being relayed by my TV continues. I want it to stop. Tears begin to flow from my eyes, I am no longer in control. As some degenerate sub-human inbred on the TV excrete anal fumes in to a jar, I can feel my chromosomes screaming. They are in anguish, and I share their pain. One by one, I can feel the degeneration of my DNA, as my nucleotide bases begin to come apart. The TV is still continuing to show the filth, and I can practically see my TV struggle to even project the images, because even if it is a soulless machine, it knows. After what feels like a period immeasurable by any scale conceivable, a second blare is heard, with a closing card on the TV labeled "Nick Studio 10″. The channel ends my torment and returns to Spunj. However, before I can even begin to try and pull myself together so I can try and recover from what just happened, I am returned to Golgotha. The episode of Spunj that was playing never paused. I am now watching an entirely different scene, with whatever was playing in the slot overtaken by the inbred lost to time forever, never to be seen again. I break down again. I just missed an entire section of Spunj. Nick Studio 10. The words are still in my vision, though no longer on the TV. It is burned in to my mind. Sometimes I lay down at night, and I wake up in tears. All I can remember of my dream is that I am alone, in darkness. As I stand in the vapid field of nothing, trying to make sense of that around me, I hear something. Something distant, but something I know well. It is a low sound, almost inaudible at first. But it soon gathers strength, until it becomes all I hear. It is the sound of the inbred farting in the jar.