HELL ON EARTH. charlotte, entry thread

She was in the middle of celebrating Kiki's game entry when she finally took the lip of the bottle away from her mouth to ask herself where the hell that red Solo cup next to her keyboard had come from. Or when. Whatever. It was hard to think through the excessively ignant music blasting throughout the room. Which was kind of the point of putting it on in the first place. She couldn't identify the mystery liquid inside but that's what taste buds were for.

She almost snorted into the swill as she clicked open the Pesterchum notification, and bit into the top of the cup to hold it in place as she typed.


PA: AHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA
PA: LOOK AT DIS LIL BITCH
PA: I KNEW YOU'D COME CRAWLING BACK FOR A PIECE OF THIS LUSCIOUS GOODNESS
PA: TALKIN' BOUT 'WE GOTTA CONNECT'
PA: YOU NAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAASTY

She had to squint for a good long moment at his reply. 'The fuck was he saying?' she had to ask the bottles that huddled together beside her monitor. Doubt flickered for a moment and she quickly scrolled up to reread her own, considerably more legible, reply. That's right. Of course it wasn't her that was too fucked up to read. Not that she ever really could have considered for a second that something wasn't Azazel's fault. More azzhole bullshit, clearly, but it wasn't ordinary azzhole bullshit. This was... evolved azzhole asshattery. Or more like devolved.


PA: tha fuck
PA: are you
PA: trying
PA: to
PA: say
PA: to
PA: me
PA: did you forget
PA: how to English
PA: English, motherfucker
PA: do you speak it

She let all the air out of her cheeks in one long pfbbt. A ten second long fart noise would have been more accurate; Azzhole might as well have tried to fart for ten seconds and that would communicated more than the typo-laden mess he had just laid in the Pesterlog chat. Charlie threw up a hand to the screen and turned from the congress of booze bottles to Mr. Neigh Neigh the stuffed horse. Were they seeing what she had to put up with? Was it clear to everyone now?

In these trying times, she had to seek Ja Rule's spiritual guidance. Please help me, Ja Rule she intoned in silence. The good Lord knew that she kept her pimp hand STRONG, but she was at a crossroads. Should she beat that motherfucker silly, or should she take the most condescending of pity on whatever wretchedness had befallen him? Ja Rule would know.

Several more choices confronted her at the wise guru's website. "-- HOW THUG ARE YOU FEELING?" it asked of her. Pretty goddamn thugnificent, actually, but that was none of the drop-down choices. "MORE THUG THAN 50 AT THE CANDY SHOP" it was. The wise Ja made a second inquiry: "-- HOW EMOTIONAL ARE YOU FEELING??", to which the obvious answer was "IT'S PAY DAY, BLESS U PAY GODS."

The mellow tunes of "Down 4 You" came wafting out of the speakers, and as horrified as she might have been at the lyrics, no fool could take Ja's spiritual words of strength too literally. He preached mercy.


PA: listen up dense motherfucker
PA: we have booooooth our CDs
PA: you have to use your server version
PA: i use my client version
PA: duuuhh

There was no real indication that the dense motherfucker had actually understood. But that was not an obstacle; she would ignore what he had to say and act like he'd done exactly what she wanted. A black pop up window had been sitting open on her desktop for a while now, though the text simply ended at "SBURB client is running," with no notification that a host was attempting to connect. Azzhole really was a dense motherfucker.


PA: you have to open up your SBURB server thing, stupiddd
PA: and connect to my client version
PA: and then we both hit enter and start the game blah blah obvious shit
PA: then you'll see a TRIPPY AS FUCK loading screen
PA: AND THEN IT'S SIMS ON STEROIDS, JACKED AS FUCK

As she read, she gave a low, ugly cackle that burbled into dark amber liquid in the red cup she raised to her mouth. She was right to heed the wise guru Ja Rule's words. This was going more thugnificently than could be anticipated. The fucker had no idea what was about to hit him.


PA: Nicki Minaj wants me to tell you
PA: that you're a stupid hoe
PA: so just fyi
PA: man just hol dontto your shit
PA: something ogn happen
PA: you'll get a sign in like
PA: five seconds goddammn


Charlie leaned back in her seat and held both hands up high above her head, middle fingers extended as she continued swaying her head and shoulders to the pounding music.

Waiting. Waiting. Aaaand still waiting. This was taking much longer than anticipated, but putting down her hands now would be conceding defeat. No, no matter how ridiculous it felt to be waiting for him to see her official greeting, it couldn't possibly compare to how much of a fuckass he'd feel seeing it. And when the reaction finally came, she shook her hair as she threw her head back for a full-bodied laugh. Yes, shake, titties shake. Of course she was good looking. She had the Best Titties in Salinas '06 title from one of the local bars to prove it. The plaque had to be on the wall somewhere, unless it was actually something else. Or otherwise lost in the mounds and piles of stuff around her room.

Better eyes deserved to see this. Like Nathan Ivette's maybe most likely. Awww yea. Nathan Ivette. The babeliest of beefcakes.


PA: ofc i'm gorgeous
PA: stop staring for like 5 seconds
PA: you have to put your cursor on the boxes at the top of the screen
PA: and zoom out if you need to??
PA: and click on the uh
PA: phrenalia bullshit thing
PA: the red card with a green box next to it
PA: and drag the machine thingies down