Frying baby-flesh on an oiled pan

Last night I woke up in a daze of confusion, a mist clouded my eyes as if a fog had crept it's way into my room. Everything looked wet, anything I touched was almost spungy, my room liked like a bad joke for a sauna bath. I walked out of my room, only to find out that the rest of the house was even unfunnier. The floor was covered with live fish, so naturally I put on some slippers. I tried to make my way to the stairs only to slip and fall into the pile of fish, squishing many, my head landed right on a fat jelly fish so he practically burst covering my face with it's insides. I stood up, carefully, covered in stenchy filth and made my way to the stairs only to discover a spider standing at the top looking straight down at me. My arachnaphobia kicked in, this was no small pathetic spider this was one of those chunky ones with big black thick spider legs and a head that looked worse than anyone's worst nightmare. For a moment I paused, and think: "Why is everything so fucked up?" But the spider drew my attention quickly as it started running down the stairs towards me. I froze up, I stood harder than concrete and my mind tried to escape through my skull. The spider reached my legs and starts crawling up the insides of my pants, across the gential area outside my underpants "Thank God", and under my shirt all the way up to my neck. I stood there with my eyes closed, wishing I was back wallowing in that pile of fish. Although I didn't dare to look, the spider was almost on my face, touching my face in ten places silmuntaneously. Suddenly, it wasn't not on my face anymore. I opened my eyes a little and saw the spider run up the stairs and out of my sight. It took my about two minutes just to my fingers again, and probably another fifteen just to decide to go up the stairs. I imagine if the fish hadn't been there it would have taken longer. On my slow journey up the stairs I tried to clean the fishguts off my face with my clothes but the smell was stuck on me, I felt like puking every other second I breathed in. After my perilous journey up the stairs I witnessed what might be called, The Most Fucked Up Shit of all Fucked Up Shit ever witnessed. Imagine an orgy, but with pigs, now take the pigs and turn them into horny alien monsters. And the walls, are alive and what appears, communicating with each other. This is barely a portion of the Fucked Up-Ness which I witnessed. The only relief in this situation, was that there was a clear path through this lewd enviroment to what seemed to be my kitchen. I wasn't really sure what it had become. Some might think that I would be afraid, but I wasn't, it was actually a lot funnier than freakier, mixed freaky and funny really. I managed to squeeze my way through the orgy into the kitchen where I started to smell cooking. In the kitchen stood what appeared to be a woman, and she was cooking something. I walked closer to confront this woman, here is where the Fucked Up-Ness increases. There was no face, not like she had ripped it off, there just was no face, no eyes, no mouth, no expressions, no nose, no anything. And she held a frying pan, on the frying pan was a new born baby covered in oil boiling up, melting and screaming. When I saw that baby on the frying pan, it hit me... "Could this be a dream? It would explain all this Fucked Up Shit". Suddenly I felt this warm breeze, the sun shined on my face and I felt something I had never felt before. Utter, magnanimous, perfect bliss. It struck me in waves, only by thinking it I moved myself up to the third floor where everything seemed normal and out to the balcony, preparing myself for a flight around this world. To conclude this story, and the Fucked Up-Ness, right now, I am dead, my flight turned out to be a one way ticket straight down into a glass house. I bled for twenty-four minutes, partially paralyzed before I finally died, and to make things easier I got a long piece of glass through the right side of my belly cross my body and out the left side of my throat with the edge sticking into my skull, making my death quite painful.

The only question is... if I'm dead, how the Fuck am I telling you this!?

by Sindri Gretarsson.