[Contest]Progamer short story - Page 2

In.Life of a progamer:

I asked some Questions to a wise_gray man. There were 910 of them, but he only answered 815. “You should Go Stop asking me so much, you Sasin boy. Don’t you Ever) learn a lesson?! Dove’s are not for Target practise!” said the Haz`Boss.
The rest he knew NaDa about, but offered to enLighten me later. I said, “I’m busy, but just fOr u, AnyTime..” I hate that guy. So I left Lucifer’s office and went to the community Center.

I thought I was struck by CuPiD’s arrow as I watched ToSsGirL’s dance a solo Into The Rainbow of my heart… but I had to admit she had no Rhythm. But who cares, the Lady was so H.O.T. she burned my eyes a second Iris. FanTastic!

So I bought and watched this Sweet BB_DVD of stand-up Comedy. I thought it was Cool, but it didn’t really make any Sense. I went to sleep and had a strange Dream about a draco slayer and wanted to sniff the slayer’s boxers. I woke up screaming as if I saw a Ghost. Actually, I saw a MaRinE.

TheMarine said he and his WindCrew had no Fear, but they went into a CCoMa after he was Die_aTtaCked by a Jaguar. Their last words were “go.go! Ah! I have my Spear, but I can’t Reach my Bisu[Shield]!” It was really a Miracle that they survived after all that. Perhaps it was because swam from the Silver LaKe, Stayed near the YellOw River and swam to the Sea. Unfortunately, they were met by a great white Shark and a giant man-eating stork.

Along the Way to the hospital, I watched a Child picked a pretty Cherry flOwer near PuSan Volcano, Korea, within the Kingdom of our Hero. Through the fluffy ClouDs, the flowers bloomed nicely that Bright and Sunny day in May. I couldn’t wait for the Festive month of July, cause I’d finally get paid.

I looked at the cheque and said, “85K won! You’re my sAviOr! I’m elite rich again!” Then I realized there was no currency exchange.

This story Rumbles, byebye.

(TOOK ME A FREAKING LONG TIME, LOL)

"WERE TOO GET NEW MUFLER?!!!".
Midas. "We do that."

Bert lay in bed, still fast asleep although it was already past noon. Not that one could tell without a clock - although it was in the middle of July, it was darker than a black man's skin outside. A fierce storm was brewing, unbeknownst to Bert, who was dreaming about his favourite video game, Fartcraft. He looked like a whale somehow got hold of a novelty wig and glasses, only to drift ashore and be ignored by man. Like many of his fellow social outcasts, he'd been up all night playing again, his beady eyes fixated on armies of Fartlings and Poopalisks.
A deafening stroke of thunder jolted him awake, bringing him back to the harsh confines of reality. He could hear the wind howling outside, producing a sound much like his own cries after every loss in the virtual battlefield.
It quickly reminded him of his only goal in life - to become a professional Fartcraft gamer. To this end, he had dropped out of high school and adamantly refused to get a job. "I don't wanna work in mister Kurtzmann's store, mom!", he'd always say in his doughy voice. "I'm gonna make it big, I'm gonna be the best Fartcraft player ever! You'll see!". His progress had been steady, and he was slowly infiltrating the highest ranks.
With visible effort, he lifted his almost spherical body out of the bed and into his computer chair. His sausage-like fingers reached for his trusted Fartcraft CD - a true relic to him. An audible gasp erupted from between his chubby cheeks, like a child sitting down a whoopee-cushion. The CD was gone! Surely, this was another one of his mother's evil schemes. She never had any faith in his future rise to stardom.
He wobbled down the stairs as fast as his pale, bloated legs would carry him. "W-what d-did you do with my F-fartcraft CD?!" he weezed at his mother, who was sitting at the kitchen table. "I chucked it out, Bert", she replied. "It's been almost three years now, I'm not going to support you forever. Get a job or you'll never amount to nothing. You hear me? Nothing. Nada! Why can't you be a lawyer, or even just a boxer, like your father was". Bert's eyes seemed to lean back even farther into his skull than usual and his face turned a bright red. "No! I'm destined to be a Fartcraft star. I hate you! I.. I'm going to the store, I gotta get a new CD. I need to practice!" His mother just put her head down and sighed.
He didn't care about the storm. He didn't care that this was the first time in three months he'd leave the house. He'd get that CD if it killed him. With surprising speed, he put on his boots and jacket and marched into the rain. The streets were almost empty, save for the occasional driver that was rushing his way home. Bert was completely soaked after about a minute, but he barely even noticed it. The store was just one more block away, and Bert knew they always carried a stock of Fartcraft CDs. As he crossed another street, a car sheered by him, splashing a puddle right into his face. "Son a of a bi-". Suddenly, before he could even finish cursing, a truck mowed him down.
Although his multiple layers of lard had always acted as a shield to protect him from serious injuries when he fell down yet another flight of stairs, they failed to be his savior from the incredible force of the truck. As Bert lay dying on the wet pavement, he saw a bright light erupting from the darkness, and in a flash he found himself in the world of Fartcraft, riding atop a mighty Diarrhealisk.
The truck driver, nor the coroner, nor even his own mother could understand why Bert's lifeless, tubby body had the biggest smile on its face. FIN

Bert lay in bed, still fast asleep although it was already past noon. Not that one could tell without a clock - although it was in the middle of July, it was darker than a black man's skin outside. A fierce storm was brewing, unbeknownst to Bert, who was dreaming about his favourite video game, Fartcraft. He looked like a whale somehow got hold of a novelty wig and glasses, only to drift ashore and be ignored by man. Like many of his fellow social outcasts, he'd been up all night playing again, his beady eyes fixated on armies of Fartlings and Poopalisks.
A deafening stroke of thunder jolted him awake, bringing him back to the harsh confines of reality. He could hear the wind howling outside, producing a sound much like his own cries after every loss in the virtual battlefield.
It quickly reminded him of his only goal in life - to become a professional Fartcraft gamer. To this end, he had dropped out of high school and adamantly refused to get a job. "I don't wanna work in mister Kurtzmann's store, mom!", he'd always say in his doughy voice. "I'm gonna make it big, I'm gonna be the best Fartcraft player ever! It's gonna happen any time now! You'll see!". His progress had been steady, and he was slowly infiltrating the highest ranks.
With visible effort, he lifted his almost spherical body out of the bed and into his computer chair. His sausage-like fingers reached for his trusted Fartcraft CD - a true relic to him. An audible gasp erupted from between his chubby cheeks, like a child sitting down a whoopee-cushion. The CD was gone! Surely, this was another one of his mother's evil schemes. She never had any faith in his future rise to stardom.
He wobbled down the stairs as fast as his pale, bloated legs would carry him. "W-what d-did you do with my F-fartcraft CD?!" he weezed at his mother, who was sitting at the kitchen table. "I chucked it out, Bert", she replied. "It's been almost three years now, I'm not going to support you forever. Get a job or you'll never amount to nothing. You hear me? Nothing. Nada! Why can't you be a lawyer, or even just a boxer, like your father was". Bert's eyes seemed to lean back even farther into his skull than usual and his face turned a bright red. "No! I'm destined to be a Fartcraft star. I hate you! I.. I'm going to the store, I gotta get a new CD. I need to practice!" His mother just put her head down and sighed.
He didn't care about the storm. He didn't care that this was the first time in three months he'd leave the house. He'd get that CD if it killed him. With surprising speed, he put on his boots and jacket and marched into the rain. The streets were almost empty, save for the occasional driver that was rushing his way home. Bert was completely soaked after about a minute, but he barely even noticed it. The store was just one more block away, and Bert knew they always carried a stock of Fartcraft CDs. As he crossed another street, a car sheered by him, splashing a puddle right into his face. "Son a of a bi-". Suddenly, before he could even finish cursing, a truck mowed him down.
Although his multiple layers of lard had always acted as a shield to protect him from serious injuries when he fell down yet another flight of stairs, they failed to be his savior from the incredible force of the truck. As Bert lay dying on the wet pavement, he saw a bright light erupting from the darkness, and in a flash he found himself in the world of Fartcraft, riding atop a mighty Diarrhealisk.
The truck driver, nor the coroner, nor even his own mother could understand why Bert's lifeless, tubby body had the biggest smile on its face. FIN