Cute Puppy Thread
Posted: Mon Sep 30, 2013 11:44 pm
by Bock
Spoiler: show
I feel like I've been living a lie. I can still remember the day I got hooked...
... *flash back to May 2013*...
Everywhere I looked, it was pretty colors, rainbows, cupcakes with sprinkles of every color and shape imaginable, liberally sprinkled over mountains of frosting higher than the eye can see. Or so it seemed.
I remember. There were kittens. Kittens in boxes. Kittens in bags. Kittens by the fistful. Sometimes they were frolicking and pouncing across lush grass, plush carpet and couch cushions deeper than the ocean. Kittens as far as the eye could see.
Then they started calling me "kitten". And my comrades, "kitten". And handing out candies. I couldn't get enough of the sugar rush. But, there was something different about these. They blinded your senses. I found myself doing things I would have never thought to do before. Some of them were bad things. But not really bad, I told myself. But that's how it goes isn't it? You start off doing one bad thing, and you rationalize with yourself. You say you're doing it for your comrades. Doing it to spread peace and harmony and the love of kittens. Next thing you know, you're running an armored column through a village in some country in Asia. You don't even know where you are any more. You don't pay attention to the dismembered bodies of the young that you and your fellow kittens so casually massacred. You just post up a picture of an adorable kitten and march on through the rainbow haze that you now assume is how the world always looked.
After the war ended, I spent some time in a rehab facility. It felt good to see the world clearly again. I knew it was good to be off the candies. I knew the high wasn't good for me. Thankfully, I didn't remember much of the travesties we committed. I don't know if I could live with myself. I read some newspaper articles. I didn't believe what they said we did. I found many of my old fellow kittens in rehab, and with time, we became men again. But we still had that bloodlust deep inside of us, and mercenary work pays well... really well. Especially when it's for the largest monetary institution in the world. A new war started, I rose through the ranks, led men into battle, into defeat, into victory. It didn't matter. It didn't matter as long as there was killing. Sometimes I would black out, though. When I would come to, sometimes days later, I didn't know what happened. Inevitably, when it came time to piece together what happened, I always found that I had posted a picture of a cute kitten when I was out.
Eventually, the bank got what they wanted, and I was out of work. While I was reading the want ads one day, I saw an ad looking for patients for a study. They wanted addicts. 'Candy' addicts. It turns out, the drug that those candies were laced with would work its way deep into your muscle and fat tissue cells, and from time to time would release back into the blood stream and cause manic episodes in retired soldiers like me. It turns out, that was what was causing the blackouts and some group of scientists think that they came up with some kind of an antidote. I'm a few months into the trial, but so far, the doses seem to be working. I haven't had a blackout since I joined the trial and I've remembered things about myself. Like who I really am. I'm someone who thinks that dogs, thanks to their loyalty, trainability, adorableness, and overall, big, tender, loving hearts, are far superior to cats.
TL, DR: Thank you for reading my 1000th post. Goodbye, BF3. Thank you, GCers, for the good times. And
... *flash back to May 2013*...
Everywhere I looked, it was pretty colors, rainbows, cupcakes with sprinkles of every color and shape imaginable, liberally sprinkled over mountains of frosting higher than the eye can see. Or so it seemed.
I remember. There were kittens. Kittens in boxes. Kittens in bags. Kittens by the fistful. Sometimes they were frolicking and pouncing across lush grass, plush carpet and couch cushions deeper than the ocean. Kittens as far as the eye could see.
Then they started calling me "kitten". And my comrades, "kitten". And handing out candies. I couldn't get enough of the sugar rush. But, there was something different about these. They blinded your senses. I found myself doing things I would have never thought to do before. Some of them were bad things. But not really bad, I told myself. But that's how it goes isn't it? You start off doing one bad thing, and you rationalize with yourself. You say you're doing it for your comrades. Doing it to spread peace and harmony and the love of kittens. Next thing you know, you're running an armored column through a village in some country in Asia. You don't even know where you are any more. You don't pay attention to the dismembered bodies of the young that you and your fellow kittens so casually massacred. You just post up a picture of an adorable kitten and march on through the rainbow haze that you now assume is how the world always looked.
After the war ended, I spent some time in a rehab facility. It felt good to see the world clearly again. I knew it was good to be off the candies. I knew the high wasn't good for me. Thankfully, I didn't remember much of the travesties we committed. I don't know if I could live with myself. I read some newspaper articles. I didn't believe what they said we did. I found many of my old fellow kittens in rehab, and with time, we became men again. But we still had that bloodlust deep inside of us, and mercenary work pays well... really well. Especially when it's for the largest monetary institution in the world. A new war started, I rose through the ranks, led men into battle, into defeat, into victory. It didn't matter. It didn't matter as long as there was killing. Sometimes I would black out, though. When I would come to, sometimes days later, I didn't know what happened. Inevitably, when it came time to piece together what happened, I always found that I had posted a picture of a cute kitten when I was out.
Eventually, the bank got what they wanted, and I was out of work. While I was reading the want ads one day, I saw an ad looking for patients for a study. They wanted addicts. 'Candy' addicts. It turns out, the drug that those candies were laced with would work its way deep into your muscle and fat tissue cells, and from time to time would release back into the blood stream and cause manic episodes in retired soldiers like me. It turns out, that was what was causing the blackouts and some group of scientists think that they came up with some kind of an antidote. I'm a few months into the trial, but so far, the doses seem to be working. I haven't had a blackout since I joined the trial and I've remembered things about myself. Like who I really am. I'm someone who thinks that dogs, thanks to their loyalty, trainability, adorableness, and overall, big, tender, loving hearts, are far superior to cats.
TL, DR: Thank you for reading my 1000th post. Goodbye, BF3. Thank you, GCers, for the good times. And
to the
CUTE PUPPY THREAD
