<HONEA EXPRESS: Elves Has Left the Building

It finally happened. Honea Express has moved to greener pastures, or possibly just out to pasture -- you make the call.

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Please pardon the dust and update your feed readers accordingly. Thank you - Whit

Monday, September 22, 2008

Elves Has Left the Building

Hey, who's been in my closet? SciFi Dad, my skeletons are dry clean only.

Next up is the mysterious New Age Bitch. What do we know about her? Well, going by her handle she obviously loves Yanni and she has some attitude. You don't want to mess with that.

Please wave your crystals in the air for New Age Bitch!

Okay, so once upon a time there was this guy named Whit. He lived in…oh, that doesn’t really matter, does it? Somewhere. He lived somewhere. California? Arizona? Fuck, now I’m going to be thinking about that like ALL.DAY. Where the FUCK does Whit live. Because it’s not like we’ve ever met in real life or anything, NO. You can go whole lifetimes interacting with people and NEVER ACTUALLY MEET THEM.

What a concept.

Because you can just stay naked all day, or in Whit’s case, in your underwear.

Hmm. Boxers or briefs? I’m thinking those nice clingy boxer-briefs.

Yeah. Shake it off, NAB. Back to Whit. Okay. So, you all know that he’s been having guest posting here for a bit, right? But…has anyone mentioned WHY? I thought not. It’s my duty to tell you.

Was carried off by elves.

I am so not shitting you!!

Yeah. Elves. Wearing lots and lots of leather.

Okay, before you go all anal-probe on me, just picture this: There’s Whit, sitting there in his boxer-briefs front of his Macbook Pro and his fourth sweating beer, idly sipping at it while he’s waiting for the porn to download. There’s a scuffle at the cat door. Some strange noises. Heaving a big sigh, Whit scrapes back his chair and gets up, scratching his belly a little and stretching. The porn’s still downloading (fuck you, BitTorrent!) so he figures he’d better see what’s on the other side of the cat door. Might as well.

He opens the door and peers out into the darkness, blinking a little. He’s sort of drunk and was REALLY looking forward to the porn. His eyes adjust to the sudden change from Macbook-light to outside-dark. There are six weird little short dudes with pointy ears* standing there, holding up what Whit thinks was the neighbor’s cat** by its hind legs.

“Fuck you,” says the front short dude to Whit in a weird high voice. Like metal scraping on metal. Ow. Whit held his ears. They seemed to be expecting him. “You were supposed to increase the herd. What the hell’s the matter with you?”

“Herd?” Whit stares uncomprehendingly at the cat. Has its tail been shaved? He’s never seen a naked cat tail before. Weird. Fuck.

“You’re going to have to explain this. Come on,” the short dude says, grabbing Whit by his closest appendage, which happens to be inside his boxer-briefs.


There’s a huge flash of green light and a big pop. Whit blacked out a little there, and swears he doesn’t remember anything after that. But I got this strange email from someone saying they were Whit not long after that and of course I hastened to explain his absence to his adoring audience.

Whit’ll be back eventually, but I’m pretty sure he’ll never be quite the same again. So if I were you I wouldn’t mention anything about fisting to him. He’s still sort of sensitive about that, if you know what I mean.

*Management regrets the perpetuation of stereotypes in this reenactment.

**No actual cats were harmed in the making of this post.

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