ITT: We write a short story, up to three sentences at a time

ITT: We write a short story, up to three sentences at a time.
I'll start.

You could say that John is an interesting man.

He's got eals for floors and doors for hands.

Last name Green and he's a mean machine. Eating cheerios while of women he dreams.

Eggs are for breakfast, why is it so?

"WOOP", says the WOOP-!zing nuzykvical.

But enough of that, and back to John. His mind is on the higher things of life, like a theory of his called simultaneous similitude. What is this theory you ask?

Scoop the poop out the shoot then smear it on my ear.

His friend Loopy Rupi Poopy thought she could make it big in the literary scene like John... boy was she right. *slide whistle plays in the distance*

It's not okay to be around for so long, a small fly caught on some fragments of fecal matter thought as John's glorious scent passed by as was a pastime, for the fly, to expose his own maledictions and morose meditations when triggered by the sharp scent of John's breakfast obsessed palate burping up fresh cereals and socially-restricted omelettes.

Grapefully graping grapers vaped grape grapely. Stately plump stating statistician Buck buckled up Buck's cucked chucklefuck.

John got to the second page and decided it wasn't for him.

John realized that philosophy is for NERDS and decides to get some SWEET POON on plentyoffish. He logs on and makes an account and prepares for the responses.

While waiting for the responses, John goes onto lit and makes fun of the fucking NERDS.

It has not yet been revealed to the reader that John is a homosexual. As such, he set his preference to men, and tried to think of a bio.

It turns out John was also a polytheist and it also turns out one of his gods was a stupid fuck who couldn't get continuity down.

After his lack of success in the dating arena John went on /x/ and tried to gather information on succubus summoning techniques.

Miles away in Los Angeles, Claire walked into a bar, sat down alone, and contemplated downloading Tinder.

Triggered by the thought of succubi and being agitated by the lack of responses to his account, John whipped out his Fleshlight Deluxe and googled succubus porn.

It was then that John heard a knock at the door, which he promptly answered. John found a mysterious man wearing a dashing fedora and wielding a katana standing at his door. "At last... I shall have my vengeance..." the man said.

It was soon revealed that Claire was the one and only Carli Claire who had somehow managed to trick her parents into letting her go to such a big liberal city for her schooling. She was the next Catholic Chick (trademarked btw), who was already had taken many classes for her philosophy undergrad.

John gets immediately attacked by the fearsome stranger. Due to his inability to stop the situation John was forced to teleport behind his Veeky Forums opponent. "Nothing personal kid..." John said

John focused all of his melancholy and disappointment into his thumb, prepared to use it as a pressurised teat of sadness and moved to drive his thumb into the strangers rectum as this was his surest route to the soul. John pressed his thumb home but the stranger only laughed as John found he had been decieved into using his secret move on himself. He was rooted to the spot, thumb up arse as far as the hilt and began to cry as the stranger's hat floated back from his greasy flat scalp of brown hair and grew into a great tortoise shell like fedora that the now naked stranger rolled back into and nestled his clammy back, buttocks and chafed thighs into the tweed protector, stranger's eyes glowed and he reported "psssh...nothin personnel...kid..."

Unutterable voids and vistas opened before John's mind, behind his eyes, which had melted away before him to become the first portal. Blasphemies passed from John's lips, tongues he both knew and did not know, and he felt the presence of an invader. Something was wearing John like a meat suit.

"Parbleu, continuez à pousser, on les aurras!" cried John in a fit of frenzied distress, before realising he didn't understand what he said. Briefly contemplating what this could mean for his meager understanding of linguistics, John decided not to speak for a while. His hands continued to tremble.

"Is this one ready,o master?",an underling opined,drool raining down on the slaves polishing ebon hooves. The Devil sipped from his diamond skull chalice and contemplated the hapless scene,swirling in the Seeking Smoke as so much wine in his massive talons. "Perhaps. He dances on a fine edge,this John...we can wait for his fall. Or maybe not."

Satan seductively loosened his pants to reveal his arse and squatted over the man lying on his back, making John recoil in terror. "It's oopy goopy poopy time," the devil whispered in pleasure.

Satan released a torrent of shit.

Here, Pynchon adds yet another aside, "don't you understand? The shit is supposed to represent death and your misgivings about it!"

Loud gasping ensued

Suddenly a smokin' hot 3 metre tall babe flew in, riding a giant motorcycle with sick flame decals on the sides. The motorcycle was shiny, gleaming, and spotless, and also it shot flames out the back (not indicative of any problems, just for decorative purposes).

"Ah,Daughter Tangentica! Back from your ride with Hell's Angels I see. Terrorizing the rabble with your intimidating contrivance has been good for you,the fire in your eyes is decidedly fierce. " The demoness smiled as she strode to her father,kneeled before him and paid him homage with loving upturned gaze."Yes,sweet one. You please me. But I think it's time you 'shifted gears' and help in a small task up in the Human world. A Temptation. A Seduction. A luring of a hapless male to Damnation with the employment of your-*GASP!*- apt skills. Transform into an appropriate shape." And she shrank,and twisted and shimmered,until an innocent human girl was clinging on to him,never missing a beat in her homage,and her Dark Father murmured breathlessly, "So perfect! So delicious! So very very Wrong!"

John eventually decided that the only way to cure his hunger pangs was to break into several middle-class homes and steal some food. John donned a ski mask and gloves and drove through the bleak night into a peaceful neighborhood a few towns over.