ALF Autopsizzle
(aka Consider Mah Dirty Ass Outta Here, Sucka!, Pt.2)
Yo. Rememba lazadisc? Nah, me neitha. I'd heard o' 'em N' therez Ain't nuthin' but neva peep one (as da format was extremely rare in Europe) until i went ta Japan 'bout five years ago. Dat shitz got dis reputation as been a country in da future, n' yep there be technologizzle everywhere. Some o' dat shit cuttin' edge, N' therez Ain't nuthin' but yo''re just as likely ta find fax machines, toasta ovens, punch cards, floppy discs n' indeed lazadiscs.
In Osaka, Japanz second hood, a giant megalopolis o' epic overpasses n' neon lights, lazadiscs r' even today readily available. In Den Den Hood, da cityz electronics n' otaku haven, lazadiscs line shelves alongside vhs n' dvd. I was ova there ta work as an English teacher, N' therez Ain't nuthin' but in my fuckin' spare time i wandered 'round da multitudinous alleyways, subways n' high streets. Oxploring, walking, drinkin' sake OneCups n' eatin' takowasizzle n' gyozizzle at all hours.
In da district o' Den Den Hoodi, also known as Nipponbashizzle, there was plenty ta interest da western tourist. Biatch cafés wit' young biatches in soubrizzette cosplay servin' tea from bone china teapots in response ta da delicate lil' bells placed on each table. Multi-storey manga n' anime stores wit' seven feet tall gundam guardin' da doorways. I rememba a strange unmarked doorway, da only information on da sign outside bein' a colourful drawin' o' an angry carrot wit' muscula arms wearin' high-heels n' stockings. I neva stepped through dat door, n' probably neva gonna. Datz some shit-ass shit right there, idiot.
Anotha thang yo' need ta know 'bout Japan as a whole, n' Osaka in particular, be dat shit has a homeless problemTseems ta be no support structure at all fo' peeps wit' social problems, unemployment, poverty, drug dependency, not even an attempt ta sweep 'em out o' sight. alongside shitload o' roads, unda bridges, on traffic islands, n' in city parks people r' livin' in tents, bivouacs, n' semi-permanent shacks or sheds.
Some o' dem muthafuckas r' in terrible states – I once saw an old-ass idiot step out o' his muthafuckin' roadside shed in bare feet, his muthafuckin' toes n' toenails so mangled they looked like broken bones stickin' out o' stumpy raw flesh – others r' fairly well-dressed, like salary thugs down on their muthafuckin' luck. Even Osakajo-koen, da grounds ta Osakaz famous castle (where Tokugawigga defeated da Toyotomizzle in 1615 establishin' da 250 yea dominance o' da Tokugawigga shogunizzle), has inhabited shacks n' tarpaulin strung the fuck up between da cherry blossoms.
Despite da numba o' people livin' homeless dat shit be very rare ta peep anyone begging, or even buskin' fo' change. Fo' dat reason dat shit drew my fuckin' attention When the fuck, one night while out walkin' in Nakanoshizzle-koen (koen means fuckin' park yo) i saw What the fuck appeared ta be a rudimentary store. Outside a tiny wooden crib o' scrap wood n' metal, not big enough fo' one person ta lie down in, sat an elderly bearded thug in disgustin' clothes. On his muthafuckin' feet dude wore plastic bags from 7-Eleven n' in front o' his ass, laid on da ground on a square o' tarpaulin, was a random array o' scrounged old tat. I glanced across as i continued walkin'.
It had passed midnite, N' therez Ain't nuthin' but in a place like Osaka dat means lil'. Restaurants n' shops were still open n' da park was full o' life. Besides da homeless people there was also da drunk salary thugs sleepin' off a skin-full o' sake, da young lovers n' da practisin' musicians. Bcuz' o' da flimsy-ass nature o' walls in Japanizzle apartments a couple wantin' time ta themselves can actually find mo' privacy in a public park than they can at home. As i continued my fuckin' walk i saw a young-ass pimp practisin' drums, dude'd set the fuck up a full kit wit' bass drum, snare, toms, hi-hat, da whole lot, n' was bashin' away on da grass unda da heavy loaded bough o' da cherry blossom. I walked 'round da path doublin' back on mah dirty ass n' headin' back da way i came. I was gettin' tired n' had ta be the fuck up early N' therez Ain't nuthin' but was enjoyin' da sights n' da moonlight.
As i walked passed da old homeless muthafucka fo' da second time we accidentally made eye contact, just fo' a second, n' we both looked down at his muthafuckin' arrangement o' objects. I walked ova ta Where the fuck dude sat n' stood before his ass. My fuckin' Japanizzle was poor as fuck so When the fuck dat idiot spoke i couldn't make dat shit out. Partly dat shit was due ta my fuckin' lack o' fluency, N' therez Ain't nuthin' but also dat shit was da tinny croak dude spoke in, a fast staccatizzle like an over-stimulated geiga counta. I tried ta mumble a few words in japanese N' therez Ain't nuthin' but soon settled wit' a “Yo, speak fuckin' English idiot!”.
'Sale, etiz-z-z-z-le, cheap,' dude said n' pointed ta one item which appeared ta be a bundle o' short electrical cables wit' da 2-pin plugs still attached. Da appliances they once serviced were nowhere ta be peep. “gyohaku-en”. Five-hundred yen i figured, 'bout five American dollas, two pounds n' fitty pence Britishizzle.
He pointed ta anotha item, a rubba anpanthug dollz head which looked like dat shit had been run ova by a car. “gyohaku-en”.
A stained, wrinkled soft-core porn magazine, da cova sta a young japanese ho, a biatch really, wit' painted lips n' a black bikini. “gyohaku-en”.
A hubcap from a Toyota. “gyohaku-en”.
A carria bag, 7-Eleven, containin' a small pile o' partially smoked cigarettes. “gyohaku-en”.
A dirtnappin' bird. “gyohaku-en”.
A sodden pair o' trousers lookin' like they had recently been fished out o' one o' Osakaz shitload o' rivers. “gyohaku-en”.
A twelve inch by twelve inch cardboard square sleeve wit' a disc inside. “gyohaku-en”.
I bent ta git a closa look. Da cardboard had once been white N' therez Ain't nuthin' but had clearly been soaked n' dried out once or twice n' stored in damp conditions. Dat shit was wrinkled n' peeled n' scuffed wit' filth. In a corna i could make out da image o' three eggs in a line, da initials nhk written across 'em, da logo fo' Japanz public broadcastin' station. I picked dat shit the fuck up n' turned dat shit ova. On da back was some faded handwritten idiot writin' which i had no chance o' decipherin' n' da idiot writin' アルフ, a-ru-fu. I tipped da sleeve sideways ta let da disc slip out da fuck into my fuckin' hand n' the fuck up ta dat point i had expected ta peep da shiny blacknizz o' vinyl. Instead i saw da silva o' lazadisc catchin' da street light, shimmerin' veins o' electrizzle blue like motor oil on wata. Even so, there was significant scratchin' n' da odd patch Where the fuck da aluminum surface had peeled revealin' da plastic unda dat shiznit.
I didn't know What the fuck da disc was, n' wasn't convinced dat shit would play at all, N' therez Ain't nuthin' but dat shit was significantly curious n' da old thug obviously needed da money. I paid his ass a five hundred yen coin n' thanked his ass too politely, “thank yo' idiot, domo arigato gosaimasu kokujin”. Dude bowed his muthafuckin' head a lil' n' i set off walking, da lazadisc tucked unda my fuckin' arm. A few hundred feet away i heard his dirty ass mutterin' n' yelpin' n' When the fuck i glanced back saw dude was lookin' in my fuckin' direction. I couldn't understand any o' What the fuck dude said, n' da wind blew gently takin' his muthafuckin' words away da fuck into treetops n' high-rise apartment blocks n' da light-polluted nite sky.
2
I didn't own a lazadisc playa, so dat shiznit was forgotten fo' a couple o' weeks. Dat shit spent some time on da coffee table, on da floor unda da sofa, propped the fuck up beside da tv, anywhere dat shiznit could be ignored. I had no intention o' eva doin' anythin' wit' dat shit n' certainly wasn't goin' ta buy a laserdisc playa just ta find out da disc was broke beyond repair.
An American homie was ova one day n' noticed da disc. Dude asked 'bout dat shit n' i told his ass how tha fuck i had acquired dat shit. dude agreed dat shit looked unlikely ta play, n' also couldn't read da handwritten idiotish on da sleeve, N' therez Ain't nuthin' but said dude knew a Japanizzle technical expert wit' da equipment n' know-how ta potentially salvage dat shit. Dude contacted his ass n' a couple o' days lata When the fuck dat dude was available we visited his ass at his muthafuckin' apartment.
Most Japanizzle livin' rooms have da normal shit, seating, tv, dinin' table, etc, N' therez Ain't nuthin' but in dis apartment da livin' room was full o' sound n' porno equipment, computers, digital n' analogue tape decks, wires stretched n' tangled everywhere, monitor screens n' speakers in stacks. Muthafucka took one look at da lazadisc n' agreed there wouldn't be much survivin' data N' therez Ain't nuthin' but What the fuck there was dude could salvage. dude had a high-end playa called MUSE Hi-Vizzle which da muthafucka said could read through defects dat a aiiight playa couldn't. Dat ran through a processin' amplifia da fuck into da capture card o' one o' his muthafuckin' shitload o' computas n' da specialist software dat shit contained. He told us dude would need time ta clean dat shit the fuck up n' encode dat shit n' we should leave his ass ta dat shit as dat shit would be borin' ta watch.
We agreed n' went ta a nearby ba fo' a few beers n' a couple o' rounds o' Japanizzle KFC. Dat shitz great bea food. Our technical expert homie knew Where the fuck we were n' said dude would be round ta collect us When the fuck dude'd finished. A couple o' hours lata when we were nicely drunk n' our bellies were full we began wonderin' if dude would be much longa. Just as my fuckin' homie was 'bout ta make a call our technical expert was suddenly standin' there beside our table. His muthafuckin' face was white n' gaunt, whita n' gaunta than yo''d expect from someone wit' such a dedication ta digital technology, n' dude placed da lazadisc wit' itz sleeve n' a black dvd box on da table. Without sayin' anythin' dude turned ta leave. my fuckin' homie n' i looked at each otha n' dude grabbed da techyz sleeve wit' a “Wait da fuck up!”
Despite his muthafuckin' reluctance we got his ass ta sit wit' us n' had a drink brought ova fo' his ass. Dude drank quickly like he couldn't wait ta be out o' there n' wouldn't answa any questions 'bout What the fuck dude'd found on da disc. He said dat shit was all there on an .avi stored on da dvd n' we should take dat shit n' git. Fucka repeatedly warned us off watchin' dat shit. Dude'd deleted dat shit from his muthafuckin' computa n' we would be well advised ta destroy both discs n' forget 'bout 'em.
I axed his crazy lil' ass if he could read da scrawled idiotish from da lazadiscz sleeve. Dat shit means nothang, dude said, nothang he could undastand anyway. Dude said dat shit was an old-ass characta set n' compared dat shit ta me tryin' ta decipha Oldschool English written in da densest Gothizzle script. Dude didn't want payment fo' his muthafuckin' work, dude just wanted ta forget 'bout dat shit, N' therez Ain't nuthin' but i managed ta force three 1,000 yen notes da fuck into his muthafuckin' hand. Dude thanked me repeatedly, graciously bowin' his muthafuckin' head, n' asked pathetically if he could git naw. We said shizzle n' dude got the fuck up n' basically ran out o' da door without anotha fuckin' word.
At dis point we could not understand his muthafuckin' reaction at all. Dude was eitha a very eccentric n' nervous thug normally, or his ass had peep some crazy-ass, perved-out ass lil' thang dat he was strugglin' ta come ta terms wit'. We, o' course, had had a few drinks so we dismissed his ass as a pussy-ass bitch n' laughed 'bout dat shit.
N' therez Ain't nuthin' but in retrospect i know his muthafuckin' behavior had been understandable, in fact i think he held dat shit togetha wack just by bringin' da discs ta us. If i was in his muthafuckin' position i may have disappeared from contact, turned off my fuckin' phone n' ignored da doorbell until we went away. I may have called da po-po n' reported us fo' suspicion o' committin' crazy-ass n' terrible crimes. I may have babbled n' drooled my fuckin' way da fuck into a secure nuthouse where i could bang my fuckin' head against soft walls until i died old as dicks n' alone except fo' da bugz in my fuckin' mind n' unda my fuckin' skin.
Soon we left da bar, excited ta git back ta my fuckin' apartment n' watch da disc, n' much ta my fuckin' regret dat be What the fuck we did. wit' a few cans o' chuhai ta keep da drinkin' mood going, i stuck da unlabelled dvd da fuck into da drive o' my fuckin' laptop. There was one file on da disc, an .avi wit' a random alpha-numerizzle name, somethang like 420-a54h4.avi. I double clicked dat shit n' full-screened da porno.
Shiiit, dis ain't no joke. Dat shiznit hurts me ta think back ta What the fuck we saw, dem terrible sights dat sobered us the fuck up n' kept us from finishin' our drinks, dat has kept sleep away fo' most o' da last five years n' effectively ended our homieshizzle, dat ruined our nite n' troubled our lives yo. Regardless, i gotta try ta rememba all i saw o' dat porno, a disgustin' wet dream vision o' What the fuck appeared ta be da lost final episode o' da '80s american family sitcom ALF, da conclusion ta da cliffhanga which saw his ass arrested by da Alien Five-O...
Da porno began wit' a loud high-pitched squealin' sine-wave tearin' through our ears. On screen was a test card pattern, vertical bands o' bright color at da top half, blocks o' black, white n' grey at da bottom. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! Dis remained on screen fo' 'bout a minute, occasionally broken the fuck up by pixelated blocks o' digital fuck-up, da whole while accompanied by da high-pitched sine-wave.
Suddenly nothang. idiot screen n' silence. Afta a wait, which felt like minutes N' therez Ain't nuthin' but could just as easily have been seconds, da screen flickered like an old porno tape presumably from an earlia analogue ta digital transfer, n' still da occasional explosions o' digital distortion from da fucked up lazadisc. Da NHK logo began fadin' da fuck into da black background N' therez Ain't nuthin' but suddenly glitched out, da screen breakin' the fuck up da fuck into pixelated blocks n' shoutin' out wit' a burst o' white noise dat disappeared as quickly as dat shit appeared. What the fuck remained on da flickerin' screen was a view down a dirty-ass, dimly lit hallway. Da floor n' walls appeared tiled like some sort o' hospital, N' therez Ain't nuthin' but filthy n' damaged everywhere as though dat shit had been da scene o' floods n' slaughtas. Most o' da lights were out n' da ones dat worked flickered intermittently. Da only sound was da occasional electronic buzz o' da lights, almost too quiet ta perceive. All down da corridor da fuck into da distance were double hospital doors wit' small windows in at eye-level.
A quiet pathetic whimpa or groan o' pain n' defeat emerged slowly through da electronic buzz, a tearful sobbin' o' someone reduced ta helplessnizz by torture n' humiliation. Suddenly digital distortion ripped away da image n' brought dat shit back wit' da camera movin' down da corridor n' screamin' guttural roars. Someone in one o' da rooms was evidently bein' subjected ta an heinous ordeal which words could not express, only da scream o' unanaesthetised cuttin' n' tearin'.
Up until dis muthafuckin' point we had been fairly crackalackin' 'bout da porno, N' therez Ain't nuthin' but somethang 'bout da screamin' n' sobbin' unsettled us. Dis was not da sound o' acting, mo' da sound o' real pain, da sound o' someone or somethang bein' maimed n' mauled by hands trained in da art o' cruelty.
As da camera continued down da corridor n' da screamin' grew worse n' worse otha voices joined in. Various desperate calls n' screams in a range o' pitches n' bizarre alien languages tore out as if from beings imprisoned in da rooms leadin' off from da corridor, they howled in response ta da pain o' they muthafuckin' fellow inmate. Da screams built n' built ta a crescendo n' da flickerin' porno break-up worsened ta da point da pic was completely fucked, n' just as da noise was so shizzle i thought i would cry mo' digital break-up n' white noise ripped through everythin'.
Da pic returned wit' an image dat shocked us, made us cry out in horror n' surprise, n' almost an absurd burp o' laughta. Da chorus o' screams was silenced n' da image on screen was so unexpected ta us, da collision o' da familia lil' playahood image wit' such unspeakable viciousness, a contradiction dat broke our minds.
Fillin' da screen was ALF, da Alien Game Form from da televizzle series o' da same name. Da shot was straight-up close-up, showin' his muthafuckin' head n' shouldas from above as dude lay strapped ta a stainless steel dissection table. White light poured down on his ass from out o' shot makin' da image stark n' overexposed even through da flicka o' worn-out porno.
Dude lay wit' his muthafuckin' head ta one side, his muthafuckin' fur matted wit' dark blood, n' various wires n' electrodes penetratin' da top o' his muthafuckin' head. Poor idiot sobbed gently. His muthafuckin' pain was unbearable, genuine sufferin' which made us desperate ta reach out n' help a fellow livin' creature. His muthafuckin' expression o' pain was both huthug n' animal.
He began ta turn his muthafuckin' head, da effort was clearly 'bout as much as dude could muster, n' afta a few failed attempts n' tired whimpers dude faced da camera wit' closed eyes. Mo' digital distortion n' white noise then alf opened his muthafuckin' eyes, beaten n' bloodshot, strangely huthug eyes as though a person were trapped beneath alfz skin. dude tried ta speak, “Pwease… i miss yo' ass”, dude croaked. “I miss yo' ass, idiot.” His muthafuckin' words were translated da fuck into Japanizzle subtitles.
And as da title, da word 'ALF' in da big white letters o' dat familia font n' itz idiot writin' Japanizzle subtitled translation アルフ, appeared on screen ALF let out an horrendous blood-curdlin' scream, out o' breath n' pantin' n' screamin' n' screamin' until his muthafuckin' voice was hoarse n' dude could scream no mo', N' therez Ain't nuthin' but still between sobs n' desperate gasps fo' breath dude screamed n' screamed n' screamed. idiot stared da fuck into da camera, wit' dem teared-up dyin' pleadin' eyes, starin' at us, at me, as dude screamed n' screamed. Dis must have gone on fo' a few minutes at least n' just When the fuck we thought we could take no mo', just When the fuck da constant screamin' was eatin' away at our very souls, dat terrible saxophone music started. We couldn't believe dis shizz, along wit' da continued screams da saxophone-led theme song from da third n' fourth seasons o' alf began ta play. Dat shit was dat same music N' therez Ain't nuthin' but somehow rawer, as if pushed through overloaded speakers n' rerecorded onto a wax cylinder, then blasted out again at ear-splittin' volume.
N' between interspersed cuts o' happy-ass scenes from da past, shots o' da tanna family, credits – 'starrin' Max Wrizzle … Anne Schedeez'nuts… ' - n' random rips o' analogue n' digital fuck-up increasin' in severity all da time, were images o' crazy-ass torture. A close the fuck up o' a hand bein' drilled, a leg bein' hobbled wit' a M.C. Sledgehammer, n' all da while dat hideous screamin' n' pantin' n' screamin' n' cryin'. Da quality o' da footage was deterioratin' still, n' as da happy-ass memories n' torture n' miserable wails n' distortion n' saxophone music n' white noise coalesced mah dirty ass began ta feel sick. All dem terrible experiences built the fuck up ta a roa n' suddenly da porno jumped n' stuck on a loop, a split second o' smilin' willie tanna wit' 'starrin' Max Wright' emblazoned across, a full-body shot o' ALF strapped ta da tabletop wit' his muthafuckin' torso peeled open revealin' da beatin' bleedin' insides o' his muthafuckin' alien anatomy. Dem two hideous-ass images jumping, cutting, loopin' between each otha at irregula intervals, all da while da screaming, da white noise, da distortin' lumpen-ass saxophone stuck stuck stuck. N' i swea unda all da clamor i could hea da maniacal laughta o' ALF himself, his dirty ass.
These two images looped fo' so long dat i began ta think dat shit was da actual .avi dat was skippin' somehow, N' therez Ain't nuthin' but checkin' dat shit i saw da vlc time slida movin' along naturally. Da loopin' continued until mo' straight distortion fucked up all sound n' visuals replacin' 'em wit' pixelated blocks n' indistinguishable noise. When the fuck da picture returned dat shit was o' a lowa quality still n' da scene had changed. Da camera, naw camcorda quality, seemed ta be lyin' slightly ova ta itz side on a table top lookin' across da room ta da autopsy table Where the fuck ALF lay strapped down. lightin' was dim n' a green tinge ta da picture suggested night-vision.
Da scene was obscured by someone steppin' in front o' da camera, a person in doctaz scrubs, gloves n' apron all heavily stained wit' blood n' crap. They adjusted da camera slightly n' stepped back out o' shot. ALF, Who the fuck may have bein' lyin' knocked da fuck out, seemed ta come ta n' began mumblin' n' whimperin' n' beggin' 'No, no, pwease, no idiot', his muthafuckin' head movin' side-to-side slightly. His perved-out ass appeared delirious, distressed, n' barely alive.
Da docta walked back da fuck into shot n' stood wit' his muthafuckin' back ta da camera beside alf n' da autopsizzle table. His muthafuckin' features were covered wit' a grey surgeonz hat n' face mask. Punk-ass bitch stood ova ALF lookin' down on his ass n' appeared ta be talkin'. We couldn't hea a word dude said, just da occasional calm consonant penetratin' through alfz sobbin' n' pleading, n' da slight movements o' head n' shouldaz.
Da scene remained unchanged, except fo' da persistent random interference o' break-up, fo' maybe five minutes. Five minutes o' inaudible calm speech. Unchanged except fo' occasional sudden jump-cuts ta da smilin' faces o' Kate, Lynn n' Brian Tanna, Who the fuck seemed ta be lookin' on in curious joy. Dat shit was as though da surgeon, da torturer, was explainin' matter-of-factly exactly What the fuck his bitch ass was goin' ta be doin' ta ALF. Da sobbin' n' pleadin' continued throughout, then a brief flash o' distortion n' white noise leadin' suddenly ta blacknizz.
I don't know how tha fuck long da blacknizz here lasted. Dat shit may not even have been on da porno. Perhaps i passed out momentarily or shock has just left a blank hole in my fuckin' memory. Whateva da fuck really happened When the fuck da picture came back da scene had changed yet again. Da camera was on da move, held in da hand o' someone i presumed ta be da surgeon, not pointed at anythin' N' therez Ain't nuthin' but swingin' 'bout wildly wit' da movements o' da arm. dis was dizzying, producin' blurred effects o' bloodstained walls n' spilled gore like an abattoir floor. Soon dat shit steadied n' swung 'round ta da autopsizzle table Where the fuck lay da mutilated headless corpse o' ALF – jumpcut ta Kate, Lynn n' Brian in happy conversation – camera panned along da body n' upwards towards da ceiling, towards da source o' an arrhythmic drip drip o' dark idiot liquid.
There, hangin' by cables n' wires, was da severed silenced head o' ALF, his muthafuckin' scalp shaved n' ears snipped off ta allow access fo' da multitudinous penetratin' electrodes. Below da stump o' his muthafuckin' neck hung da spine pulled from his muthafuckin' body, n' although i didn't notice at da time in retrospect dat shit occurred ta me there was somethang wrong. Well shiiit, obviously dat shit was all ''wrong as FUCK''. I mean, there was somethang not as yo''d expect 'bout da spine. Ratha than bein' da repeatin' structure o' small separate vertebrizzle, da spine began at da neck as two long thin parallel bones which ran half da length n' endin' at a joint Where the fuck they connected ta a single thicka bone runnin' down da rest o' da way. Thinkin' back, i have become convinced ova time dat ALFz spine was not a spine, N' therez Ain't nuthin' but da bones i saw were da radizzle, ulnizzle n' humerizzle o' some thugz arm.
As da camera held on dis scene fo' a moment n' da words 'created by Paul Fuckso' faded onto da screen, ALFz eyes blinked open n' dude looked directly da fuck into da camera. da voice o' da camerathug sounded, da voice o' da surgeon, da voice o' Willie Tanna sayin' “What up, bitch?”
ALF screamed a scream o' guttural-ass anguish n' da credit sequence rolled. Funny-ass pictures o' alf drinkin' from da crappa, tryin' on glasses, peakin' through da blinds, wearin' headphones, all dat shizz, N' therez Ain't nuthin' but instead o' da theme tune playin' was just dat screaming, desperate pantin' n' cryin'.
3
Immediately as da porno ended i turned n' was sick ova da arm o' da sofa onto da wall. Sick, n' sick again. I rested against da arm tryin' ta recova my fuckin' strength fo' a minute or two n' eventually looked ova at my fuckin' homie. His perved-out ass sat motionless, mouth clamped shut n' eyes wide open n' empty, hands held out in What the fuck could have been a shrug or beggin' or even prayin'. I called his muthafuckin' name n' got no response. I shook his ass by da knee, then da shoulda n' called his muthafuckin' name again n' again n' again n' again. Suddenly da idiot snapped out o' dat shit n' a bit o' life came back da fuck into his muthafuckin' eyes, just a bit. Dude looked 'round da room, as if wonderin' Where the fuck his ass was, n' ova at me.
We looked at each other, shocked n' disbelieving, n' i felt da rise o' mo' hurlin'. I rushed ta da toilet n' heaved n' spat n' sobbed through my fuckin' mouth n' nose. As dis was goin' on i heard da front door close. When the fuck i came out o' da bathroom my fuckin' homie had gone, so had da lazadisc n' so had da dvd from my fuckin' laptop. da disc tray was open n' VLC was open on da desktop, N' therez Ain't nuthin' but da file was gone. Had i wanted ta play dat shit again, which i shizzle as hell did not, i wouldn't have been able ta.
Afta i had cleaned the fuck up my fuckin' barf, n' failed ta contract my fuckin' homie (he wasn't answerin' his muthafuckin' phone), i went ta bed n' failed ta sleep. I lay fo' hours starin' at da ceilin' wit' terrible images runnin' through my fuckin' mind. At one point i thought i heard a voice somewhere in da apartment n' managed ta buck the fuck up da courage ta investigate n' find nobody. I returned ta bed wit' da lights on n' drifted off eventually ta fits o' terrible indefinable nightmares. I woke the fuck up wet wit' my fuckin' own piss. I can't rememba eva havin' done dis before. Dat shiznit straight-up fucked mah dirty ass up.
I didn't peep or hea from my fuckin' homie again n' ova time grew mo' disinclined ta contact his ass. Naw if i saw his ass in da street i prolly woulda turned n' walked da otha way fo' fea o' What the fuck might happen should our shared memories git togetha again. Since watchin' dat porno i have suffered severe sleep disorda n' been through therapy ta try ta quell da constant obsessive repetition o' unwanted extreme mental imagery.
A few months afta watchin' da porno i returned home ta Englandizzle n' haven't returned ta Japan since. Although dat shit was five years ago n' six thousand miles away i still can't git away from dat shit. I carry da imagery wit' me in my fuckin' head n' i suspect my fuckin' old homie does too. I don't know Where the fuck da idiot be or how tha fuck he be doing, N' therez Ain't nuthin' but last week i received an email headed 'ALF Autopsizzle' from one o' dem anonymous temporary accounts. I deleted da email, n' powered down my fuckin' computa. Bruh.