Philly''s P-Hine{t} /> Hardcore Phant-[o]m$ Part One Chapter VII

VII

August 31^st, 2014

10:49 p.m.

“Yo F**K you HOUSE!!!”

“This is his house, Randall!!”

“I don’t give a F**K who’s(e) House!!!!”

“He’s right there-“

“Dude, just calm down-“

“Don’t gimme that s**t-“

The sun had gone down several hours ago and everyone had been drinking modestly. Everyone, that is, excepting Randall :O.

Herb, whispering to Al: “This is kind of making me jealous that I’m not as fucked up as he is-“

“Then DRINK THE F**K UP, P***Y!!!”

It took Hershel a lot longer than he’d originally anticipated to think that the Brand™ was hot enough. Apparently, the thing needed to sit in that fire for at least four hours, otherwise there was no way that the Brand™ was going to stick to Randall’s leg to make the necessary permanent arrangements he so desired there. Barry disagreed, insisting they do it sooner rather than later, but House quieted the argument saying that they would definitely do it before anyone left and if everyone was still chilling at the moment, and the fact that literally Branding™ someone only takes a few moments anyway (does it?), what difference did it make?

He had a point-

“Yea I guess you’re right,” Barry answered, looking away. “I’m just saying it’s been several hours now and we’ve smoked a s**t-ton of my weed.”

“Yea, I’m pretty sure that me and Hershel were the ones who’ve provided pretty much everything here right now.” �"House (me and Hershel? Hershel and I? #GrammarIssues)

“He’s right.” -Hershel.

He was right (House and Hershel).

“That’s only because you knew I wouldn’t let you s**t-heads Brand™ me if you didn’t,” Randall added, totally related.

“Yea, speaking of that,” said Hershel, quickly interrupting Randall. “Who’s doing this? Cause I’m definitely not.”

“I ain’t doin’ it,” House offered his two cents.

“I think Barry should do it.” -Al.

“F**k you, who do you think is smoking you out right now?”

“Uuuh House and Hershel. We just discussed that-”

“I think Herb should do it,” Hershel suggested.

“Wha- Why!?” Herb rebutted, shocked and appalled (!).

“You’ve been drinking the least.”

“So?-”

“No way,” Randall said with his arms now crossed and with an ironic air of sensibility. “Herb’s an idiot. No offense-”

“None taken,” Herb assured him.

“Why not Barry?” House asked and Hershel, Herb and Al all chuckled at the thought.

“You mean the guy who pissed and vomited all over himself the other week? Ahaha,” wilted Hershel. House and Randall both started laughing.

“Oh yea!! Ahahahaha!” Al said and they all broke some more. “Dude, I heard about that, who was all there?”

“Just us three, Mitch, Dave and Liz- Herb, didn’t you catch them f*****g downstairs?”

“Yea…” Herb suddenly had a very blank face :/. “Right in the middle of those two sliding doors leading into the office. It was the only thing I saw in between those two doors, and I only saw it for a split second before cowering away in fear and trauma /> yet I see it all the time in my dreams: nothing but that white a*s so smushed, surrounded by a dark shadow on top, and below that, a disgusting, bouncing-”

“Alright, so Herb’s the one then? Cause this is pretty much ready to go,” Hershel interrupted and took the Brand™ out of the fire to examine it more closely. “Yes, yes, very nice,” he whispered to himself in a strange, obviously fake African accent. Then he carefully put the Brand™ back in the fire.

“Dude, I really don’t wanna do that.” �"Herb.

“Oh come on dude, just do it.” �"House.

“I’m with Herb, I don’t think he should do it either,” Randall said with his arms still crossed, looking expressly serious, still shirtless with sweat pouring out of him like in Amazonian swamps at every inch of his body. “No way,” he continued, and then, after taking another shot and loudly burping right after, he stood up and started stretching.

“You’re an idiot dude,” he said as he bent down to touch his toes. “No offense-“

“None taken-“

“Well we definitely don’t want Al doing it,” Barry said and some people laughed.

“That’s a very good point,” Randall consented with both his hands now down to his ankles, back bent completely over :D.

“You’re almost as dumb as this c**t-vibe over here,” and he came back up and pointed to Herb, continuing on to proffer like a f*****g gymnast or some s**t, if the gymnast were a gymnast in a gym-ing world, where everyone is a gymnast, and therefore in great shape and working out all the time, and having great sex and hanging out, not always necessarily, but being drunk is cool when it comes up and-