Quoted By:
You’re in a tight spot here–on one hand you <span class="mu-i">REALLY</span> don’t want to comfort this girl… Even if you were feeling generous, you’re not even sure where the sweat ends and the tears start anymore. Grody.
On the other hand, you’re pretty sure that if this sad sack doesn’t stop bawling her eyes out, you and everyone else in this bunker will be <span class="mu-i">swimming</span> to get around! No thanks!
“Well we’ve <span class="mu-i">gotta</span> do somethin’!” Ly mutters as your ears ring from Denise’s unyielding wailing. “Preferably somethin’ dat’ ain’t just narratin’ our thoughts!”
You’re <span class="mu-i">sorry</span>, okay?! It’s a reflex! Feeling the scientist’s sobs rake against the inside of your head like nails on a chalkboard, your answer comes in the form of a furry friend trying and failing to burrow deeper into your clothes. Bingo!
Firmly grasping the hissing lump hiding under your <span class="mu-g">FUR COAT,</span> you begin the cumbersome process of peeling Stanley the Raccoon off of you! Like a fuzzy, hissing leech, the beast fights back by digging her claws into the <span class="mu-g">GAMER SHIRT</span> underneath your coat… and the skin below that! As you grit your teeth to drown out the pain, you slowly but surely feel the critter come loose–each claw peeling your flesh as if you were ripping off the world’s meanest bandage!
Denise barely notices as the raccoon slowly emerges from under your coat kicking and hissing like some kind of alien larva. Scrambling to keep hold of you–or more accurately the <span class="mu-g">HALF-FINISHED JAM JAR</span> she wedged into your waistband, Stanley lets loose with one last ‘<span class="mu-i">REEEEEE</span>’ before being slingshotted off of your pasty stomach and into Denise’s blubbering face!
“<span class="mu-i">B-WHUH?!</span>”
The critter’s velocity sends both of them tumbling head over heels, eventually rolling to a stop further down the corridor. Seeing her chance for revenge, the raccoon sends a haughty hiss your way before darting for the safety of your coat!
But it’s too late.
Snatching the cuddly critter up with the speed of a chameleon’s tongue, Denise hugs Stanley close as the poor creature struggles in vain to escape the deluge of sweat, snot, and tears.
“<span class="mu-i">D-d-did y-you kn-know th-that w-we almost h-had LAB RACCOONS i-instead of r-rats in the 20th Cen-century?</span>” The scientist sobs as Stanley glares daggers at you with bulging eyes. “<span class="mu-i">Th-they’re sm-smarter than they look…</span>”
Sure, you chuckle as you remove the <span class="mu-g">JAM JAR</span> from your pants and take a handful, and so are you! The color drains from the raccoon’s face as you take a bite of their treat–hey, you shrug with a mouthful of jam, yr snrshe, yre lrsh!
<span class="mu-s">STANLEY WILL REMEMBER THAT.</span>
>CONTD.
