I'm an open-minded person. Make no bones about it. O.K., all puns aside, I'm going to tell it to you like it is. I'm a skeleton. A tall skeleton, 6 foot 7 maybe, and I wear a top hat. In my past life, I was a worker at a Chinese rubber ball factory. I was curious and tried eating one of the rubber balls--especially after my co-workers misinformed me that they were actually full of delicious pork and egg noodles--and that did it. There was a fire in my belly because the thing was actually full of hatching gnats and shoeflies, so I jumped out the nearest factory window to put a stop to the insurmountable pain and agony. In short, I took a tumble, and I'm not talking about Tumblr. I didn't get to host any ill-advised social justice blogs about how your dog's secretly a sexist pig. Me, I'm dead now.
As for who I am in the afterlife: I'm a fancy kinda skeleton. A refined skeleton, not quite unlike refined beans. ... Or refried... whatever. By all means, I really do enjoy scaring the shit out of people, but I also love: Shakespearian theater, caviar, fine wine, Roger Waters era Pink Floyd, and the classic television sitcom Frasier, which won more Emmys than you can shake a Crash Bandicoot pez dispenser at. WOODABIGAW! Furthermore, I also enjoy myself. If you know what I mean. ... Oh, did I mention I'm a fucking skeleton!? Balls.
Now let me tell you something, Sparky: being a skeleton isn't easy. You might think we all lay around in coffins all day, drinking blood from goblets, splattering glitter all over our faces and frenching Alicia Silverstone and Helen Keller style Hollywood babes, but no. I may be lifeless... I don't have a life... but I'm as animated as the Animaniacs after Dot's purple bunny vibrator goes wild and cuts open the water tower like a tin can full of delicious pizza dough chunks. Which brings me to my next part.
I just love playing electric guitar. Or pretending to, anyway. You see, I'm a plastic electric guitar playing skeleton. I'm very big into the Guitar Hero games, and diving into them has always helped me with forgetting that I can never actually have beautiful skin and a sexy buttocks again. Or so I thought... until the day that shall forever live in infamy!
In the afterlife, I worked at a pizza shop. Specifically, I was the one making the pizzas. You might think this is kind of fucked up, given that I'm a skeleton, but I was actually hanging out in the backroom, because we don't want living people to see what our special ingredient is. Spoiler alert: it's rat guts. Rat guts wrapped with fish guts in it. Blind taste tests tell us that you... really like it. ... And that's how babies are made?
"Yo Marilyn, get your ass in here.", my boss, Johnathan Bones, yelled at me. I guess that's why he liked me. Both of us had something to do with Bones. Plus we're brothers.
... So, it turned out that a customer was really, really pissed off because even though I'm a skeleton, I had a penis grafted onto where my left elbow would normally be if I was alive, and I took a pisstake on the guy's pizza because I simply did not like him. Since it turned out that lemonade flavored pizza really wasn't the guy's thang, he wanted to take a shot at whoever the pizza preparer was. As you may have guessed, it wasn't Jared from Subway. It was I: a 6 foot 7 skeleton in a top hat.
Now, he saw me, and he saw real clear that I was a skeleton. You might think he'd scream and pass out or call the police or something, but no! Instead, we talked, and he informed me that he was in an 80s-style glam rock butt metal band, and his music tastes matched up very finely with mine. I have no idea why I said I didn't like him earlier. Oh, right: because I have AIDS.
... So, since he was in a Skid Row cover band and thought it'd be incredibly badass if he could use me as a prop on stage, I said yes in exchange for a copy of Guitar Hero 5 for the PlayStation 3 Entertainment System! He warned me that he bought it at a yard sale from a guy who used to be an intern at ActiVision, and that this game was just a copy of a beta version that ultimately did not get released, but I like free stuff, so I said yes. He brushed my penis elbow, making me piss on his remaining pizza slices (I guess he was into it now), and then he handed me the disc. The rest of work went as normal.
After I got off work for good behavior (my job was community service--don't ask what I did. It concerned a rocket and a monkey), I was ready for some home-based family valuecore entertainment that didn't involve rat guts with fish guts stuffed in it. So, I blew onto the disc-based media and rubbed rubbing alcohol all over it, as well as my cock, before popping both into my PlayStation 3.
Now, when you play one of these Guitar Hero video-based games, you normally expect there to be a wide selection of guitar rock tracks to choose from. Instead... I was terrified by what I saw. Instead of multiple bands, there was only one to choose from: my favorite rock band of all-time, Limp Bizkit. It was as if Skid Row Jr. knew exactly what kind of music I was into. ... Which he did, because I told him, but, like, he somehow crammed it into a Guitar Hero game in a manner of seconds...? Or perhaps the intern at the yard sale was developing Guitar Hero: Limp Bizkit to celebrate the band's signing to Lil Wayne's badass new record label. Either way, I was really happy, so I farted.
Now, I'm gonna give you a warning. From here on out, things got really fucked up. If you get scared easily, I suggest taking a break and enjoying a drink of rat guts with fish guts stuffed in it, and maybe mixing in some alcohol for good measure. Then again, the truth alone may be enough to make you tipsy.
I learned from watching Reading Rainbow that reading can be, like, a magical experience. It sucks you into strange and sometimes rather rad new worlds--something that drugs can also do, but reading is much less expensive. I always felt like video games were the same deal. Also, did I mention that I have AIDS?
I started playing the first song, "Crawling". You know those lyrics, "Crawling in my skin, these wounds they're really real"? Well, as I attempted to play one of the rockin' electric guitar tracks... I felt something bad. I looked down, and... and I was amazed.
SKIN! I suddenly had skin! No blood or veins, no fatty insulation, no muscle... there was now SKIN covering my body like an inflated balloon, even over my left elbow penis! I would've been O.K. with this, but then I gulped when I noticed the worst part of all: there was literal crawling in my skin! How in the world could I continue to play Guitar Hero if there was actual crawling in my skin?
"These wounds will never heal.", I heard a crappy voice boom out of my television system, like one of those voices they tried to make for shitty old computer games. I was so disturbed that I shrieked in horror and threw my plastic guitar on the ground.
After chewing off and eating all of my skin, including my penis, I went back to the game. The goosebumps were gone--and I'm not talkin' the R.L. Stein kind--so I figured it would all be okay. The next song up was "Hunger Strike", though I know that song's definitely not by Limp Bizkit. Staind, was it, with Scott Stapp as the featured vocal guest? Oh well, whatever. I picked up my controller and got fappin'. ... I mean tappin'.
"I don't mind stealing bread from the mouths of tuna fish... I'm goin' hungry..."
Suddenly, I felt really, really hungry. Which is incredible, given that I am a skeleton and I am not supposed to get hungry. You'd also think eating all that skin and my cock off would be enough to keep me full, but no. I was so hungry that... well, I'm ashamed to admit this, given it's real primitive, cavemanish behavior... but I took a bite out of my top hat. Sadly, that did absolutely nothing to squelch my appetite. I opened up my cupboard and, again, there was no food in there because I'm an actual fucking skeleton, so I started biting off small pieces of the wood and chewing on and eating it.
At this point, my hunger had advanced to the point that I was fucking starving. Given that I'm a person from a horror story and my sense of logic was bound to be off, I did what I absolutely should not have done. I went back to my PlayStation 3, stared at it, gave it two boney middle fingers Siskel and Ebert style... and then I continued playing the horribly haunted video game.
I started playing the next track--and the one that would prove to be the final track. I'm pretty sure it was actually a Father Roach song. "Cut my life into pieces. This is my last pulled pork."
My... last pulled pork? Well, good news was that I didn't keep any sandwiches in my house, so nothing bad could possibly happen to me... right?
Right there in the middle of my living room table, between my Droopy Dog shotglasses and Hank Hill portable mini-propane tank... a pulled pork sandwich mystically sat. Now, I know what you're thinking: since the song said that this would be my last pulled pork sandwich, there's no way that I'd eat it. I mean, shit, that would just be suicidal, right? But again, if I was that smart, I wouldn't have this autobiographical story of mine to tell you. I thought that because I'm already a skeleton, I couldn't possibly die again. That just flat out didn't make sense at all.
I lifted up the sandwich.
I took a bite out of it.
And I died. I can't explain the process of dying when you're already dead, but it really, really fucking hurts. Imagine being burnt alive, crushed alive, bled to death, hung on a cross, punched in the gut with brass knuckles repeatedly until you choked on your own blood, have your reproductive organs bit off by a yeti, and... well, you'd be halfway there. In fact, I'm still suffering right now. It's an eternal cycle, and the devil has informed me that it's only going to get worse from here. He lent me an old Dell laptop (I guess that makes sense because Dell rhymes with Hell) with dial-up Internet access, and because I'm a well-intentioned skeleton guy... I just wanted to let you know what the cost of playing a haunted video game from a stranger is. No matter how cool that stranger may be, just remember that it's like taking candy from a molester. You may like candy, but I'm sure you don't like a stranger tying you up and sticking their junk in your junk while you shout junk and your life becomes junk and then I woke up. The End.