Mystical Story of Mister Cringe
Hello.
My name is Mr. Cringe.
I write this words because of my huge desire to make everyone around me feel cringe.
What im talking about?! English is not even my native language!
So, if you find some grammar mistakes in my story - take this as a given. I still won’t give you back your precious time.
And now, our cringy story begins...
It was a hot summer day. Or night. Or morning. Or something else that couldnt be understand by our foolish minds. Anyway, I was walking down the pretty street of a pretty town, called Cringeville. Yes, if you dont know where this town is - I can understand you. Because even I don’t know where it is and how I got there after a bad bender. Anyway, I needed cringe. A lot of cringe. And you know what? Nobody could give it to me. So, I thought I’d make it an even place. Shouldn’t my name be Mr. Cringe?
I found the biggest barrel I could find, climbed on it and got a loudspeaker. How did I get a loudspeaker? Professional secret.
''Hey, horses!'' I screamed.
The horses looked at me.
''You know what? I can’t joke!''
''Why would you joke? Are you a joker?'' they asked me.
''No! Im Mister Cringe!''
''And?..''
''Clear your minds of filth! You are just pictures drawn!''
''And?..''
''What and? Nothing bothers you?''
''Well, nothing but you.''
''Good start'' I smiled.
Around my podium began to gather people. Someone even brought popcorn (which did not think to share, such an asshole!). Dozens of eyes gazed at my cringy body, listening to my cringy speech, filled with cringy thoughts with cringy meaning. I told them about the falseness of their imaginary world, calling myself the ruler of that. I hope there were no nurses among them...then we talked about the economy, which is exclusively based on cakes industry. Celestia loves cakes! And she loves money! What can be better than cakes with money? Cakes on which you can make money!
After a good hour of verbal diarrhea, when in the square there was only a drowsy old grandfather with a bottle of vodka under his shoulder, I gave a tired sigh, went down and neatly dragged the healing nectar, began pouring it into my mouth. Grandpa woke up looking at me with his eyes wide open. It was only then that I felt the power of cringe. Or rather, it was a powerful blow to the face...how powerful it can be performed by an infirm old man. Anyway, it was enough to knock the bottle out of my hooves. I tried to hit him back. But I missed. And I hit the ground. Then grandfather kicked me. And then he left, gently taking the bottle.
I got up, dusted, sighed (once again) and swam to the nearest pub. There was no respite from the smell of tobacco - although maybe it was something more careful, because when I went inside I felt a rise of strength that I had never felt before. It’s like the Great Cringe himself is leading you into the land of spanish shame. You know, it’s somewhere between Rainbow Factory and My Little Dashie.
When I got to the bar counter, I called the waiter. However, he was not here, because it was a pub in which the staff did not look different from the visitors. It was a kind of self-service. Smells like cringe, doesn’t it? What, no? What if I told you that the first character that looked like a waiter was called Pen Stroke? No, not that Pen Stroke, but this Pen Stroke. Local bartender.
He stared at me, spat in the glass, and rubbed his saliva on the surface.
''What shall we order?''
''Cringe, please'' without a second thought, I answered.
''Is it something that blows your brains out?''
''The readers of my story have already seen this.''
''Understandable. Alas, Pony Life is over. So I suggest you have a martini with the sweetest taste of the rainbow.''
I nodded, realizing that it was better to try rainbows than other liquids from the giraffe’s body. A minute later, the bartender came back with a nice cocktail in front of me. I drank it. And then I slowly left the house before I was turned into an alcoholic ingredient.
Then I saw a beautiful filly on the street. True, she was a mega-alicorn-killer-lesbian-from outer space with delusions of greatness, additional sexual organs and a love for moldy cheese. What can I do, and I am not without sin. Although it is time to equate the dorblu with biological weapons...
I started making eyes at her. She turned around, cracking her toothy jaw and staring at me with red eyes the size of a saucer.
''Wat da u wont?''
My heart is blown to smithereens. Oh, no, is she from target audience?!
''Hey, look! There’s your new original character being dragged through the mud!'' I said.
Alikornsha roared like a bull in the mating season, hurrying towards the bar, on the porch of which stood a bartender shaking his leg. Boy, he ain’t gonna have it easy.
After taking a breath of air, I decided to finally get out of the author’s unhealthy fantasy by running out of town. As it turned out, there was no exit provided by the plot. I had to find the nearest phone booth and contact my agent. I’m, you know, a famous actor! Yes, yes! He called MoscowNights and told him what the hell he was writing. After a bit of arguing, they came to the conclusion that writing humorous fanfiction at two o'clock am - is not the best idea, and therefore should end this farce. Yeah. He does.
And then there were the incredible adventures, the shocking plot twists and the sane story. But I’m too lazy to write about it, so I’m gonna take a nap.
What is the moral of this story?
Stop reading shit fiction, dork. Get outside already!
