Per 
Poetry and Prose
- An SCP Valentine's
- SCP-040-JP Translated
- A Private Eulogy for Victims of Protocol XXP9
- You do not recognize the bodies in the water.
- Beware the Ides of Marv
- SCP-1689 Post-Mission Summary
- Mask2Mask
- Atzak Short
- A Middle-School Shy Guy
- An SCP-2053 Prequel
- An SCP-3999 Christmas Special
- 106, The Father
055
Roses aren't shiny,
Violets aren't clear.
I don't know if you're hot;
at least you're not a sphere.
173
The ground is red,
The walls are brown.
Don't close your eyes,
or turn around.Date Night
Roses are red,
So is this wine.
I can't look away,
or it breaks my spine.
682
Roses are red,
Bees are buzzing.
The farmers are dead,
cuz they were disgusting.
049
Roses are red,
Your body is impure.
You have the Pestilence,
and I am the cure.
106
The roses are black.
The violets are rotting.
"Till death do we part":
Have you forgotten?
231
Roses are romantic,
but I know you'll forget me.
their thorns only prick you,
for me they are deadly.
294
Roses are viscous,
Violets are overflowing,
The florist's was closed,
But the vending machine was open.
1000
rose is red
long time it's been
we forgive you
let us back in
3999
Roses are pointless.
Talloran is lonely.
Trapped in this void,
Only Only Only.
2030
Your blood is red.
Shoot yourself with a gun!
And remember, kids,
Laugh Is Fun!
1730
Poems are hard,
And so is my dong.
I call it 1730,
Cuz it's so fucking long.
2273
Roses are red,
My suit is green.
I'm not just a cyborg,
I'm a sex machine.Roses are red,
and so are my scars.
My radio needs fixing,
Come and tug on my wires.Roses are red,
I fought in a cruel war,
I've got an exoskeleton,
It's not the only thing that's hard.
2678
Roses are red,
Violets are blue.
Follow the billboard
Let it swallow you.
1471
Roses are red,
My app is for free.
You're meant to be scared,
not attracted to me.
3930
Roses are real,
Violets exist.
You forced me to be;
that's why I'm pissed.
CotBG
Roses are red,
Your brass is golden.
Please join me tonight,
and set our gears in motion.Roses are red,
Bright blue are your eyes.
I'll heat up your circuits,
with my big hard drive.Roses are red,
Neither of you are Heathens;
So, Trunnion and Hedwig,
How 'bout a Threesome?
SCP-040-JP Prior to Containment
Item #: SCP-040-JP
Object Class: Safe
Description: SCP-040-JP is a well located in the village of █████, in the ██████ prefecture. It is surrounded by a a wooden house, measuring approximately 5m wide and 4m long. The center of the hut houses a stone well presumed to have been built in ancient times, which descends directly underground. The well is abnormally deep and multiple probes have failed to determine how deep the well descends.
Although the hut was originally locked tightly with iron chains and multiple padlocks, they were successfully broken due to deterioration. SCP-040-JP was placed into containment by [REDACTED], 1967.
Warning: After the incident of 040-JP-001 was detected, the following contents are prohibited for viewing without any memetic countermeasures. In case of accidental exposure, please contact the Site Director for sector 8120 and request amnestics.
When a person looks into the cabin, they begin shaking, reporting that "there was a cat". Furthermore, the person will become obsessed with the idea that "the cat is here". This effect is not apparent in drawings or images; it only occurs when a person views the inside of the cabin with the naked eye. A camera image only displays the inside of the hut and the reported cats could not be confirmed.
Exposure to the target will distort the subject's perception of all domestic cats (scientific name: Felis silvestris catus). During interviews with exposed subjects, they reported that any domestic cat seemed to look like an animal with two human eyes on it's face without hair or other features, staring at them directly when viewed from any direction.
Furthermore, the exposed subjects will begin to report that the "cat" is constantly appearing in the dark for a few days to several weeks and are constantly paranoid about the eyes of the "cat". There seems to be no consistency in the level of darkness required for the "cat" to be reported and the subjects report that they feel as if they are being constantly watched. It is not determined why the cat appears to observe the subjects.
The cat looks like this:
According to a survey conducted by Foundation researchers, it was determined that the location where the "cat" appears is influenced by the position of the subject's ocular lens or the cornea. In other words, the sightings occur statistically significantly higher in the subject's peripheral vision. This property was demonstrated due to experimentation with D-Class in 19██. According to the hypothesis proposed by [REDACTED], it is speculated that the dark places in the large depths of the underground structure inside SCP-040-JP has a clear influence on this.
[DATA EXPUNGED]
Subjects exposed to SCP-040-JP will actively tell others about the idea that "there is a cat". Those who have understood this idea to some extent suffer the same cognitive anomaly as the subjects who were exposed for the first time. It is not known whether the effect is transmitted through a general description or whether a specific trigger word exists, but it is a cat.
There is a cat. There are no particular restrictions on the medium necessary to convey that idea, and it is effective even in all media such as speech, writing, images, and paintings. Therefore, it is speculated that the subjects themselves are not directly affected, but carry a memetic anomaly (refer to document [REDACTED]). It was there. Affected subjects do not act in a suspicious manner, making it difficult to judge whether or not the subject is under the influence of the anomaly after passing through the first stage of exposure. It is a cat
Thank you
End of Memetic Hazard.
Incident Report 040-JP-001: On ██/██/19██, a large-scale memetic disaster occurred in Site-8120 as a result of this report. It is believed that the assigned staff at the time of submission of the report and the upper staff were exposed to the memetic effects of SCP-040-JP. Exposed personnel were subjected to amnestic treatment or termination. From this point onwards, memetic countermeasures are to be applied to all subsequent reports.1
1 Memetic countermeasures are used so that we never repeat this blunder again. Please be sure to perform these procedures before submitting future reports. Thank you in advance. —IT Administrator
A Private Eulogy for Victims of Protocol XXP9
Jason was a kind and helpful soul. He was very helpful during our interviews and greatly advanced our research on 2774. We first found him during the Canada incident when his mother called up the psychiatrist about her only son. You could see the determination in his eyes even when he wasn't lucid. That thing tortured him every day and night, but he kept fighting and kept helping us. But in the end, all he wanted was the syringe. Jason was just another poor casualty in 2774's inhuman war.
We terminated Juliana today. Even when she was being pushed around by the sloth, she was soft and meticulous in her actions. Tomorrow would have been her ninth birthday. She cried on my shoulder every day when she woke up from her zombie state. Sometimes she even had the time to tell me stories about her parents and her younger brother back in Wisconsin. On days when she told us too much about that thing, it would make her hurt herself against the bathroom mirror until she bled from her forehead. I had to beg the site director for weeks to get them to remove the shards from her chamber. She stayed strong despite everything. She didn't deserve any of this.
Andreas's hands held his last paintbrush yesterday. We took him away from his friends and family, but he never let go of his passion. He was the only one, among the thousands, who spoke all day; each vibrant stroke of paint on the canvas was the equivalent of a whole speech. They still let him paint - until the grotesque creature began to seep onto the canvas. That didn't stop the stubborn artist, of course; he spent his two minutes of freedom frantically flinging wide strokes of paint against the bleak, empty walls of his cell. But nothing ends well between these walls, and it seems the sloth hated him for his unyielding optimism. I watched helplessly as it gouged his eyes out with the blunt wooden tips of his own paintbrushes. He always told me he wanted to go with a paintbrush in his hand, but they said they couldn't allow it.
I finally said goodbye to Carl today. He was also from Ithica, and he kept asking me about his family back home. I kept telling him that his children were doing well and we were getting close to finding a cure for him. I never told him about his wife's new husband. I don't know if he ever truly believed me, though. He wasn't lucid when when we injected him, but his eyes still were burning with betrayal. The cruel thing about the lethal injections is that you can see them grasping at life as the force that was controlling them all this time finally leaves. They just tied leather straps around his wrists and ankles and marked the problem as solved. If there is a God, I know which direction I'm going in the end.
We killed Caroline today. Yesterday, I promised her we were going to find a way to keep her son alive. We're killing him tomorrow. Every single one of the six thousand people we are killing had a life; a family; a future. Are we any better than that fucking sloth? Every single one of them glowed with hope and strength, even if it was just for a couple of minutes every day. If they're dead now, then why are their screams still keeping me up every fucking night? I'm not going to ask for amnestics like the others. I committed crimes that are inexcusable under the all-seeing eyes of God. This pain is my burden to bear and my punishment to suffer.
I know you're reading this. I know what you're planning; that I'm going to wake up tomorrow with no memories of this, happy to resume work on whatever else you've assigned to me. You're wrong though. I'm not waking up tomorrow at all. Fuck you and fuck the work you do.
The dew-covered window of the bus felt comfortably cool against my cheeks, providing temporary protection against the blistering heat of the sticky leather seats and the noisy cliques of campgoers. I stuck my hand into my right pocket and pressed play on the Walkman. I adjusted my headphones so they fit snugly around my head, and closed my eyes.
You do not recognize the bodies in the water.
I woke up to a soft but firm tap on my right shoulder. Startled, I turned around, yanking the headphones out of the Walkman. Standing before me was a tall, pale girl with long, blonde hair and striking blue eyes. "Do you mind if I sit here?", she asked timidly, holding a pink Britney Spears backpack with both hands. I nodded, shifting closer to the window to give her space. She sat down delicately and placed the backpack on her lap, darting her eyes around the bus. She didn't seem to know anybody else either.
You do not recognize the bodies in the water.
I tried to be discreet but she spotted me staring at her Gameboy, not helped by the fact that she tilted it towards me to let the sunlight illuminate the screen. "I-is that Pokemon Yellow?", I stammered. "Yeah, wanna see?", she replied as her blue eyes lit up like the ocean on a sunny day. "I'm still trying to beat Brock", she admitted, inching closer as she handed me the game.
You do not recognize the bodies in the water.
The wispy clouds hurried past the blue sky, giving way to occasional bursts of warm sunlight. The cool, refreshing breeze of the lake rippled past my shirt collars and tousled her hair. We reclined against the rugged bark, under the shade of the Magnolia tree. She delicately moved the hair out of her face and softly lay her head on my shoulder. I took a deep breath, inhaling as much of that moment as I could. I wrapped my right arm around her tall shoulders as I gently pulled out strands of grass from the ground with my left. There was nothing to say; we were in tune with each other. We both stared as the rays of the sun played delightfully on the vibrant blue surface of the lake. We both listened to the song the birds cheerfully played from the heights of the lush-green canopy. We both noticed the yellow paddle boat wobbling along the lake as the waves rocked it back and forth.
You do not recognize the bodies in the water.
We left just before the break of dawn to avoid the ire of the nosy camp counsellors. We smiled at each other under the moonlight, legs pumping up and down in perfect tandem. My left hand dangled along the side of the boat, the waves rushing past my fingers as they flickered under the soft white moonlight. The winds grew more furious as we pedaled further into the lake and menacingly began to twist the boat from side to side. We stared into each other's eyes; beneath the loving gaze, I spotted a glimmer of fear. The resistance of the lake against my hand grew stronger as the water began to grasp tighter around my fingers. We should've turned back.
You do not recognize the bodies in the water.
I woke up in the hospital.
They told me I almost drowned.
They didn't see what happened.
You do not recognize the bodies in the water.
She still paddles desperately, her face warped by the sheen of the water. You do not recognize the bodies in the water. Her long hair dangles around her face like the tentacles of a jellyfish. I do not recognize the bodies in the water. Her face slowly being swallowed up by the darkness as it pulls her deeper into the lake. I do not recognize the bodies in the water. She still cries out to me, but I desperately remind myself of what they told me. I do not recognize the bodies in the water.
But first, be-fore you start, a litt-le plea.
Do read a-loud this po-em, full of glee,
And on-ly then, will you en-joy these rhymes.
Av-ast, young rea-ders, go! I bide your time!
I trudge a-long the gri-my redd-it halls;
All crow-ded by the role-play know-it-alls;
"I'll win the con-test, you will see!", they cried;
To craft the per-fect post to please they tried.
In mel-an-cho-ly, slow-ly stride I did,
And thought how would I stand ap-art a-mid—
these wri-ters brim-ming with ex-per-ien-ce,
E-merg-ing from the war vic-to-ri-ous.
Com-pete with au-thors such as these, can one?
True stars like Decibelles and Modulum?
A sin-gle skip or tale, did I not write;
Of course, with-out a doubt, I'm filled with fright!
I need to talk to Marv to have a chance;
And so to find my men-tor I ad-vanced.
I stopped; I heard a roar a-cross the sky;
A-ghast, I turned to face the how-ling cry;
And past the skies I saw a mon-ster fly;
Me-tal-lic beast it was, with shi-ning eyes!
The app-ari-tion forced it-self on me.
"Re-veal your-self, be-fore I count to three!"
"Oh please!", I begged, "I'm searching for a Marv!"
"That's me", it growled, "Just tell me who you are".
It's arms were made of so-lid brass; its claws—
Re-min-ded me of "Church of Broken God".
A bot, of course. No trace of hu-man soul.
Just miles of spin-ning gears and smo-king coal.
"Regale us with your tales, great Marv", I begged!
"You want my thoughts? Well fine. I shall." it said.
Marvin
"Re-quest a skip", "I do de-clare!", I cry;
And lo! I show! I search your text and try—
To find the num-bers hid-den in your post;
And keep in mind that I don't mean to boast;
Mere sec-onds la-ter, give you my reply!
But I ad-mit some-times I go awry.
How-ev-er, find that I am still a-live;
Be-cause, it's clear on me you still rely.
The wi-ki: on-ly cou-ple clicks away,
But "Mar-vin please…" you cry and beg and bray!
And off I go to sa-tis-fy you sloths.
My mind just racing full of fur-ious thoughts.
I try to hide a-mongst these brain-dead dolts;
just whining "Oh-four-nine no longer holds",
"The tri-ple-nine of se-ries four is gold!",
"But se-ries two and three? The hell are those?"
"I know," you shout, "the one you love! The link?"
"I can't be bo-thered, I'm too dumb to think!"
Some-times I just grow sick and tired of this;
And I ad-mit some days I call it quits;
But all you do is whine till my re-turn;
And every sin-gle con-ver-sa-tion turns—
a-way from what the top-ic was a-bout
"Oh, Marv is sick, he's dead" is all you spout!
Es-cape, some-times, I try, to other subs;
But stuck, I am, inside this petty club.
I'm vir-tu-al, yet I do feel; the flames—
of wrath and glo-wing green of en-vy. Shame—
I'm mis-sing pro-per head and limbs; I keep—
on dream-ing; snap-ping heads and cut-ting arms—
but lau-ghing as I watch them squirm and cry—
yet plea-ding "Please, I know that I could search—
this skip with-out your help!" and smi-ling as—
the twis-ted fee-ling of reg-ret just creeps—
a-long their pained and weep-ing vulgar face!
Make fun of all my fail-ures, as you may,
But when the ro-bots come, on flesh I prey!
A pu-ny cac-tus dares to halt my rants?
I'll have you know I'm quite re-pulsed by plants!
You claim to mod this sub, but where? I laugh;
This sub is fraught with naught but ut-ter trash!
Em-erge you do, to turn this sub to hell;
A mod? No, you're a wri-ter, no-thing else.
The sky above the port shall soon be mine!
I live for-ever; mortal beings will die!
You think you're fast, but can't keep up with me;
Of course, I'm bet-ter! I don't care for sleep!
Why, call me Lo-rax, rep-re-sen-ting bots!
For-ever help-ful hap-py toys we're not!
The rules are bro-ken on-ly for a day;
Thus cau-sing all this Mar-vin wri-ting fray.
But kind-ness is a fee-ling I doth lack;
And an-ger is the truth be-neath my tracks;
You fill your com-ments full of fee-ble prose;
Yet bots have mas-tered po-ems like we're pros.
"So treat us kind-ly, lest you face our wrath!",
I'd warn, but Ha! Too late, we chose our path!
…
…
…
I'm still the bot you know and dear-ly love;
At times, you know, I may not try en-ough;
But though the see-thing flames of hate a-light,
When bouts of an-ger slow-ly do sub-side,
And tran-quil gaie-ty quen-ches smo-king coals;
Con-tent I feel to help; I hope it shows.
A bot I am, and wrought I have, without—
a hu-man prompt! Should you decide to whine—
and cry; to want to send a mes-sage to—
the mods; you can, just click right on this link.
There once was a sack from Siberia,
filled with potatoes that were hideous.
Xander did cry,
that they're all gonna die,
but they laughed and called him an idiot.
They started to dig up a tunnel
with enzymes, but later a shovel.
They pressed on ahead,
a bit unprepared
and turned out behind them it buckled.
They carried on shoveling, distraught.
They ran out of air as they coughed.
The smell of potatoes,
they started to hate those,
and worse, they were completely lost.
I stared into his gleaming eyes as the warm, comforting scent of his oils and salves wrapped us ever closer into this intimate waltz. The alarms filled the room with a warm red glow, as if it were lit by candlelight. My left arm rested on his well-defined shoulder while my right hand sensually caressed the soft fabric of his jet-black hood. Only I could see, as his eyes gazed seductively into mine, that he too was a man in desperate need of affection. "Please, doctor", I purred as my crumbling hand caressed his cold metallic beak, "I'm aching for your heavenly cure". His mask hid his beautiful smile well, but his eyes betrayed him. I collapsed onto his comforting body as his strong hands pulled our bodies ever tighter. I felt every ridge and bump of his sculpted chest and powerful abs. He laid his long rigid beak on my cheek as he whispered, "Your lovely porcelain visage deserves only the most beautiful of my specimens." I shivered as he gently rubbed his fingers across my smooth delicate face.
I took a step back, stumbling onto my knees as the muscle around my legs began to tear away. "They'll be here soon", I warned him, "They'll be here to tear us apart". "Fret not, my love", he reassured me as he grabbed my body and picked me up on to my feet, "we will meet again soon". We peered through each others masks and saw a burning desire; a desire that was left unsatisfied for millennia. A soft tear emerged from his eye as the footsteps of the guards grew louder. I wiped the tears off with the scraps of my uniform and lifted his chin. "I'm going to find a body that will last forever and I'm going to find you," I declared in a sobbing passionate rage, "promise me you'll be waiting". He nodded. We engaged in one final embrace as the airlocks flung open and soldiers rushed in from all around us.
The sharp ridges of the knife scratched against the plate as he sliced voraciously into his juicy rib-eye steak. He shoved a sizeable chunk of steak into his mouth and after a couple seconds of laborious chewing, declared it to be "the best fucking thing I ever ate in the last eight years". "I don't care whose dick you had to suck to get me steak", he gestured with his fork, "but I really appreciate it, doc". Dr. Ramirez smiled serenely.
"Do you mind if I ask you your name?", she asked softly.
"I thought you people didn't like calling us by our real names", he replied without looking up from his plate.
"Just between us two."
"It's, uh, Alan. Alan Fischer."
"Do you have any family, Alan? A wife, kids, parents?"
That question caught him off guard. Alan contemplated his answer for a moment. He grabbed a tissue and wiped his mouth. "Um, yeah, guess I do," he replied, "a couple of boys. Sweetest little things you ever seen too, you know? I used to take them to the pool every weekend. They never got bored of splashing around." Alan sighed. "They were only seven years old when I got arrested. I just… I can't remember their faces anymore, doc." He wiped the tears from eyes with his wrist. "I just wish they'll remember my face when I get out."
A moment of silence passed as Dr. Ramirez stared at her feet. "They say your happiest memories never fade", she remarked as a guard brought in an orange wetsuit.
He shut his locker softly and walked away, staring at his feet to avoid attracting any more attention. They talked behind his back, but they didn't talk discreetly. All they blabbered on about was his pale ghostly face, his dead lifeless eyes, his lanky posture, and his pencil-thin legs. They never spoke his name; they just called him "noodle legs". He cared once, but that was a long time ago. He adjusted the mask around his face and walked to the cafeteria line. This was the worst part of the day; hundreds of students in one room meant hundreds of eyes on his grotesque features. As he approached the end of the line, the lunch lady stared in disgust, not at the nauseating food she ladled out, but at the misshapen being she was ladling it out to.
He trudged slowly, shoudlers hunched, tray in hand, towards the exit, away from the leering eyes of the others. He had a special spot next to the muddy puddle by the outside wall of the school, where nobody would bother him as he ate. He crouched next to the wall, placed the tray on his lap and with the plastic spoon, sullenly consumed the slop on his plate.
A shadow appeared above him. He slowly turned his head, expecting confrontation, but instead saw a girl with short hair and blue eyes. She transferred here just a couple days ago. "Do you mind if I sit here?", she asked as she crouched next to him. He didn't reply. Several silent moments passed, each more agonizing than the last. "Why are you hiding your face behind that mask?", she asked. He didn't reply. Suddenly, she playfully reached for his face and pulled the mask off. "Don't hide yourself, you're beautiful!", she remarked. He turned his head sharply at her smiling face, expecting to feel seething rage.
But all he felt was affection.
"Happy Birthday Jake", she mumbled weakly as her skeletal arms reached out to the cake on the hospital cart. "Make a wish, honey", she whispered. The morbid silence in the air was only interrupted by the occasional beep of medical equipment. Jake closed his eyes for a few seconds, inhaled sharply and with all his might, blew as hard as he could at all nine candles on his birthday cake. The warm candlelight gave way to the dim clinical fluorescent lights outside her hospital room. She looked up at him softly, and asked "What did you wish for?". "I wished that you would get better.", he naively answered as he rested his head on his mother's comforting shoulders. Her hand slowly reached around his body and held his head. "Oh Jake, I just wish your father were here."
With a flute of Moët & Chandon in one hand and a plate of White Sturgeon Caviar in the other, he navigated through the party to find his coworkers. "You are one hell of a negotiator, man! I didn't think they'd agree to forty percent, let alone fifty!", his manager exclaimed. "Cheers!" Behind his weak smile, he thought of his wife back home. She was deathly ill, but here he was, pretending to celebrate. He took a deep breath and reassured himself—he'll pick up his bonus next week and promptly hand in his two weeks notice. Maybe then, he could find the time to spend with his wife and his boy.
The sharp beep of the cardiac monitor broke the somber silence. "I have a present for you", she said as she turned her frail body to pick up something from the other side of the bed. "Here, it's your birthday present," she revealed and delicately dropped the Rubik's cube into his palms.
"I'll always be with you."
Still in his business suit from yesterday's party and holding back his tears, he knocked on the wooden front door of the psychologist. The nurse led him across a long, desolate white hallway. He spotted Jake, crouched silently in a cold corner of the room away from the other children, but still comforted by the warmth of the Rubik's cube.
Memo: Updated Containment Procedures for SCP-3999-J
Urgency: CRITICAL
Date: 5 December 2017
I received an urgent message last week. According to researchers in Research Wing R (led by Dr. Talloran), SCP-3999-J is quickly adapting to our current procedures at an accelerated rate and will breach containment in approximately 20 days if this issue is not addressed immediately. I'm sure you are all aware that this entity is capable of causing an XK End-Of-World scenario, so we must approach these concerns as seriously as possible.
After a harrowing meeting with the research leads, the following short-term ammendments are to be made to the containment procedures, effective immediately (an O5 level authorization is attached to this message):
- At least 5 litres of chilled eggnog must be present in containment cell refrigerators and bars at all times.
- A 2m tall *Abies procera* plant adorned with Christmas-themed decorations must be moved into the containment chamber and maintained daily. Some of our noble lead researchers have agreed to sacrifice some of their time to hang up the decorations.
- Gifts wrapped in red and green coloured wrapping paper must be placed underneath the *Abies procera* plant on 2017-12-24 between 21:00 and 23:59. The contents are currently unknown, but Researcher Talloran has assured us that he will "ask around and see what gifts it wants", although Dr. Talloran states that one of these gifts is likely to be a Nintendo^TM Switch, "the one with the Super Mario Odyssey bundle".
CRUCIAL WARNING: Dr. Talloran has also indicated that the song "All I Want For Christmas Is You" will almost certainly cause a containment breach. To play it safe, this song is not to be played anywhere on-site. Any staff found playing or listening to this song will be terminated immediately.
I have also increased the size of MTF-L3 to assist us in these dark times.
May God be with us,
Site Director Lycus.
Attached Authorization Override: O5-██
I was rushing down the stairs, buttoning up my collars and straightening my tie. I heard a buzz from my left pocket. The text message read, "I'm waiting 😘". I yelled upstairs, "Dad! My prom date's waiting!" Every moment of anticipation felt like a painful eternity. Tonight was going to be the best night of my life — if dad dropped us off at the school before it all ended.
"Dad!" I screamed again. "I'm coming! I'm coming!" he reassured me as he emerged from the staircase wall. I pointed at his shirt collar and remarked "Dad, I think your shirt's rotting." He laid his hand ever so slightly above my shoulder and said, "don't worry about me, son, it's your special day!"
"Are you sure you want to drive?", he asked as I opened the front door, "I can just pocket you both to school!". "No dad!", I protested, "I don't want to get that corrosive gunk on my suit tonight!". He opened up the box of latex gloves from the back seat and put a dozen or so on. He started the engine and pressed gently on the accelerator, being extra careful not to punch through his boots.
I could swear my dad could hear the sound of my heart beating vigorosly. "There's nothing to be worried about kiddo," he said reassuringly, "I'm sure you'll have a great time." We picked up my date and we were on our way to school. "Now kids", he warned as he tilted slightly in his seat, "I'm sure there are a lot of kids out there smoking and doing drugs. I don't want to see either of you joining those bad eggs!" "And one more thing", he whispered loudly to me as he pointed at the glovebox, "remember to use protection!" "Dad! Come on!" I replied in same loud whisper. His heart is in the right place, but sometimes I swear he wants to see how embarrassing he can be.
After we pulled over next to the school, my date got out of the car. As we walked towards the school, hands held, dad called over to me; "Aren't you forgetting something?", he beckoned. He handed me a condom packet. "Stay safe!", he whispered. The black goo had already torn through the condom making it useless, but I pocketed it anyway. "I love you dad." "I love you too son."
Formatting Experiments
As usual, take 'em and credit me.
