The Pilotside Chronicle

Alt Text:
I knew I was opening myself up for this kind of thing, and I’m not sure if it was horniness or pity, but I let him get into it a bit. In real life this went on for a fair bit longer, but the Clifford Note’s version is this: He was assigned to work as a missionary in Ghost Ridge – a town with two major exports: Pornography and ghost hunters. A place where the town hall has a portal to hell, monsters from another dimension spew forth from a lake five miles out of town, and people there LIKE it that way.
He wondered why he was sent there. As punishment? As a sick joke? To teach him a lesson that he couldn’t wrap his head around.
”Yeah, gee whiz, that’s super fucked up that they did that to you. I’m sorry… uh…”
Well
Um…
Let’s call him ”Martin” for this story. ”Martin Conclave.”

”I’m sorry Martin, but I come here to relax. I need this for my anxiety.”
He looked confused around the room. ”You need to come to a dingy solitary confinement chamber full of ancient, barely electronic ticket games? ”

”Yep!”
”Does it work?”

”Usually,” I said, CRUSHING a skeetball to powder in my bare hands.
”Oh, suh-sorry.”
I can too!
Give me your hand, Evan.
…
See?
Hey are you horny now? Good! The heat in this story is about to get TURNED THE FUCK UP.