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ABK Stories

The Black Liquid

The Black Liquid  

Alexander Bjørn

At first, we thought the black liquid was oil, that we’d struck it rich and that we’d be able to retire and live in leisure. We actually started writing down all the ways we’d spend the money. Our first choice was to fill a yacht with strippers and to pour enough kool-ade into a lake to make it turn awesome.

But things didn’t go quite as we had planned. Our first indication was the liquid’s uncanny ability to turn our steel piping into small conjoined snakes and our trucks into bitey and hoppy toad-like creatures. It did well enough in plastic, though. So we filled it into containers and took it to our lab to ascertain the black liquid’s value as an asset.

Our lab technician, a spectacled muffin of a man qualified by his lab coat worn properly in company regulation (backwards so that the science he’s facing will have a hard time entering his bloodstream and giving him crazy ideas like global warming and the existence of the color green), looked at the liquid under the ‘scope’.

“I see,” he said, “Hmmm,” he continued, most scientifically.

My colleagues and I shared glances of mutual amazement, eyes wide we asked almost in unison: “Well, what is it?”

“I don’t know,” he admitted.

“What do you mean you ‘don’t know’, you are a scientist, aren’t you?” I asked, betrayed by the faith I had put in science and sea-fairing money covered strippers only moments before.

“Well,” He began, pointing at a large object on the floor, “You see here, this is a buk-it.”

“Yes?” I replied in question, no longer certain I understood the complex terminology entering our conversation. However, I figured I would soon learn the meaning of the word ‘buk-itt’ buy the time the scientist was finished speaking- as generally scientists teach you things when they speak. “yes, yes of course it’s a buk-it-tah, as you say, that much is clear and obvious.” -I nailed it.

“Right, well…” the science man turned and pointed at the scope, “That was where the buk-itt was when I sat down- as you can see- it has now removed itself from upon my slide and onto the floor where it has taken the basin-like shape you see before you.”

“Yes, yes, that’s all good and well and interesting,” began my irritable colleague, “But what of the liquid, is it oil?”

“Can we pour it on strippers?” I asked, just making sure.

“Can we burn it and make cars go?” My colleague asked, with a stern eye to me.

“Go- what?” asked the science-muffin man, rudely ignoring my inquiries about strippers and clearly ignorant of the terminology involving cars and how they go.

“You know,” my colleague replied impatiently, “go VROOOOOOM, like they do.”

“Oh…. yes of course,” The scientist answered nodding slowly, “vrooom indeed… No, I don’t think you should… uh-” He stopped,   eyes wide and full of terror- before muffling, “I don’t thn w shld brn it…” He looked down at the floor and stepped back scared as if he had just seen a buk-itt turn into a monster before his very eyes.

“Well why the hell not!?” I replied, still hurt about the boat stripper thing, and worried about my kool-ade.

“B-cause,” he said, and groped for the door handle for some reason, eyes fixed on my colleague, his voice muffled even more into a whisper-

“It’s… uhm…”

“OUT WITH IT MAN!” I screamed, causing him to jump, “I Can’t hear you with all those Crunching sounds in here!”

Suddenly he wheeled around and shut the door on his own face, leaving me and my colleague alone through the scientific-looking glass door.

“BECAUSE,” he said quite out of breath, “It’s eating Herry, sir!”

I looked over at the boiling mass of puss and blood, my colleague’s limbs twitching as giant teeth tore through his flesh.

“Perfect!” I said, and walked myself through the door quite to the horror of the muffin-looking man attempting to barricade it.

“P-Perfect?” He shuttered, tears coming down his cheeks.”

“Absolutely,” I began, putting my hand up for a high five, “We’ll have to add giant straws to the list for all that kool-ade… we’re selling this to the military!”

The scientist puked and shuttered on the floor, but I was still waiting.

“Come on man,” I said to the mewling man on the floor, “when someone puts their hands up for a high five you NEVER leave them hanging… I mean it, if you don’t give me a high five right now, you won’t even get one stripper on my yacht, do you hear me?”

Needless to say, I got my high five.

-ABK 12018/5/27 (日)


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