Splotchy's Viral Theatre Redux

My second tag this week. Normally, when someone throws the gauntlet down in such an aggressive, demonic (but not always wide) stance, I'm ready to rejoice because it means I have to put less thought into a post and you all know how much I love to not think.

Sheesh, don't be so fucking quick to agree. Assholes.

But this tag is a sword with one of those high-falutin' double edges that you can't order off the teevee but have to travel to Old Europe to get: another infection by the greatest meme in the history of the known universe (I can't speak for any parallel ones).

Anyway, Señor Spielbergo has released this New-and-Improved® virus into the electrons and I'm afraid I've been stricken. I'm even more afraid of these exploding pustules on my skin. I'm most afraid of my contribution which really does suck vast fields of ass. Oh well. On with the show.

I had been shuffling around the house for a few hours and already felt tired. The doorbell rang. I opened the front door and saw a figure striding away from the house, quickly and purposefully. I looked down and saw a bulky envelope. I picked it up. The handwriting was smudged and cramped, and I could only make out a few words. (Splotchy)

"Meet me at two o'clock at Grisham Square. Don't be late!"

What? I already had an appointment at that time. In fact, that was the only reason I had even taken off work that Wednesday. But, when I saw the photos, I knew I had to go and see what the hell was going on. Oh gosh, now I wish I hadn't, but how was I to know then that Elizabeth would take this whole thing so far? (Freida Bee)

She had exposed the nefarious Republican oil-for-neckties program, skillfully dismantling its diabolically brilliant mind control scheme, giving each man, woman and child his or her freewill back, and this had made her a national, nay, worldwide, heroine, but -- the fear -- the look of stark, otherworldly terror on the -- could they even be classified as faces anymore?

No, I had to swallow the overwhelming dread that was threatening to force me into complete shutdown, collapsing on the hallowed ground where I would silently, naively wish it all away until it came for -- me. Fruitlessly wiping away a flood of icy sweat, I knew I had to steel my resolve, look upon those photos once more and let them burn their horrific images in my psyche. Permanently. (Randal Graves)

Sorry, you've been drafted. Get writing (or don't):
Dean, anita, (0)(0), Scarlet, Utah Savage.