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the black cocaine

My best friend, Shannyn Smith.

July 24th, 2009

it's snake blood.

I would like you to meet my best friend, Shannyn Smith. She also goes by the nicknames Shannabis, Nanner, Shanberry Juice and Grumpy Waittress.

We first met way back in ‘02 at the goth club known as Club Orpheus. You know, back then it was legal to actually perform human sacrifice in the basement, and Shanana was a trained master at human dismemberment. The first time I wandered into that basement, the walls and floor slathered in blood, gristle and various amusing entrails, she was not only in charge but a successful businesswoman. She had a funnel cake stand and bead jewelry for sale, some of which had human teeth laced into it. I was intrigued and had several long and complex conversations with her over the unhealthy screams of the blade-smitten victims on the slab.

Week after week I would return and we would converse elaborately about world politics, cooking, taxonomy and ancient history. It was only when the talks began to tend towards what she called the secret labors of the Hindu clans that constructed the Angkor Wat temple in ancient Cambodia that I began to suspect this was all going somewhere, rather than just everyday Friday evening chats over torture victims. It was also around this time that I started to notice the strange movements along the walls of the dungeon chamber.

One Friday she was not there, and her succubus informed me she was out of the country on a business trip. Ignoring the shrill cries of the imprisoned souls awaiting their doom for me to release them, I decided to take this opportunity to more closely inspect the strange activity on the wall I had been seeing. Close up, I could see what appeared to be thousands, if not millions of very tiny arachnids, all quickly working to neatly parcel and carry away tiny bits of the various rotting entrails and sputum lining the walls. They seemed to be shuffling the morsels to various carefully concealed holes scattered about the corners of the dungeon, which was itself of an unusually deceptive geometry, as there was no real way to tell its size just from a glance.

Indeed, it was then I noticed that for the size of the building above, this dungeon was of an unnatural depth and shape, and it seemed to me that the height of the ceilings should well extend beyond the level of the street outside, though I knew this could not be. Chilled, I decided to take my leave for the evening, pocketing my funnel cake for eating later, perhaps when my senses had calmed.

I abstained from returning for a few weeks, a result of that uneasy encounter with the spiders, but eventually my curiosity drove me back to that place. Again I found Sha Nay Nay, back to her usual rituals, slicing, slaughtering, teasing and the like. She seemed not to notice that I had stopped coming; she just greeted me as usual. Carefully I inquired about the spiders, the holes in the corners, the obscene angles of the walls and seemingly impossible dimensions of the basement.
Smiling, she began to tell me her secret. As it turned out, she was actually descended from an ancient race called the Cenotex, a primitive race of giant gray forest-dwelling spiders. Based in old Cambodia, they were actually the original constructors of the Angkor Wat temple, and in exchange for building this temple they were allowed to freely consume the sweet blood of humanity for all of time, as long as it was done in secrecy. This dungeon, as it were, was actually the feeding chamber for her Little Ones, as she called them.

I can’t say I was anything short of amused and, in a way, relieved. That explained everything to me. That night we went out for beers and slaughtered a few homeless people and we have been friends ever since.

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