Bastian Writes Stuff

Flash fiction AI can't imitate.

“Oh baby, I like it stinky,” the woman said to her lover — a six-foot tall sentient brick of Limburger cheese.

 

— Bastian Espada

 

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“Given the severity of your crimes I, Minos judge of the underworld, sentence you to…”

The man’s butt hole clenched.

“love yourself!”

The man screamed, and screamed and screamed.

 

— Bastian Espada

 

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A man in his fifties lounged on a deck chair, watching his teenage son chat with a couple of girls besides a pool.

He stood up, and tip-toed over to where his son was. Before the teenager could react, the man hugged his son from behind and shoved him into the pool.

The man grinned.

The girls laughed.

The young man resurfaced. “What did you do that for!”

“You know son, I once read that there comes a day in a man’s life, where they pick up their kid, put them down, and never pick them up again. I just didn’t want that day to be today.”

 

— Bastian Espada

 

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“I might have something that could help,” the old traveling apothecary said.

He got off his cart, and signaled to his assistant to get something from one of the chests sitting on the wagon bed.

The assistant produced a small vial and handed it to his master.

The hooded customer-to-be grunted with disgust when he saw the black, dense liquid that swirled inside the small glass container.

“This elixir is made with quite a rare mushroom — Algernon’s cap.” The apothecary grinned. “ It will give you the intellectual powers you seek.”

The hooded traveler took the vial from the apothecary’s hands, and tossed him a gold coin. He then inspected it closely, unsheathed his sword and pointed it at the old man. “If this doesn’t work, I will cut you down right here.” He drank the potion in a single gulp.

A few tense seconds passed, then the man clutched his belly, grimaced, turned around and dashed towards the woods — diarrhea streaming down his pants.

“What a goddamn idiot,” the apothecary said to his assistant. “Let’s get the hell out of here before he comes back.”

 

— Bastian Espada

 

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“And who’ll buy all the stuff if people aren’t getting paid?”

“The robots can be programmed to consume.”

“So that’s your grand vision, huh? Just robots making things, robots buying things and a few lucky bastards owning the whole damn thing.”

“No, of course not. Robots can be programmed to own as well.”

 

— Bastian Espada

 

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“That’s always your excuse! You say you’re tired.”

“That’s ‘cause I always am.”

“And not just when it comes to this, you use it for multiple things!”

“Well, that’s ‘cause I’m always tired in multiple ways.”

 

— Bastian Espada

 

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She’s drinking wine,

He’s guzzling beers,

They are celebrating New Year’s,

By playing Pokemon with the kids.

 

— Bastian Espada

 

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“The sun will shine tomorrow, life will yet again be worth living. Please…”

“Oh, I don’t doubt for a second that you’re correct darling. In fact, that’s very much the reason I’m in a hurry to end it all today.”

 

— Bastian Espada

 

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Under a dark cloudy sky, a woman — dressed in a full chicken costume— places her wedding ring on top of a coffin.

The casket is lowered into the ground.

One last promise, fulfilled.

 

— Bastian Espada

 

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“During our last session we talked about how you don’t feel like life is worth living, but you also hate the idea of dying.” Satan grabbed his pink notepad and clicked his pen. “We agreed you’d try to do some physical exercise and meditation. Why don’t tell me how that went?”

“…”

“I see.” Satan placed his notepad back on the table and leaned in. “Let me ask you something Arthur, when was the last time you were free?”

“…”

 

— Bastian Espada

 

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