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For a while, I didn’t even know I could turn into a ball. I mostly just shot stuff in my backyard with my plasma cannon. By the way, plasma cannon? Sounds cool, until you realize it's only about as powerful as a machine gun, and machine guns still let you use your fucking hand.
Anyway, one day I was trying to override some PAL thing so I could watch an import of Amelie my friend sent me, and I must have hit a switch or something, because all of a sudden I was the size of a small pumpkin, scuttling around my apartment not knowing what the fuck. Then I couldn’t figure out how to turn back!
It took me three days of rolling around eating food I’d left on the floor before I figured out I could drop one of those plasma bombs and hop up onto the kitchen counter. Ruined the hardwood flooring I'd just installed. And let me tell you: the inside of that ball was plastered with vomit in those days.
Yeah, it’s pretty disorienting having your bones and organs feng shui’d into a small sphere. But, you know, you get used to it. And now I love that damn ball. Anytime I’m getting my tight, toned ass handed to me by a space pirate or awkwardly bump into an ex on the street…ball and bomb, baby. Takes care of everything. I’ve left more than a few of my exes, mouth agape, with third degree plasma burns over the front half of their bodies while I roll happily away.
Also, thanks to being forced into that position all the time, I can go down on myself now. So if you’re ever at a party and a mysterious drifter offers you a battle suit for forty bucks and a lap dance, my advice would be to take him up on it. I did, and I couldn’t be happier. I still haven’t seen Amelie, though.
fucking PAL.
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