Writing was truly the lowest form of art, huh?

“Is this what my life has become?” I asked myself outloud in between puffs of smoke and blood veins popping. I had done another all nighter of writing, sustaining myself on my usual blend of masturbation, cup noodles and the imported energy drinks deemed too inhumane by the UN. And despite God's best effort. There it was. The title of the book, and it’s content that could only be described as “limp”.

“My faith in trickle down economics has inadvertently caused my death and now i got isekai’d to the world of Pagda and somehow I'm my own mom too!?!?” it read. Every word seared my eye at a glizening 144hz refresh rate on my "LG 32GK650F-B 32" QHD Gaming Monitor with Radeon FreeSync Technology", Black. Virtually Borderless: The ultra-thin bezel on 3 sides of this streamlined display offers a virtually borderless visual experience; A sleek addition to any desktop

Somehow it was the thought that this novel would be a hit that hurt more. This is how art dies, with a roaring applause.

“No!”

“No?”

“No”

I couldn’t let this happen. I have been on autopilot too long. No more derivative genre drivel or hastily covered up fetishes. I will go where the true artists lives, Where the cum-ed becomes the cum-ee.

“I’l become an editor”

With my dick immediately growing 3 inches and an overwhelming sense to suck it overpowering me. I was off.

“ah, I almost forgot!”

I selected the whole text, and vigorously pressed “del”. And with that the shitty book was gone and the world was a lighter place for it.

                                                                                        ***

Pagda was a nice enough fantasy world all things considered. It wasn’t particularly stooped in the Post modern Neo-garagepunk dur-irony megameta new notsincerity spiral death meme money-type writing the kids were doing nowadays. A sweet and straight forward anglo medieval setting, ripe with cliches. Where most of the fauna can and will rape you. And only 5/8ths of the races carry some uncomfortable racial overtones. And in this world there lived a farm boy, Bruce was his name. A sweet little kid, humble beginnings but kind and loyal. Such a shame that he died of tuberculosis and this story is about Xerglas. The town amateur comedy hackler and serial sternum licker.

Xerglas was walking home from a particular fruitful day of taking fries from friends without asking. So full of his own farts that he thought it was time for him to go home and do some editing. But the delusions of grandeur were stopped short by a a glowing man that appeared in front of him. Somehow shapeless while also having the perfect form.

“Yo” the man said. The word echoing into infinity, each reverb more magnificent than the other.

“the universal telecom is broken so i’m hoping you can do the work for me by word of mouth”

“W-what work?” Xerglas muttered, still in shock from what might very well be god appearing before him

“So this universe was just killed by it’s author, but we thought instead of letting it go to waste we can put it to some use.”

“Author”? “killed”? these where some frightening ideas Xerglas thought, ideas that surely would carry more existential dread if someone better was writing this.

“The universe next over had one too many harem protagonists isekai’d there, and with all the female population flocking on a few guys that refuse to have sex we are facing a population problem. So we gonna diversify the pool with your world”

“I can do some of that sexing if i must, so how do you plan on doing this, open a gateway for us?”

“Nah, i’m gonna save some time and just merge the whole thing”

“Merge?” was all Xerglas had time to say before the man disappeared in a blinding light. Before he had time to resenter himself it began. The first few seconds were the quiet ones. People, houses and objects that we had never seen before started getting faint shadows in the air. And with a crack like a Bone breaking it snapped into reality. The ground started viciously crackign and shaking as two worlds was Z-figthing (look it up). Lamp posts spawned in children, children spawned in lamp posts. The town erupted because it wasn’t big enough for two of itself. People got either merged or sliced by wayward objects. Screams, blood, projectiles, incompatible creatures merging. llamposted children was creating a deafening symphony of horror. The ones that died was the lucky ones. Hell was a better place than this, Because atleast hell was for the people that deserved it. and Noone deserved this.