We are All Green and Gelatinous on the Inside

Drake was not emo. He was a gamer kid, and he was playing his game like nobody’s business. However, he was not succeeding in working through certain emotions.

Wilma Sectna called him a creepypasta giant, meaning, he was tall, skinny, and emo. He was not emo. Drake should have made fun of her name in response.

He thought about what he should have said, something like: “how’s the Scooby Gang.” And, she would have said “What??” all sadly, and he would have said: “because you’re a nerd!” And, she would have cried with her chest jiggling. He liked it when that happened.

He wondered why people are born like that.

He told his party what happened.

“Wilma, sounds like she checks a dog’s privilege, Deathbringer,” said Donkeypunch245. Deathbringeronakillbinge666 was Drake’s Xbox live handle.

“Drake, you need to just calm down,” said Trans-sending34, “that’s just how she is trying to get your goat.

He quickly responded with, “No! On here I am Deathbringeronakillbinge. Just call me Deathbringer for short if you want. Don’t call me Drake… I hate my name.” Trans-sending34 went to Drake’s school. She was the only person who gamed with him who actually knew him.

“Maybe… she likes you…” Trans-sending tried.

“Stop Trans-sending, she’s a bitch. I know it and you know it.” Drake said.

“You know I read a fan theory that Wilma actually orchestrates each of the monster run-ins. It’s basically proven. But, don’t settle for a Wilma, wait till you find your Daphne.” said Donkeypunch.

“You’re not helping Donkeypunch,” Trans-sending replied.

Drake thought hard about what annoyed him so much about Wilma. “It’s just the disrespect, how can she be so disrespectful? I deserve respect.”


He finally made it to the Velocotemple. He called out to his party, “Are you guys ready to face the Dino-god?”

“Yeah” And “Yeah” were the confirmations.

Drake triggered the summoning and a voice came from the Priestasaurious, who was basically a T-Rex with robes on. “Fool!” Said the voice. “You have left your base totally undefended. Learn to defend yourself.” And, the Dino-god was summoned but back at his base.

Donkeypunch was jumping around like a mad man while he was engaging the dino-god. “Oh, shit! We got to get back to our base!” And they ran through the map.

They approached Donkle the true. He was a triceratops in shimmering armor who stood upright.

“This guy will help us,” Said Drake.

He clicked the appropriate dialogue options to get Donkle to help him. But, he made a mistake. Instead, of choosing “dino-god is disruptive to the empire of the leaf-leaf.” He choose: “Most of the meat eater’s worship Dino-God and eating meat is wrong which is why we have to stop Dino-God.”

Donkle the true furrowed his eyebrows and looked very sad. “My best friend is a meat-eater just because he eats meat doesn’t mean he is bad. I will not help you.” And, Donkle left.

“What the fuck!?” said Drake.


It was an hour later and Donkeypunch and Trans-sending were tired of Drake carrying the game and stealing their kills. Plus he was yelling into the mic.

“You need a break,” said Donkeypunch.

“Yep, you need a break,” confirmed Trans-sending.

“Whatever! Fine!” yelled Drake, who was hopped up on caffeine and sugar. He broke out in a cold sweat, and flung the controller across the room, causing the wire to fling out of the USB port and spasm in the air.

“So what’s a donkey pu-” Trans-sending asked before Drake turned off the game.

He got up and looked through his drawers, and found his hidden pack of cigarettes.

He stood out on his front porch which hung a story in the air.

It wasn’t just Wilma. It was all the people online. Not his party, but the disrespectful people out there. Sure, he could out play them; but they were always more clever. They were good at pissing him off. He wished he could be horrible to them, all of them.

He lit up a cigarette and he breathed it in. After the first hit, the tobacco, the energy drink and the root beer started to brew in his throat. Damn, what I wanna do to that bitch, thought Drake.

“Fuck you Wilma! Fuck you God, making people like Wilma!” and drake pursed his lips together and gathered all the mucus into his mouth, right in front of his teeth.  Then, he spat out a masterful loogie.


“Oh! My gosh” said the loogie, his voice getting farther and farther away.

“I’m so happy to be born!” he said next.

“If i could only turn around and see my father.” said the loogie.

“Thank you, creator!” Loogie yelled out next.

“I love you and everyone! Just focus on your inward journey, you’ll be fine!” “Yeppie!” he yelled as loud as he could, and off he flew following a perfect parallel to the earth’s surface with the ever so small, small curvature of the earth’s crust. At first Drake furrowed his eyes, he was really weirded out.

But then, the more distance the loogie flew away the more Drake felt sick, but at the same time eerily, really good.

“Wow, such a beautiful night” said the loogie who was flying through the air next to little tufts of cotton clouds.

The haze of twilight added purple blushes to the clouds. And the sky’s peering stars all winked at him according to the music in his head, making smiling eyes of starlight.

“Wow, so pretty,” said loogie.

Drake’s balcony was in the front of Drake’s house, facing away from the center of the house.  It was pointed east and little loogie was quickly traveling towards the Atlantic.

The loogie was as fast as sound and ripped across the sky like a green rocket going higher and higher.

Little loogie went on quite a few adventures after that.

When the loogie went over Florida he started to lose speed and faded down to the ground. “Well would ya look at that?,” Said a man peculiarly looking at the sky. “Oh, My Stars and Garters,” said the man as he realized the projectile was headed right for him. The man dropped his beer and his hat nearly fell off his bald head as he embraced the ground. The little loogie hit a beam right next to were the man’s head had just been.  It shot a hole straight through the beam.

Little loogie, barely born, was brought to jail that night.

The morning of his hearing, little loogie was terrified. But he presented the case as honestly as he could. But the lawyer was quick to assault him on any base morality that any person could have neglecting the lawyer’s own. And little loogie was terrified. That lawyer nearly won the case. But he forgot one thing: you can’t prosecute a loogie.

After this the loogie went to the lawyer and told him, “you’re a bad man.” And the lawyer said: “listen little loogie, you always have to support your case, no matter what.” And little loogie brooded.

It was only in Greece that he later learned you can’t just take any shape you want to support argument like the lawyer had done. Little loogie would change his amorphous body to any shape he wanted to make himself seem right. Once after an argument where a man said Plato would agree with him, little loogie took on Plato’s form and said I agree with that little loogie. And while little loogie thought he was being convincing. The people could tell from his greenish yellow body and partial transparency that he was, in fact, a loogie. And they said, “listen loogie, in order to make a convincing philosophical argument you can’t take any form you want.” And little loogie considered this and replied, “I feel like that’s a part of the answer, but not the whole thing.” And they said, “Little loogie, you can’t just feel something and accept it as true, you need philosophy. Feelings are just an effect of the ego.”

It was in China that loogie learned that feelings are important. A man had stolen a bag of rice and wobbled away on two peg feet. Little loogie said this is wrong and tried to bring him to justice, but everyone in the town said, “we pity the man, little loogie.  Never ignore your feelings when it comes to morality.”

On and on little loogie went, learning lessons that seemed to contradict each other. But all the while, learning the hidden path that he should follow. And he grew faster and faster, and stronger and stronger.


It was when he was going over the vast calm waters of the Pacific Ocean that he knew he was returning to his creator. He was ready.

It was on Bourbon Street that he slowed down and found his creator. He was giddy and glad and ready to tell Drake everything that he had learned. Suddenly, little loogie saw him.

Drake’s visage was hanging over a small, old woman in the black crawl space between two buildings. He had her purse in his hands as she was desperately trying to pull her purse away. “I need these medications to live!” she begged.  Without pity, he continued to wrestle her purse from her hands.  She would not let go so with a kick and a shove from Drake, she toppled down onto the pavement.

The loogie could make out his hair which was spiked at the top and long at the bottom. The begging continued as he drunkenly tugged on her purse. Then Drake looked up and saw that loogie looking down on him.

He stopped and she got up and fixed herself in a haze. She left quickly with her purse. And loogie looked at him. And he said: “life’s been good since you left. I know what you are. I’m better then you. Let me tell you that much. Even though I’ve been kicked out and fired, shot and tazed, battered and beaten. When you’re down here, you feel no pain at all.” Little loogie didn’t know what to do so in the rush of the moment he spat.  He felt a feeling and little lougie spat on Drake. What do loogies spit? Well, he spat out a brain dead tiny human that hit him in the face. Its eyes were blood shot and uncoordinated. It looked just like Drake.

Little loogie journeyed into space that day. He flew faster than light. The stars twinkled at him and the planets turned about. Everything was shining. And, little loogie was oblivious to it all. He only focused on the vast distances that he had to travel. He closed his eyes to reflect on what he saw and for days he kept them closed. Traveling faster than anything is able.

Then he hit something. And he opened his eyes.

“Who dares spit their conscience back in the face of God!” yelled the massive object.

Little loogie looked at the object. His face was giant and dark like a black hole. But two galaxies constantly turned at its center. His body which was a fraction of his head was a cloak of Stars. And, his crown was the pillars of creation.

“Only, me,” said loogie, “a little loogie.”

“Why are you here!” yelled God, his voice echoing power.

“I want to be back with my creator.” said loogie.

“Well, I’m not your creator!” roared God.

“Well, surely, you can join us again.” said loogie.

God turned his massive eyes, which were the size and consistency of galaxies toward earth.

“So that is the man who spits in my face.” Said God.

“Please don’t kill him! I have learned a lot these past few years. I’m not asking you to forgive him. I’m just asking you to return me to him. And I will guide him through anything you put him through.” said loogie.

“You really want to return to that…” said god.

“Yes.” replied loogie, feeling very small.

God thought it over in his head and finally said, “Fine! It seems the only way I can get through to these people is to be just as disrespectful right back. Here climb in my mouth!” said God.

Little loogie did just that. And God spat him right back towards our solar system, towards Earth, directly at Drake. Drake learned that nothing hurts more than the scorn of God. And spit, is scorn.

Drake woke up in a hospital, feeling like a boulder had just crushed his brain. His whole head was watery. And he heard a voice. The voice told him, “think of all the horrible things you have done.” Drake didn’t have to think hard before beginning to cry.

“Good,” said the voice. “Now, let’s begin life.”

He flew further.

Fritz Westenberger was born in Metairie and grew up in the suburb of Mandeville. Things were pretty quiet and solemn in this sanctuary. The atmosphere in his life changed when he went to school at New Orleans’ very own Jesuit.

Infected by the city of New Orleans, he had to stay post-high school as well, furthering his education at Loyola and UNO.

His writing takes on many roles. Scary and strange, wacky and abstract, or funny and freaky, he tries to mesh various art forms; trying to roll on with the art forms we all know and love.

(If you enjoyed this piece, don’t forget to check out more great fiction Here!)


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