This is the location for a story I'm concocting for my advanced creative writing class. Let me know what you think. On a chunk of continental terrane floating in the atmosphere of the seventh unamed moon of Mystereus. Thousands of identical rows of suburban homes in quarter acre lots. Idylic lifestyles of smiling police men with large salaries off duty balding with large well groomed moustaches, mowing the lawn and throwing the baseball around with son, houswives setting pie in window to cool off, neighboorhood boy acts out controlled mischief which he is simultaneously tolerated and reproached for. Across the street Wally the successful salesman, a good Christian man, hops in the carpool to Church and then airport where he leaves to sell dildos and shaving cream to miscreants in Lower Suburbia. The air is clean, the sun is always bright, and social services are expertly provided by an efficient bureaucracy. Good governance is provided by Mayor Jethro Jackson, a nazi sympathizer with elegant tastes and a well known anti communist, he lives in a castle. Rumors he is building a space ship and mauseleum for himself using large numbers of Hebrew slaves. Jackson appoints workers with conservative views to the union leadership and stock brokers who read Marx in college to the business board to ensure labor and business are patriotically administred for the stability of all. Enslavement of citizens from lower Suburbia is heavily practiced and encouraged by Jackson's administration. Lower Suburbia is where the Upper Suburbians send the drug addicts, homesexuals, and foreigners. It is a rank place, but architecturally identical to Upper Suburbia. It hangs below the same chunk of continental terrane as a sort of mirror image, but gravity works in such an illogical manner that as soon as you set foot you're attached right side up again, only down is up. Windows are usually shattered, but made of holographic glass which reflects the memories of those who stare into them. Many a junkie starved to death engrossed in the images reflecting against his eyeballs from those mirrors. Lower Suburbians burned the roof of the Church and now junkies shoot horse there and watch one of the many televisions that just play static scattered about the place as dope dealers do existentialist sermons and proclaim the death of god. Believers are hung as heretics, cynicism is the orthodoxy. At the dilapidated Wal Mart, a primitive barter economy reigns supreme, the cop from upper suburbia gives a transexual a rare bead neckless crafted by his daughter to recieve services.... trotskyist students burn currency with Jackson's image on it and are instantly clubbed to death by Gestapo robots made in Japan. Rastafarians grow tall ganja and along with a family of witches and warlocks prepare it in a variety of ways and provide it as free healthcare, punks steal blankets and pillows and set up a homeless shelter...A neon sign flashes "Nowhere" a rabbi sells korean school boys with advanced calculators and great memories...will follow you around and remember things for you...bought one a year ago, started smoking bud with my friends and I and turned out to be a waste of money... best friend my friends ever had though...at the Incan Indian reservation yage is sold at the rave by shiny glowing painted dealers wearing traditional headress...college kids looking for fast food spiritualism high on leary and mayahana indulge and vomit out their internal organs as their souls are devoured by 7 dimensional pirahanas...afterwords complain that they were stuck in one of the lower bardos....it snows molly once a year here, can never be pinned down when. Since nobody works or owns clocks it doesn't matter, they call a holiday and overdose on the shit. People shit and puke and come over themselves in pure estascy...for one magical day the place is engulfed in an awe inspiring orgy of titanic proportions...soon the stench will reach Upper Suburbia, and in anger they will bomb some of the Lower Suburbian orphanages with nalpalm.... all the children in Lower Suburbia are orphans...at the orphanage they are encouraged by eraserhead hippie women well read in alternative teaching methods to explore the depths of their souls and express it in wild art as they're fed acid and thrown into a zero gravity room and blood dyed in all the colors of the rainbow is splashed around by them...there is no effective government in Lower Suburbia...every attempt at adminstration by the Upper Suburbians has been overthrown, as has every strong armed asshole with despotic aspirations...what results is what I've described as best I can, and also near constant harassment by the fear and morality crazed gods in Upper Suburbia. The Upper Suburbians routinely send slaving parties down donned in SWAT gear to round up suitable property...they no longer attempt to restore order, there's no need or desire to. Its also been rumored Jackson comes down in helos accompanied by his Praetorian gaurd to go hunting. In Lower Suburbia there's a great maximum security prison where Upper Suburbians accidently sent down lock themselves up to hide from the freakers and dopers. Serial killings are legal but regulated. An old gay anarchist writer lives in a cabin on a whiskey lake where drunk alien refugees (from outer space) fish. There's a very fast train conducted by a coked up hipster folks naturally call Casie. It's about the only properly functioning thing, but it never arrives on time, and Casie routinely crashes the thing for kicks killing everyone inside. Vikings eat fly agaric mushrooms and work themselves into frenzies attacking the run down church, they kill the junkies and shoot their dope...the french existentialist dealers hiding behind the pews return to the altar and continue their sermon, reading from their book with empty pages....
5lb potatoes, 1ld carrots, mushrooms, 20 bensons, milk, bread If you added that line to the bottom of your work then read the whole thing out loud while riding up and down blackpool beach on a camel named Trevor it would be a masterpiece
