Oh, you still want to talk about vapors? Dead that. It’s done. As a matter of fact, I’ve got some vapors for you. Remember the 92-dicked daikaiju demon that fucked the virtual plaza and all its shoppers to exploded smithereens? Well, having feasted upon the last of the wretched emoji-souls scavenged from the wreckage, the monster formerly known as 30XX now casts a Night Curse, ripping the codec of virtual space a new one via Black Misanthropic Portals. You’d like to think it’s returned from whence it came, and maybe it has, but now it’s dragging you “through dark dimensions of harsh apocalyptic sorcery and infinite putrid darkness.” You latch onto the nearest “hardvapor,” hoping the familiar scent of industry will act as a smelling salt to jolt you from this nightmare, but instead your grip is cut by the same “poison dagger thrust into the gut of false egoist collectives, sun worshipers, and all who embrace the cosmic lie.” You continue to descend “into the darkest realms of harsh rhythmic destruction and abysmal obliteration.” Yes, there are vapors here, but they reek of sulfur and decay. Still think you can make it out alive? Don’t hold your breath.
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