The alternate version of me on Blahcrap rewrote a pasta I Riffed, "Rae the Killer", because it had such a cool concept: cyborg cannibal serial killer. So, he rewrote it, and I decided to Riff it. After all, anything is fair game between Dorkpools. So, let's Riff this bitch.

Filmore Fenton walked through the squalid streets of Hollywood. Let’s play a game: ever time there’s alliteration, let’s take a shot. So far, we’ve got to take two shots. He was in his early 50s, and was starting to go bald. The years have not been kind to him. He pulled his coat on a bit tighter, partly because of the cold winds of Californian nights I want to complain, but I have lived in California, so I know it can be cold, and partly because of those around him. “Damn weaboos,” he said. He looked around in disgust. Druggies, winos, and the homeless sat on the street, making the walk to his car somewhat unpleasant. Somewhat unpleasant. Not very unpleasant though. When he’d moved to LA 30 years ago (God, 30 years? Where did all the time go? The same place your hair went, baldy.), things had been nicer. Sure, there was an abundance of smog in the air, but it was nicer. Yep, being unable to breathe without collapsing your lungs is much nicer than having druggies, winos, and the homeless around.

Filmore’s ruminations were rudely Take a shot. interrupted when he was pulled into an alley and slammed onto a wall. His first though was, "God, I need a new pair of pants.” "Oh God, I'm getting robbed." Then he saw his assailant, and promptly rethought his earlier assumption. “Nope, I’m going to get raped.”

She seemed to be around her early 20s, with black hair and a brown eye. But that wasn’t what made him rethink his initial thought. “It was here quiet demeanor.” No, it was the fact that her other eyes was glowing red, she had a robotic arm, and a smile carved into her face, a la Heath Ledger Joker. –cough- Jeff the Killer ripoff –cough- Most muggers he knew didn’t look like a cyborg female version of the Joker. You’re in California. Weirder things have happened.

He thought that maybe she was one of those weirdos who dressed up for conventions or something, What were they called? Cosgamers or something. except for the fact that her robotic arm was very realistic looking, and very strong. Well someone put a lot of work into their costume.

“W-what do you want?” he asked.

“To build a snowman.”

“Money, happiness, people to kill that sort of thing. But since the first two are hard to come by, I figured your death would suffice.” She answered. Well, at least she’s honest.

Filmore was not usually one to beg, but when confronted with a murderous cyborg, he decided that maybe survival outweighed his dignity. Wow, a smart character in a horror story. That’s new. “Oh God, please don’t kill me.”

The woman laughed, and asked, “Tell me, Mr. Fenton – and yes, I know your name – why shouldn’t I kill you?”

“Because I’m in love with you.”

“I-I can help you.” He stammered.

“Oh? Please tell me how you can.”

“I can show you the world.”

“I’m a talent scout. I meet with a lot of people.” “Mostly prostitutes.”

“Yes, I know. I’ve been watching you for a while.” Ma’am, don’t steal Slender Man’s thing.

Trying not to let the thought of this murderous cyborg watching his every move scare him even more, Filmore continued. “I can get more people for you to kill.” “I call them ‘members of the Republican party.’”

This seemed to pique the woman’s interest. “Can you now? And how do I know you’re not lying?” Because plot.

“I swear to God I will if you don’t kill me.”

The woman thought, then released her grip on him.

“Fine,” she said. “I’ll let you live. I’ll let you know where and when to bring someone. If you lie to me, I will make you regret it. I will eat you alive, and give your bones to my dogs. Threats of cannibalism. Classy. And don’t try to call the cops either.”

Filmore nodded, and started hastily walking away.

“Oh, and Mr. Fenton?” the woman said.

Filmore turned.

“Have a nice night.” She said, smiling. What a nice lady. Filmore nodded and went to his car. After that whole ordeal, he needed to get home and change his pants. Hey, I used that joke before! Screw you!

This story was not that bad. Scary? No. But better than most of the crap I Riff on here. Alternate me is actually a pretty good writer. Is this story perfect? No. But it's a damn sight better than its predecessor.

So, what do you think? Was this pasta good? Bad? Should us Dorkpools be killed by a cyborg cannibal serial killer? Leave your thoughts in the comments below.