Thursday, January 6, 2011
The Bosnian Monsta
In a land far away with grass the color of rotten fried liver and the smell of festering onions lived a Bosnian Monsta. This was no ordinary Monsta, she had hair as tall as a sky scraper, and as poofy as a white, purebred, poodle. She was known all across the world as a fashionable diva. Zebra skirts as wild as the savanna, even leopard print boots as fierce as the hunter that stalks the prey. This Bosnian Monsta walked across the land like she was the TBI. She toppled cities like lumberjacks chopping down fir trees that touch the sky. Leaving a path of destruction behind her like the remains of Hiroshima after the bomb, the Bosnian Monsta walks once again. With that slick walk as smooth and graceful as can be nobody could take her down. Yeah, she had her flaws, but the Bosnian Monsta was as confident and strong as a lion. As fly as a bird in the sky the Bosnian Monsta will destroy any city in her way in order to get what she wants. This Monsta knows how to play the game and plays it ten times better than all the males after her. A game full of skill, deceit, and no emotions. Yet a strange emotion has come upon the Monsta, one which she had once before. An emotion that confused her like if she were a child lost in an unfamiliar place. The game she once knew has taken an unexpected turn. The Bosnian Monsta didn’t know what to with this strange feeling. Like a lost child she wanders around city to city destroying all in her path trying to understand what this feeling might be. Is this really something or is it just another game? The Bosnian Monsta may lose this one, but the Bosnian Monsta will never stop ripping cities apart.
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Olja Holovcuk
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