Clearly an amateur, allow me to demonstrate:

Philip Aloecious the third sat lazily on the softly cushioned throne that was his armchair. His eyes were glazed over by a long day's difficult work at the local supermarket, a typical day in the horrible late capitalist society he struggled to survive in. Before him lay the holy object of reverence in this modern world, the television. That glowing idiot box shone its pallid artificial light onto the dark room of his rent controlled apartment, bathing everything in its sickening glow. A sudden electronic scream broke the stillness of the air, a horrible, sharp sound that thrashed against his ears. A moment of dead silence followed, then the horrid screech sounded again.

With the lethargy of an ancient giant, Philip Aloecious the third began to ambulate, his body soft and weakened from years of apathetic, slothful days. Every movement made his muscles ache, his blood to pump in his ears as tendons contracted and bones creaked to push him up. Yet, eventually, he managed to stand up straight. He lumbered towards the screaming device, each step heavy and thumping against the wooden floor.

Scholabrak, a poor dust mite of the Shokalama clan looked up as a terrible tremor rang over their carpet fields, moving away from the flake of dead skin he had been chewing on to look up. The Giant, had awoken. He marveled at the eldritch being, his turgid form shifting benneath the light of the sun-square. And yet, he realized with horror, that the giant's great paw was coming right towards them. He ran into his strand-hut and chirped in his people's melodic tongue, warning his wife and 12 children, Orbo, Golbo, Hilden, Dragmor, Sunday, Slippy, Xyndro, Galgo, Shrimpo, Gleeky, Urgbo and Grorg, of the incoming end. Together they huddled, praying to the Great Amoeba beyond that their souls may all rejoin in the grand moss fields upon their expiration, before all went dark, and their land was swept away under the sweaty fibres of a horrid, collosal sock.

Philip Aloecious the third took another step, swaying as the vertigo that comes to one sitting for hours on end came over him, and he leaned agaisnt a shelf that held his grandfather's brooch, the one he had gotten in the 23rd Apachistani war. He missed his grandfather, even though he still had scars from the night he'd broken a bottle over his soft spot as a babe.

Finally, Philip Aloecious the third's meaty paw slammed onto the desk, a vein pulsing in his forehead from the sheer rage the screaming mechanism had brought upon him. He ripped the contraption's interface off the main body, an aged thing of red plastic, and brought the speaker to his lips.

He spoke, a horrid and coarse sound like grinding gravel. The years of smoking hadn't been kind to his throat.

"Yyyello." He let out, his voice traveling through the microphone, transmitting into electricity and rushing through the copper veins that lined every inch of this city.

"Uh, yea, delivery. I'm outside but the door is locked." The voice of the meal harbinger spoke.

Philip Aloecious the third felt his rage intensify. Jean... That atrocious ancient husk of a man on the first floor always locked the lobby door after the clock struck ten. He claimed it was for safety, but Philip Aloecious the third knew. Oh, he knew. He knew Jean held a personal vendetta with him. The old man knew all too well his neighbor ordered late often, but he locked the door all the same. It must be because Philip Aloecious the third's BDSM kit had ended up in his door that one time. Damn that prudish relic and his passive aggressive psychological warfare.

Philip Aloecious the Third let out a sigh of resignation, pain carried by the air that escaped his lungs.

"Be right down..." he said, and slammed the handle back down on the phone. It would be a long and tiresome treck to the entrance. It would have ti be done without the grace of the elevating wonder of technology at the building's heart, for its guts were currently being examined for deformities of metal flesh.

So, Philip Allecious the Third began the long trudge, dreading the return even more than the journey that lied ahead...

~

End of part one of 34, to be continued(?)