image stolen from healthimpactnews.com
Don’t let something be wrong with my balls. Yesterday they hurt. Today they’re unusually hot. They’re infected. It’s the cyst– the cyst that I’ve had on my balls since I was 13. That I thought was cancer because of the stupid junior high school health class pamphlet. Extend your scrotum after a hot shower and palpate each testicle, it tells you. A lump the size of a pea is cancer. It was the size of a cherry. I didn’t tell my mom for weeks. I thought I was going to die. Didn’t want to ruin our last days together. Continue reading
image stolen from starchanges.com
A reply that fast– I knew it’d be some hostile cunty thing. I looked anyway.
I hope this woman gets raped. Mutilated. I hope the cartel torture that Matthew McConaughey® describes in True Detective Season 1 episode 4– they tape you to a chair; they use a couple rolls a duct tape so ya cant move an inch. Cut all around your face. Grip into your scalp, peel your face off. Hold up a mirror so you can git a rillll guuuud look… I hope that happens to her. Continue reading
He lived alone. It had been years now. Women liked him once but these days he couldn’t get a Tinder match.
One night he went to smoke a cigarette in the park. There was rustling in the sumac bushes. Something screaming; he ran to see what it was. Three coyotes had something pinned. It looked like a white pony, or maybe a giant goat. Some slave animal for Mexican kids’ outdoor birthday parties. Whatever it was it was terrified. The coyotes had clocked him but they were intent enough that he could get close to the big one. Give it a hard boot in the ribs. It was something he’d always dreamed of. Just as he’d dreamed, he felt a rib crack and the thing squealed and ran. The other two, toadies that they were, did too. Continue reading
I want to suck your cock, she said. They were in her son’s bedroom. The boy was about 12 and he was sleeping. And I want you to suck my cock, he said. But he didn’t. They’d been doing coke for 90 minutes. It was cold in her house. He could feel his dick like a slimy canned mushroom.
He let her kneel down and take it out from his too tight pants and his day glo pink American Apparel underwear. There it was: a blue acorn. Her mouth was warm but there was a little coke in her spit and it made him feel like her tongue was wearing a medical glove. Listen, he said. let’s wait for this bump to wear off. We can talk. Continue reading
I was up at 6AM Saturday. Two missed calls and a text time stamped midnight. I have Astrid’s phone. She said to call you. It’s kind of an emergency.
I can’t get afraid girls are dead anymore. All I thought was: if you send a text like this you better explain, faggot. Some day I’ll wake up to a text that she’s dead. I accept this. But it better say: Astrid is dead. Not can you call me it’s kind of urgent. Don’t be a chick about it.
Also: your pussy your problem. If you’re high with her you’re fucking her. You broke it you bought it. Roll her on her stomach. I’ve done this 100 times. When she starts OD’ing she fights any attempt to save her life. She’ll bite you. Don’t be afraid to pop her one. It feels good, like you’re a detective in an old movie. If you really think it’s bad call 911. She’ll wake up suddenly. She wants you to think she’s dying but she doesn’t want bills. She wants you to hit her and rape her while she’s unconscious. Trust me. I met her on OKCupid too. Continue reading
I need the doorbell to ring. It’s you. Come in. Wordlessly bend over and I stick it in your crusty cunt and cum before I’m halfway in because you caught me before my post work jerk. Wordlessly leave. Nine months later send a picture holding a slimy red faced worm. A note that says I don’t want any money. Just wanted you to know.
Come over and power bottom me with an asshole you’ve meticulously purged with spring water. When I cum in 15 seconds your face turns into a screen playing Witcher 3. I need you to fuck me then spread your legs, open your pussy, give birth to another hotter girl who also fucks me while you clean the toilet. Continue reading
image stolen from edwardmd.wordpress.com
At least people I hate are miserable. At least Amanda Marcotte cried. As for the bad news: this will solve nothing. This will not collapse society. There will not be mass rapes. Life will continue to get incrementally worse. It would have happened under Hillary. It will happen under Trump. Every American must be annihilated with atomic weapons. Land given back to the coyotes. It’s the only solution.
I felt bad for her. Read about her too wracked with sobs to talk on the phone. Trying to tell a friend through her shuddering snot-cry that it was Comey… Comey… Too emotional for a concession speech. She had to send out Podesta, the squirelly jizz guzzling hustler who rapes babies then eats them for Satan. I felt bad. She has $300 million from telling the board of Goldman Sachs that the Rothschilds have it too hard in this world. She kills children. I wanted to hold her while she cried. Because she’s a woman. Continue reading