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satanic goatslayer
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There I was, in the midst of a line filled with oily heathens and gremlins, waiting to mail a letter of complaint to Nintendo for a faulty Bionic Commando cartridge that I bought last week.
Coughing. Talking. Laughing. Crying. Snorting.
I checked the clock. 10.23 am.
Looking ahead of me, I saw what appeared to be a single mother holding her child and trying to sooth it with nonsensical jibba-jabba. I felt a nudge on my back and was confronted by a tall man wearing a flowered shirt.
“Do you have the time?”
Idiot.
I replied to him in an upbeat tone, “There is a clock on the wall. Clocks tell time. But I’ll tell you anyway. It’s time to die, sir.”
He glanced over, and I kicked his knees out, threw him to the floor and held my knife to his ear. I spat my Copenhagen on him, then slammed the knife into his temple. He didn’t move much, save for nerves, but the people around began to panic.
Woman behind the counter, trying to run.
I threw a shuriken at her, but I missed, so I had to chase her down and disfigure her face with my fist until she stopped moving. I left an IOU for death in her bra.
I ran back and locked the door before too many people got out, then yelled for everyone’s attention.
“EXCUSE ME! PLEASE DON’T PANIC. I AM ONLY GOING TO KILL YOU!”
One man tried to jump me with a jackknife. He stabbed me in the hand and my blood started to spill.
Toolbelts are wonderful things.
I unsheathed my trusty jagged rebar and smashed him over the head with it, grabbed him by his unkempt hair, and lodged the rebar straight into the back of his neck.
The wound was like artwork. A proud man I am.
He started to struggle, I picked his head back up and bashed it into the floor until a pint of blood had fallen from his mouth. I scooped some up with a spoon and flung it at the single mom.
She pleaded with me.
“You can have me, but don’t kill my child!!!!!”
I really do despise those who don’t put up a fight, so I made quick work out of her by thrusting my thumb into her eye, then dry fucking her brain with a splintered piece of wood.
I let the elderly couple go, as I felt that I had the energy to catch them later. As a side note, I decided not to catch them because I had to meet Toothless.
One person remained. A frightened teenager working in the back.
Running for the exit, he fell over a stack of boxes and knocked himself out on the hard floor. I walked over and sat down to smoke some crack and drink some absinthe.
I waited and waited until he came to, 30 minutes later.
I was high.
He was asking me, “What do you want??” over and over again.
I laughed at him for a short time, then remembered I was going to kill him, so I formulated a plan.
After kicking and torturing him for a bit, I came up with a good plan of action.
I put his body in the back of one of the smaller, priority mail cube vans, then pulled him back until his neck was in the door track.
I wanted to know his last thoughts, so I could add them to my collection.
He told me of his future aspirations, his plans, his girlfriend, and was about to tell me of his family when I slammed the door closed and decapitated him, sending his head into a mail bag.
The letter didn’t get delivered. I need to buy stamps
Coughing. Talking. Laughing. Crying. Snorting.
I checked the clock. 10.23 am.
Looking ahead of me, I saw what appeared to be a single mother holding her child and trying to sooth it with nonsensical jibba-jabba. I felt a nudge on my back and was confronted by a tall man wearing a flowered shirt.
“Do you have the time?”
Idiot.
I replied to him in an upbeat tone, “There is a clock on the wall. Clocks tell time. But I’ll tell you anyway. It’s time to die, sir.”
He glanced over, and I kicked his knees out, threw him to the floor and held my knife to his ear. I spat my Copenhagen on him, then slammed the knife into his temple. He didn’t move much, save for nerves, but the people around began to panic.
Woman behind the counter, trying to run.
I threw a shuriken at her, but I missed, so I had to chase her down and disfigure her face with my fist until she stopped moving. I left an IOU for death in her bra.
I ran back and locked the door before too many people got out, then yelled for everyone’s attention.
“EXCUSE ME! PLEASE DON’T PANIC. I AM ONLY GOING TO KILL YOU!”
One man tried to jump me with a jackknife. He stabbed me in the hand and my blood started to spill.
Toolbelts are wonderful things.
I unsheathed my trusty jagged rebar and smashed him over the head with it, grabbed him by his unkempt hair, and lodged the rebar straight into the back of his neck.
The wound was like artwork. A proud man I am.
He started to struggle, I picked his head back up and bashed it into the floor until a pint of blood had fallen from his mouth. I scooped some up with a spoon and flung it at the single mom.
She pleaded with me.
“You can have me, but don’t kill my child!!!!!”
I really do despise those who don’t put up a fight, so I made quick work out of her by thrusting my thumb into her eye, then dry fucking her brain with a splintered piece of wood.
I let the elderly couple go, as I felt that I had the energy to catch them later. As a side note, I decided not to catch them because I had to meet Toothless.
One person remained. A frightened teenager working in the back.
Running for the exit, he fell over a stack of boxes and knocked himself out on the hard floor. I walked over and sat down to smoke some crack and drink some absinthe.
I waited and waited until he came to, 30 minutes later.
I was high.
He was asking me, “What do you want??” over and over again.
I laughed at him for a short time, then remembered I was going to kill him, so I formulated a plan.
After kicking and torturing him for a bit, I came up with a good plan of action.
I put his body in the back of one of the smaller, priority mail cube vans, then pulled him back until his neck was in the door track.
I wanted to know his last thoughts, so I could add them to my collection.
He told me of his future aspirations, his plans, his girlfriend, and was about to tell me of his family when I slammed the door closed and decapitated him, sending his head into a mail bag.
The letter didn’t get delivered. I need to buy stamps
