honoring those who deserve it
Comments
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Runescaper1 wrote: »wow im soo scared, dren I thot u had atleast some class, but i guess u arent
oh maybe ur trying to make a new trend, but you know what they say about trend
Oh, I have class. I have no emotions so I hide behind this alter-ego showing no one my true self. -
Later, predictably, she’s tied to the floor, naked, on her back, both feet, both hands, tied to makeshift posts that are connected to boards which are weighted down with metal. The hands are shot full of nails and her legs are spread as wide as possible. A pillow props her ass up and cheese, Brie, has been smeared across her open ****, some of it even pushed up into the ******l cavity. She’s barely gained consciousness and when she sees me, standing over her, naked, I can imagine that my virtual absence of humanity fills her with mind-bending horror. I’ve situated the body in front of the new Toshiba television set and in the VCR is an old tape and appearing on the screen is the last girl I filmed. I’m wearing a Joseph Abbound suit, a tie by Paul Stuart, shoes by J. Crew, a vest by someone Italian and I’m kneeling on the floor beside a corpse, eating the girl’s brain, gobbling it down, spreading Grey Poupon over hunks of the pink, fleshy meat.
“Can you see?” I ask the girl not on the television set. “Can you see this? Are you watching?” I whisper.
I’m trying to use the power drill on her, forcing it into her mouth, but she’s conscious enough, has strength to close her teeth, clamping them down, and even though the drill goes through the teeth quickly, it fails to interest me so I hold her head up, blood dribbling from her mouth, and make her watch the rest of the tape and while she’s looking at the girl on the screen bleed from almost every possible orifice, I’m hoping she realizes that this would have happened to her no matter what. That she would have ended up lying here, on the floor in my apartment, hands nailed to posts, cheese and broken glass pushed up into her ****, her head cracked and bleeding purple, no matter what other choice she might have made; that if she had gone to Nell’s or Indochine or Mars or Au Bar instead of M.K., if she had simply not taken the cab with me to the Upper West Side, that this all would have happened anyway. I would have found her. This is the way the earth works. I decide not to bother with the camera tonight.
I’m trying to ease one of the hollow plastic tubes from the Habitrail system up into her ******, forcing the caginal lips around one end of it, and even with most of it greased with olive oil, it’s not fitting in properly. During this, the jukebox plays Frankie Valli singing “The Worst That Could Happen” and I’m grimly lip-syncing to it, while pushing the Habitrail up this *****’s ****. I finally have to resort to pouring acid around the outside of the ***** so that the flesh can give way to the greased end of the Habitrail and then soon enough it slides in, easily. “I hope this hurts you,” I say.
The rat hurls itself against the glass cage as I move it from the kitchen into the living room. It refused to eat what was left of the other rat I had bought it to play with last week, that now lies dead, rotting in the corner of the cage. (For the last five days I’ve purposefully starved it.) I set the glass cage down next to the girl and maybe because the scent of the cheese the rat seems to go insane, first running in circles, mewling, then trying to heave its body, weak with hunger, over the side of the cage. The rat doesn’t need any prodding and the bent coat hanger I was going to use remains untouched by my side and with the girl still conscious, the thing moves effortlessly on newfound energy, racing up the tube until half of its body disappears, and then after a minute – its rat body shaking while it feeds – all of it vanishes, except for the tail, and I yank the Habitrail tube out of the girl, trapping the rodent. Soon even the tail disappears. The noises the girl is making are, for the most part, incomprehensible.
I can already tell it’s going to be a characteristically useless, senseless death, but then I’m used to the horror. It seems distilled, even now it fails to upset or bother me. I’m not mourning, and to prove it to myself, after a minute or two of watching the rat move under her lower bellow, making sure the girl is still conscious, shaking her head in pain, her eyes wide with terror and confusion, I use a chain saw and in a matter of seconds cut the girl in two with it. The whirring teeth go through skin and muscle and sinew and bone so fast that she stays alive long enough to watch me putt her legs away from her body – her actual thighs, what’s left of her mutilated ****** – and hold them up in front of me, spouting blood, like trophies almost. Her eyes stay open for a minute, desperate and unfocused, then close, and finally, before she dies, I force a knife uselessly up her nose until it slides out of the flesh on her forehead, and then I hack the bone off her chin. She has only half a mouth left and I **** it once, then twice, three times in all. Not caring whether she’s breathing or not I gouge her eyes out, finally using my fingers. The rat emerges headfirst – somehow it turned itself around inside the cavity – and it’s standing with purple blood (I also notice where the chain saw took off about half of its tail) and I feed it extra Brie until I feel have to stomp it to death, which I do. Later the girl’s femur and left jawbone lie in the oven, baking, and tufts of pubic hair fill a Steuben crystal ashtray, and when I light them they burn very quickly. -
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yes, worm poop makes trees grow
alright LT of one of the top garbage pub clans 420.
dont rage too much when the br hackers kill you guys in the scrim matches
just remember scrims dont matter
+I know some people who left your clan because of the lack of your skills your pub clan has -
Runescaper1 wrote: »alright LT of one of the top garbage pub clans 420.
dont rage too much when the br hackers kill you guys in the scrim matches
just remember scrims dont matter
+I know some people who left your clan because of the lack of your skills your pub clan has
Seriously, what team are you in? -
Runescaper1 wrote: »alright LT of one of the top garbage pub clans 420.
dont rage too much when the br hackers kill you guys in the scrim matches
just remember scrims dont matter
+I know some people who left your clan because of the lack of your skills your pub clan has
you talk alot
but your not saying anything
SO
how are we a "top garbage pub clan"
wanna scrim?
wheres your 3? -
Dacbietelite wrote: »Yeah props for rondo for playing through it. Also, runescaper not completely true. Yes a lot of streetballers are twice as good as players like koby or dwade, but they don't have the publicity, grades, or fan base to get into the NBA. Since most nba recruiters don't look at street ball it's very unfortunate for them because some street ball players are twice as good as some of the top NBA players.
azns dont know anything about basketball
) 
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