Post by TRS on Jul 16, 2022 23:43:52 GMT -5
It’s Saturday night, and I’m in a dimly lit bar in another strange land. A land known as Kansas City. A confusing place, with a confusing name. Why is it in Missouri? Is there a Missouri City? Is Missouri City in Kansas? This irritates the fuck out of me. I want to stab whoever thought it was a good idea to have 2 Kansas Cities. Fucking moron.
These questions begin to bubble inside my cranium, rising to the top like the foam on beer. I make my way through the sea of people, corpses just distracting themselves from their coming oblivion. Pathetic. I make my way to the bartender. Her auburn hair drapes along her shoulders nicely. A giant pair of fake titties welcoming all who come to quench their thirst and feed their vices.
“Want a drink?” she asks, her voice as alluring as her body. I shake my head, pushing the seduction out of my mind. “I hate alcohol.” The words leave my lips without hesitation. Her nose crinkles, and her tone turns sour. “One of them straight edgers, huh? Why even come to a bar then, huh?” Her voice is like nails on a chalkboard, I hate chalkboards.
“Could I get some chicken tenders with honey mustard?” My voice booms out, scaring the bitch into hustling with my grub.
The bitch comes back with my tenders. She lays the cardboard container in front of me, as my eyes gaze on the crispy, golden brown sticks of breaded chicken.
" We only have ketchup." She says.
" Ketchup? I fucking hate Ketchup!"
I grab the ketchup bottle and throw that shit against the wall. But I'm hungry. All this anger has me starving. I bite into the delicious bits of meat, and chew fast and furious because this bitch had the nerve to bring me ketchup. As I swallow the last piece of chicken, I think about how ugly chickens are. I hate chickens. I want to rip them apart and watch as their feathers float in the air stained with their own blood. My opponent is a lot like chicken. He’ll be easy to demolish, easy to rip apart.
“Anything else I can get you sir?” The busty bitch asks, her fear still lingers on her face. I tell bitch " No.", before making my way back through the mob of people. As I push through the crowd, one of the assholes grab my shoulder.
“Hey bud, ya spilt my beer. You gon’ replace this?”
I look at him with hate in my eyes. I hate when people call me "bud". "Fuck you". I say. "Back the fuck up." But the man does not relent. “Oh, think this a fucking game then. Yeah? Well, how ‘bout dis?” The man lifts his shirt, revealing a gun tucked in his waistband. “Aint no fuckin game now, huh foo?” I grab the idiot by his head and head butt the shit out of him. He falls to the floor. “A gun, huh? I got some guns of my own.” I raise my arms to my side, flexing my mighty biceps at the young street punk. His eyes widen in fear, as he realizes he has upset the devil himself. Me, I’m the devil himself. He stutters, trying to prepare an apology. I feel merciful, but as I decide to let him go, something catches my eye. It’s a tattoo on the man’s right forearm. I point towards it. “Is that Spongebob?” The man seems shocked, surely he wasn’t expecting this question, but the answer is what’s most important. He looks down at his arm, as if forgetting the piece of art etched forever into his skin. He nods his head nervously, as I let out a demonic chuckle. Before the man can react, I reach out and grab him by his shirt collar and raise him high above the ground.
“I HATE CARTOONS! I fucking hate sponges that live in a pineapple under the sea!!!"
My hand forms a fist, and I launch a vicious uppercut that lands right in the center of his gut. I hear that familiar sound of wind forcing its way out of the body, as the idiot lays in a fetal position. Fucking Baby. Before long, the mixture of too much alcohol and a gutshot from hell forces the man into a fit of vomiting. I hear his sobs between the dry heaves as I turn and make my exit. I make my way through the front door and into the parking lot.
I breathe in the stale and polluted Kansas City air as I feel the rain tap upon my shoulders, like an impatient lover calling me back to bed. At least, that’s what I expect this sensation to feel like. I hate Love. In my heart, there’s only hatred. I hate everything and everybody. Except that Sudanese Giant, he’s a star.
JPD? He’s just another cardboard cutout dollar store arrogant scum that steps through these ropes and thinks the world revolves around him. He has nothing new to offer, nothing interesting to say. He sounds like someone who watched a DVD on how to talk shit. He's fucking scum. Perhaps he’s worse, he has more in line with a toddler, no, he’s more like a sickly newborn. Screaming as tears roll down his cheek for what feels like will be eternity. He’s always crying about not getting this, not earning that. JPD talks a lot of shit, that's why his breath stinks. He wants to be the big man on campus, but nobody respects him. A crying, helpless infant. I fucking hate babies.
My train of thought is broken as a realization strikes me. "It wasn’t raining when I got here. In fact it’s the middle of summer, how is it raining at all?"
I look over and discover the source of water dropping onto me. It wasn’t the sky, but instead the sprinkler system.
I hate sprinklers, always feeding the grass, helping it grow. And motherfucker, I fucking HATE grass. The way it tickles your legs when you are sitting down trying to enjoy a picnic. It tries to kill the joy out of something so pure. Much like my whiny ass opponent. Always running his mouth. There’s nothing in that empty skull of his worth saying. Spouting out nonsense, and baseless insults. He thinks it’s heat, but he's just blowing smoke up his own ass.
You are a bitch, Jace. I’m THE RAGING SKULL! This Monday im going to skull fuck you until your brain turns to mush. I' m going to knock your teeth out and then stick my RAGING BONER in that smooth little mouth of yours. Thinking about the violence I will unleash on you makes me so hard. The time for fun and games is over for you. I'm going to play with you like the little bitch that you are. You probably like getting manhandled by big strong men like me. I won't be surprised if you try and grab one of my horns and jam it up your ass. I'm the RAGING SKULL, I'm going to rage all over you like you are a cock rag. I'm going to spill my seed all over you and you're going to like it. You think you're great? You are a fucking train wreck. People love watching trainwrecks. That's exactly what you’ve become. An out of control engine full of steam. But I'm the RAGING SKULL motherfucker. I hate middle aged men who constantly seek attention by making themselves bigger than they really are. I bet you shave your pubes so you dick looks bigger. On Monday, I might just whip mine out and smack you on the forehead.
Everybody thinks you are worthless. That's why you're in this opening match with me. The people will still be in line getting their popcorn when I Skull fuck you.
You are a joke Jace. Everyone laughs at how pathetic you are. You think you wrote the book on winning? Well I’m opening a new chapter in the hate-filled book of THE RAGING SKULL. The first chapter reads.
" Once upon a time there was a bitchboy named Jace. He thought he was hot shit until he got Skull fucked by THE RAGING SKULL!!"
I let out an audible chuckle as I began making my way down the filthy sidewalk of a busy street. Cars pass by, uncaring of the lives they pass by. I hate Cars. The second movie was so bad. I HATE CARS 2!!! I mean, it’s a spy movie about a tow truck, how asinine can you get? I take a deep breath, ready to make my way through this cancerous town, and back to my hotel for the night, when I notice a rather large bug flying close by. I walk towards it, mesmerized, and soon realize it’s a butterfly.
The pattern is that of sheer beauty, the colors send waves of joy though my cold heart. I reach out my hand, watching as it flutters to halt, landing on my index finger. Like the grinch it feels as if my heart had tripled in size. I think back to my childhood, when all my classmates started pairing off and establishing pointless relationships. As I feel the first inkling of love touch me inside, I remember hearing them speak of butterflies in their stomach, longing to feel like they do. Longing to feel anything besides this darkness.
One day, at recess time, we were outside and while the others played kickball, I found a caterpillar. I picked the little fella up, and before anybody knew it I had swallowed it whole. I remember thinking it should only be awhile before it turns into a gorgeous butterfly. One that would flutter and tickle my insides. Instead, I remember getting home, and making my way into the bathroom, and sitting my ass down on the porcelain throne. I remember pushing and groaning. I remember nearly fainting as I struggled to push the excrement from my bowels. I remember having my hand on the lever, and instead of sending it to the ocean, I took a peek at my handiwork, only to see the wings sticking out of a long brown log.
I find myself back in the present time, this new butterfly sitting on my fingers. I bring it close, watching it tiptoe across my knuckles, before smashing it with my other hands, leaving its guts stained on my fists. I hate butterflies.
These questions begin to bubble inside my cranium, rising to the top like the foam on beer. I make my way through the sea of people, corpses just distracting themselves from their coming oblivion. Pathetic. I make my way to the bartender. Her auburn hair drapes along her shoulders nicely. A giant pair of fake titties welcoming all who come to quench their thirst and feed their vices.
“Want a drink?” she asks, her voice as alluring as her body. I shake my head, pushing the seduction out of my mind. “I hate alcohol.” The words leave my lips without hesitation. Her nose crinkles, and her tone turns sour. “One of them straight edgers, huh? Why even come to a bar then, huh?” Her voice is like nails on a chalkboard, I hate chalkboards.
“Could I get some chicken tenders with honey mustard?” My voice booms out, scaring the bitch into hustling with my grub.
The bitch comes back with my tenders. She lays the cardboard container in front of me, as my eyes gaze on the crispy, golden brown sticks of breaded chicken.
" We only have ketchup." She says.
" Ketchup? I fucking hate Ketchup!"
I grab the ketchup bottle and throw that shit against the wall. But I'm hungry. All this anger has me starving. I bite into the delicious bits of meat, and chew fast and furious because this bitch had the nerve to bring me ketchup. As I swallow the last piece of chicken, I think about how ugly chickens are. I hate chickens. I want to rip them apart and watch as their feathers float in the air stained with their own blood. My opponent is a lot like chicken. He’ll be easy to demolish, easy to rip apart.
“Anything else I can get you sir?” The busty bitch asks, her fear still lingers on her face. I tell bitch " No.", before making my way back through the mob of people. As I push through the crowd, one of the assholes grab my shoulder.
“Hey bud, ya spilt my beer. You gon’ replace this?”
I look at him with hate in my eyes. I hate when people call me "bud". "Fuck you". I say. "Back the fuck up." But the man does not relent. “Oh, think this a fucking game then. Yeah? Well, how ‘bout dis?” The man lifts his shirt, revealing a gun tucked in his waistband. “Aint no fuckin game now, huh foo?” I grab the idiot by his head and head butt the shit out of him. He falls to the floor. “A gun, huh? I got some guns of my own.” I raise my arms to my side, flexing my mighty biceps at the young street punk. His eyes widen in fear, as he realizes he has upset the devil himself. Me, I’m the devil himself. He stutters, trying to prepare an apology. I feel merciful, but as I decide to let him go, something catches my eye. It’s a tattoo on the man’s right forearm. I point towards it. “Is that Spongebob?” The man seems shocked, surely he wasn’t expecting this question, but the answer is what’s most important. He looks down at his arm, as if forgetting the piece of art etched forever into his skin. He nods his head nervously, as I let out a demonic chuckle. Before the man can react, I reach out and grab him by his shirt collar and raise him high above the ground.
“I HATE CARTOONS! I fucking hate sponges that live in a pineapple under the sea!!!"
My hand forms a fist, and I launch a vicious uppercut that lands right in the center of his gut. I hear that familiar sound of wind forcing its way out of the body, as the idiot lays in a fetal position. Fucking Baby. Before long, the mixture of too much alcohol and a gutshot from hell forces the man into a fit of vomiting. I hear his sobs between the dry heaves as I turn and make my exit. I make my way through the front door and into the parking lot.
I breathe in the stale and polluted Kansas City air as I feel the rain tap upon my shoulders, like an impatient lover calling me back to bed. At least, that’s what I expect this sensation to feel like. I hate Love. In my heart, there’s only hatred. I hate everything and everybody. Except that Sudanese Giant, he’s a star.
JPD? He’s just another cardboard cutout dollar store arrogant scum that steps through these ropes and thinks the world revolves around him. He has nothing new to offer, nothing interesting to say. He sounds like someone who watched a DVD on how to talk shit. He's fucking scum. Perhaps he’s worse, he has more in line with a toddler, no, he’s more like a sickly newborn. Screaming as tears roll down his cheek for what feels like will be eternity. He’s always crying about not getting this, not earning that. JPD talks a lot of shit, that's why his breath stinks. He wants to be the big man on campus, but nobody respects him. A crying, helpless infant. I fucking hate babies.
My train of thought is broken as a realization strikes me. "It wasn’t raining when I got here. In fact it’s the middle of summer, how is it raining at all?"
I look over and discover the source of water dropping onto me. It wasn’t the sky, but instead the sprinkler system.
I hate sprinklers, always feeding the grass, helping it grow. And motherfucker, I fucking HATE grass. The way it tickles your legs when you are sitting down trying to enjoy a picnic. It tries to kill the joy out of something so pure. Much like my whiny ass opponent. Always running his mouth. There’s nothing in that empty skull of his worth saying. Spouting out nonsense, and baseless insults. He thinks it’s heat, but he's just blowing smoke up his own ass.
You are a bitch, Jace. I’m THE RAGING SKULL! This Monday im going to skull fuck you until your brain turns to mush. I' m going to knock your teeth out and then stick my RAGING BONER in that smooth little mouth of yours. Thinking about the violence I will unleash on you makes me so hard. The time for fun and games is over for you. I'm going to play with you like the little bitch that you are. You probably like getting manhandled by big strong men like me. I won't be surprised if you try and grab one of my horns and jam it up your ass. I'm the RAGING SKULL, I'm going to rage all over you like you are a cock rag. I'm going to spill my seed all over you and you're going to like it. You think you're great? You are a fucking train wreck. People love watching trainwrecks. That's exactly what you’ve become. An out of control engine full of steam. But I'm the RAGING SKULL motherfucker. I hate middle aged men who constantly seek attention by making themselves bigger than they really are. I bet you shave your pubes so you dick looks bigger. On Monday, I might just whip mine out and smack you on the forehead.
Everybody thinks you are worthless. That's why you're in this opening match with me. The people will still be in line getting their popcorn when I Skull fuck you.
You are a joke Jace. Everyone laughs at how pathetic you are. You think you wrote the book on winning? Well I’m opening a new chapter in the hate-filled book of THE RAGING SKULL. The first chapter reads.
" Once upon a time there was a bitchboy named Jace. He thought he was hot shit until he got Skull fucked by THE RAGING SKULL!!"
I let out an audible chuckle as I began making my way down the filthy sidewalk of a busy street. Cars pass by, uncaring of the lives they pass by. I hate Cars. The second movie was so bad. I HATE CARS 2!!! I mean, it’s a spy movie about a tow truck, how asinine can you get? I take a deep breath, ready to make my way through this cancerous town, and back to my hotel for the night, when I notice a rather large bug flying close by. I walk towards it, mesmerized, and soon realize it’s a butterfly.
The pattern is that of sheer beauty, the colors send waves of joy though my cold heart. I reach out my hand, watching as it flutters to halt, landing on my index finger. Like the grinch it feels as if my heart had tripled in size. I think back to my childhood, when all my classmates started pairing off and establishing pointless relationships. As I feel the first inkling of love touch me inside, I remember hearing them speak of butterflies in their stomach, longing to feel like they do. Longing to feel anything besides this darkness.
One day, at recess time, we were outside and while the others played kickball, I found a caterpillar. I picked the little fella up, and before anybody knew it I had swallowed it whole. I remember thinking it should only be awhile before it turns into a gorgeous butterfly. One that would flutter and tickle my insides. Instead, I remember getting home, and making my way into the bathroom, and sitting my ass down on the porcelain throne. I remember pushing and groaning. I remember nearly fainting as I struggled to push the excrement from my bowels. I remember having my hand on the lever, and instead of sending it to the ocean, I took a peek at my handiwork, only to see the wings sticking out of a long brown log.
I find myself back in the present time, this new butterfly sitting on my fingers. I bring it close, watching it tiptoe across my knuckles, before smashing it with my other hands, leaving its guts stained on my fists. I hate butterflies.