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xmag.com : December 2002: I Hate Sex

You sick motherfucker!
I'm talking to you, you perverted sonofabitch. You know who you are. You're the twisted asshole who broke into my apartment last Friday night while I was at work and stole half my underwear!

When I got home and found half my lingerie missing, you were stroking yourself in the misery of your lonely shithole, sniffing the crotch of my favorite panties. While I was doing a frantic inventory of my bras, garter belts, stockings, and undies, you were jacking your pathetic self off, your nose buried in the lace and satin that had one graced the outer surface of my cooze. While I was shoving a chair under the front doorknob and wedging a broomstick in the sliding glass door, you were admiring the way you looked wearing my black lace thigh-highs and garter belt. While I was prowling around my apartment with my trusty 9mm in hand, checking under the bed and in the closet, you were splooging your rancid, misbegotten cum onto the pristine pink surface of my favorite bra.

I'm gonna get you, mothafucka!

I know the way you freaks work. Today you're happy in the privacy of your miserable hovel, rubbing your stinking, scabrous ballsac against the cotton crotch of my T-back. Tomorrow you'll be pinching your sweaty, jizz-encrusted choad as you rub your nose into the cups of my favorite padded bra. Perhaps even as far away as next week you'll be milking your sorry testicles, licking the panty crust from the tightie-whities you stole from my laundry hamper!!!

But sooner or later, you'll be back for more. And we'll be waiting for you. Me and my Sig P239--my Freak Killa!!

My Freak Killa is loaded and ready to go. Ready to pump eight rounds of freak-stopping lead into the brains or balls of any pervert stupid enough to come back for more. The first bullet is for my pink sparkly panties--they were my favorites, but you took them to use as a jizz-kerchief, and you'll have to pay by taking a bullet to the groin. Since you always have your dick in your hand, the bullet will probably ricochet off one of your bones. So I'll have to send a second bullet--this one for my white Wonderbra, the only bra I ever owned that gave me cleavage. I'll send that bullet straight up your pisshole--all the way up to the core of your fat belly. You'll be crying by now, screaming for mercy...but I'll be laughing--and I'll still be shooting.

Number 3 is for my collection of kinky hosiery--you know, the stockings with the seams up the back, kinda like the seam on your sagging, wrinkly scrotum. Oh, wait a minute; I forgot! You no longer have a scrotum. That's because I pumped bullet #3 into it, and your sac burst like a rotten pumpkin two weeks after Halloween. No matter; I'll move on to your fat, pimply ass--plenty of room there for bullets #4 and #5. One for each cheek. One for my black lace garter belt, and one for my black satin garter belt. To cover the rest of my stolen lingerie, I'll send #6 and #7 into your right and left nipples--right in the center of each of your fat, saggy man-tits. Either one of those should be fatal in and of themselves, but just in case I somehow missed your black, twisted heart, I still have one more bullet.

Number 8. It's for my sense of security, which you took along with all my G-strings and push-up bras. I'll never be able to sleep without all the lights on; I'll never be able to enter my apartment without checking under the bed--thanks to you and your perverted, panty-stealing ways. This bullet is the most important of all, and it goes straight into your sloping Mongoloid-caveman forehead. And since you have shit for brains, the bullet will penetrate easily, putting an end to your miserable, perverted life.

Only then will I be able to breathe easy again. And I'm getting tired of waiting...so come on, mothafucka. Let's go!





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