: December 2002: I Hate Sex
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!
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.
gonna get you, mothafucka!
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!!!
sooner or later, you'll be back for more. And we'll be
waiting for you. Me and my Sig P239--my Freak Killa!!
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.
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
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.
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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