Angry? Mad as hell and you can't take it anymore? Get something off your chest and it could be published online and/or in print. Bitches are anonymous and may be edited for length, grammar, spelling and our lenient standards of propriety.
Monday, August 20, 2012
No doubt you're now wondering why you should stop, and by what possible means I, who am only one, could possibly force you, who are legion, to cease your icky tirade against my eyeballs. To this I say: annihilation.
Before you balk, let me remind you that I am a mediocre artist of little recognition, and if history has taught us anything it's that when mediocre artists of little recognition go bad, they go bat-shit-kicking-babies-that-are-holding-handicapped-puppies-bad.
Understand: I will burn the world down to get you. I will level forests and mountains and cities. I will poison oceans and flood deserts, and I will salt the earth behind me as my fiery rampage marches on, only pausing to bask in the perpetual twilight of mushroom clouds and nuclear winter skies as the earth begins to sickeningly keel out of its delicate orbit. And then, when only I and the most resilient of cockroaches remain, it and I will briefly and desperately struggle against one another, until it inevitably dies with my hands around its thorax.
I will then lay myself down and watch the hazy glare of the sun steadily shrink away into the infinite distance, and as the radiation poisoning forces the sight from my eyes, I will giggle to myself, and my laughter will be the sound of the end of the world.
Stay out of my eyes, bugs. —Picked Carapice Out Of His Eyelashes For The Last Time