Saturday, March 21, 2015

Killing Words

Heavy fire.

Out of breath, I duck behind a stone barrier and check my ammo. Only three gofuckyourself bullets remain in my side pistol. My machine gun is out of ifuckedyourmothers. Aside from my special weapons, which I've been saving for a long time because I bought them with a gift card my mother gave me on my thirty-ninth birthday, my diebitch melee weapon is all I have if I run out of pistol ammo.

Curtis019Hotlanta has me on the ropes.

"Coming for that ass, bitchcakes," he says into his headset.

I can hear him approaching. I want to flee, find another cover, but that would mean certain death.

I check my inventory. I have two remaining eatadicks that I'd forgotten about, but they won't help me now. I'm going to have to go deep.

"Say hello to my little friend," Curtis019Hotlanta shouts into his headset just as he lobs a niggerfaggot grenade over the barrier. I scramble and make it out with 19% health. Could be worse.

I run in to a poorly rendered cinder-block building while Curtis019Hotlanta cackles maniacally afoot.

"Run, run, run, but you sure can't hide, bitchcakes. I'm going to kill you with my dickinyoureye knife."

I run up three flights of stairs and come out on a roof. I have a clear look at the doorway, but I have to time my shot. I pull out my yoursisterownsavaginadinerandthespecialtyisallyoucaneatsnapper but hesitate. I try to switch to my didyourparentshaveanykidsthatlived, and that's when the bullet struck me.

I'm on my back, and my enemy is standing over me.

"Say goodnight, bitchcakes," he says as he fires a youeatcumforbreakfast bullet into my skull.


"Deus ex machina!" I scream into my own headset.

Then I turn off my computer, thankful to be alive after narrowly escaping death.

Now I have a fourth-grade spelling test to prepare for. Frau Kovacs is going to be so disappointed if I don't ace it.

I'm confident that I will spell pity, petty, pitiful, plentiful, and fuck all correctly.


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