- Dołączono
- 30 Lis 2015
Sometimes late at night when I've had too much to drink and I'm feeling soft in the heart and the head, I spare a moment to think about Phil, shitting himself scared behind the triple-locked doors of his subsidized apartment because Kiwis might fast-rope through his skylight at any moment.
I think of those stubby taterfingers smearing grease all over his tard-tier gear, the Cutco Bowie knife and Hot Topic handcuffs he leaves by the door in case of home invasion.
I remember the IN CASE OF EMERGENCY sign he lettered directly onto his landlord's wall, over the nails where he hangs his trannybat.
I consider the absolute terror he lives in, his fear that the elite Kiwi Kommando Korps is going to kick down his door, yank a hood over his head and kidnap him to Null's black site where God-knows-what will be done to him - who knows, he might even be misgendered or triggered.
And then I laugh, and laugh, and laugh some more.
I think of those stubby taterfingers smearing grease all over his tard-tier gear, the Cutco Bowie knife and Hot Topic handcuffs he leaves by the door in case of home invasion.
I remember the IN CASE OF EMERGENCY sign he lettered directly onto his landlord's wall, over the nails where he hangs his trannybat.
I consider the absolute terror he lives in, his fear that the elite Kiwi Kommando Korps is going to kick down his door, yank a hood over his head and kidnap him to Null's black site where God-knows-what will be done to him - who knows, he might even be misgendered or triggered.
And then I laugh, and laugh, and laugh some more.