PLS WEAR THIS DRESS SO I CAN FUCK YOU
I. Will. NOT!
D:<
>>4310179
no?
ok
fat
>>4310179
What's with the escalation? Before you just wanted me to be your gf
>>4310201
dont impersonate me
>>4310209
Literally who
>>4310216
stop
>>4310221
i am confus
*pity reply*
Oh hey look who it is.
>>4310200
fat dubs =)
>>4310236
no lies
>>4310268
¯\_(ツ)_/¯
Fine I'll forget all about you. Pretend you don't know me because I'll never talk to you again.
>>4310315
calm down and stay sober my dirty nigger who sucks kike cock everyday jsesus christ nevermind do whatever you want you nasty jew lover
>>4310315
Is that lolo?
>>4310315
HOT
feel when no dress gf to marry
Dawn. Sometime in November. Unable to sl
eep, writhing on my futon, still in a suit, my
head feeling like someone has lit a bonfire on it, in
it, a constant sear
ing pain that keeps
both eyes open, utterly helpless. There
are no drugs, no food, no liquor that can
appease the forcefulness of this
greedy pain; all my muscles
are stiff, all my nerves
burning, on fire. I’m
taking Sontinex by the hour sinc
e I’ve run out of Dalmane, but
nothing really helps and soon even the box of So
minex is empty. Things are lying in the
corner of my bedroom: a pair of
girl’s shoes from Edward Susan Bennis Allen, a hand
with the thumb and forefinger
missing, the new issue of
Vanity Fair
splashed with
someone’s blood, a cummerbund
drenched with gore, and from
the kitchen wafting into
the bedroom is the fresh sme
ll of blood cooking, and when I
stumble up out of bed into
the living room, the walls are breathing, the stench of decay
smothers everything. I light
a cigar, hoping the smoke will mask at least some of it.
>>4313190
Her breasts have been chopped off and they look blue and deflated, the nipples a
disconcerting shade of brown. Surrounded by dried black blood, they lie, rather
delicately, on a china plate I
bought at the Pottery Barn on t
op of the Wurlitzer jukebox
in the corner, though I don’t remember doing
this. I have also shaved all the skin and
most of the muscle off her face
so that it resembles a skull
with a long, flowing mane of
blond hair falling from it, which is connected to
a full, cold corpse; its eyes are open, the
actual eyeballs hanging out
of their sockets by their st
alks. Most of her chest is
indistinguishable from her
neck, which looks like ground-up meat, her stomach
resembles the eggplant and goat cheese lasagna at
Il Marlibro or some other kind of
dog food, the dominant colors red and white
and brown. A few of her intestines are
smeared across one wall and others are mashed up
into balls that lie strewn across the
glasstop coffee table like long blue snakes, mutant worms. The patches of skin left on
her body are blue-gray, the colo
r of tinfoil. Her vagina has
discharged a brownish syrupy
fluid that smells like a sick animal, as if
that rat had been forced
back up in there, had
been digested or something.
>>4313196
I spend the next fifteen minutes beside mysel
f, pulling out a bluish rope of intestine,
most of it still connected to the body, and shovi
ng it into my mouth, choking on it, and it
feels moist in my mouth and it’s filled with so
me kind of paste which smells bad. After an
hour of digging, I detach her spinal cord and
decide to Federal Express the thing without
cleaning it, wrapped in tissue, under a different
name, to Leona Helmsley. I want to drink
this girl’s blood as if it were champagne and
I plunge my face deep into what’s left of her
stomach, scratching my chomping jaw on a broken rib. The huge new television set is
on in one of the rooms,
first blaring out
The Patty Winters Show
, whose topic today is
Human Dairies, then a game show,
Wheel of Fortune,
and the applause coming from
the studio audience sounds like static each time
a new letter is turned. I’m loosening the
tie I’m still wearing with a blood-soaked hand,
breathing in deeply. This is my reality.
Everything outside of this is like some movie I once saw.
>>4313201
A Richard Marx CD plays on the stereo,
a bag from Zabar’s
loaded with sourdough
onion bagels and spices sits on the kitchen
table while I grind bone and fat and flesh
into patties, and though it does sporadically p
enetrate how unacceptable some of what
I’m doing actually is, I just remind myself that this thing, this girl, this meat, is nothing, is
shit, and along with a Xanax (which I am
now taking half-hourly) this thought
momentarily calms me and then I’m humming,
humming the theme to a show I watched
often as a child—
The Jetsons? The Banana Splits? Scooby Doo? Sigmund and the Sea Monsters?
I’m remembering the song,
the melody, even the key it was sung in, but not
the show. Was it
Lidsville?
Was it
H. R. Pufnstuf
? These questions are punctuated by
other questions, as diverse as “Will I ever do
time?” and “Did this girl have a trusting
heart?” The smell of meat and
blood clouds up the condo until I don’t notice it anymore.
And later my macabre joy sours and I’m weepi
ng for myself, unable to
find solace in any
of this, crying out, sobbing “I just want to
be loved,” cursing the earth and everything I
have been taught: principles, distinctions, c
hoices, morals, compromises, knowledge,
unity, prayer—all of it was wr
ong, without any final purpose. All it came down to was: die
or adapt. I imagine my own vacant face, the
disembodied voice coming from its mouth:
These are terrible times
. Maggots already writhe across
the human sausage, the drool
pouring from my lips dribbles over them, and st
ill I can’t tell if I’m cooking any of this
correctly, because I’m crying too hard and I
have never really cooked anything before.
>>4310251
Just how I like my coffee
Thanks Nodoka!
>>4314498
N0doka is my gf back off
>>4310184
pls do
