The douche bag Chet Waverley was duct taped to a patio chair in Barkman’s kitchen. It wasn’t the best tape job Barkman had ever done. Too much around the ankles, not enough on the wrists, and though he’d had plenty of tape for a makeshift blindfold that would surely remove Chet Waverley’s eyebrows, there had been none left for adhering the chatty motherfucker’s lips together. Barkman chalked it up to being out of practice.
While Chet Waverley confessed in explicit detail to masterminding numerous money laundering schemes, Barkman added the words “Duct Tape” to the magnetic grocery list on the fridge. Satisfied, he capped the pen and placed the heel of his shoe on Chet Waverley’s groin.
A near complete silence befell Barkman's condo, spoiled only by the dull hum of the fridge and a rhythmic eruption of spittle at the corners of Chet Waverley's mouth as he began to hyperventilate. Barkman leaned in closer. “I don’t care about all that, Chester," he said, and applied more pressure with his foot. "Let’s talk about your inadequate parenting skills.”
"You little shit," gasped Waverly. "When your--"
Barkman buried his heel in Chet Waverly's groin, ignoring his cries of pain. Then he took the last of the chocolate cake out of the fridge and headed back to his room. Why, he wondered, does Mom keep dating such losers?
Opening: blogless_troll.....Continuation: Khazar-khum