Wednesday, January 31, 2007
New Beginning 205
I let the gun rest on my limp dick. The whore doesn't notice. Maybe she just doesn't care anymore. Maybe she's dead.
A friend of mine said adrenaline makes your dick hard. Maybe I've gotten too old. After all, I'm pushing 30. Should you ever have to kill someone, you should do it before you hit double digits. Sure, those kid soldiers get all fucked up in the head afterwards, but if they have to keep on killing, they keep on killing.
Kid soldiers, they've got it made.
Me, I just want my motel room to go back to being the shit-stained hole it was until about an hour ago.
I try to switch on the tv. The buttons make a sticky sound when I push them. The remote is covered in too much blood. Guess even Dr. Phil can't help me now.
"Fuck you, you motherfucking..." The whore isn't dead after all. She tries to get up, but slips in the blood, and falls back onto the bed.
"Honey, time to go," I say.
"That's enough," Miss Carson said. "Does anyone else want to read? How about you, Ms. Bardwell?"
Julia Bardwell picked up her manuscript, cleared her throat and began:
The night was hot, hotter than Brad Pitt's ass. The cocksucker I'd just shot in the gut was still coming at me, his intestines hanging out like angel hair through the holes of a colander. "Eat lead, fuckwad!" I said as I shot him in the face . . . and got sprayed with his blood. Shit, that was my best dress, too. I stripped it off. I was nude underneath, and my tits . . .
Miss Carson closed her eyes and shook her head. What was I thinking, she wondered, when I agreed to teach creative writing to third graders?
Opening: E. S. Tesla.....Continuation: Evil Editor, based on a Pacatrue idea