12.13.2002

Torture, Motherfucker



You best not show up in Brooklyn, bitch.

I've been looking for someone to take out some (barely) repressed childhood trauma on...

Maybe I can't remember everything that happened exactly, but I sure as fuck remember spreading my thin little legs for the doctor to examine my torn-up puss. I remember being ashamed at the horrified expression on his face. I remember the terrible baths that I had to take, every day for weeks. My mother put two spoonfuls of green stuff into the water that made my crotch burn like it was being dissolved by acid. I kept jumping up, splashing about and screaming. My mother had to bribe me to stay in the water by taping a gigantic rainbow swirl lollipop onto the wall.

Rainbows
, even back then.

Whatever man, those chemical baths made me stink like chlorine and cheese. It hurt so bad when I peed that I tried to stop drinking water so I wouldn't have to go. The longest I lasted was two days, when I fainted on the front steps of my house and cracked my head open.

I remember praying to god to stop me from peeing. I remember hating my pussy and stabbing it with tacks.

You resigned because you want some unity and some healing, huh, bitch? I know what will help me heal...

I'm gonna put a shotgun to your head and make you wrap a sheet of fiberglass around your dick and jerk off until you come.

I'm gonna pull some 1984 shit on you and fit a cage around your head filled with starving rats.

I'm gonna slice open your fat stomach and lower you over the side of a fishing boat so you can watch all the blue fish swarming around to eat your guts.

I'm gonna sew your ass cheeks shut, and keep feedin' ya, and feedin' ya, and feedin' ya...

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