The Black Dahlia Murder think that they’re the new Bolt Thrower. Nowhere in space and grind does that make any sense. It’s time for a new short story. You guys will vote on what happens next. A new chapter will go up every day until the weekend.
Brett Stevens held a lukewarm can of Hamm’s lager in his meaty hand. He was standing smack dab in the middle of a Michigan parking lot. He cracked the top. He craved the booze. His thickly muscled fingers were shaking at the thought. The book signing for Nihilism: A Philosophy Based In Nothingness And Eternity had went well. Brett held up the can up to his mustached lips and drank. The frothy corn syrup ran down his throat towards his liver.
Most of the participants were pudgy and wearing black metal shirts. They all had fat guy strength. All of them would’ve been too hard to hold down in the staff restroom. That lisper with the receding chin and hairline especially. ‘TOO HARD’ thought Brett as he finished the can. ‘I’LL HAVE TO SODOMIZE THE WEAK TOMORROW.’
Brett reached into his fanny pack and pulled out a pipe. He pushed the tobacco down like it was a man’s head to the floor. He put it in his mouth like his idol J.R.R. Tolkien. He lit up, sucked it down, and closed his eyes as he took it all in. He wiggled his toes in his leather flip flops as he sucked down every last drop of smoke.
A hand reached out and tapped Brett on the shoulder. “Are you Burt Stevens?”
“SODOMIZE THE WEAK!”
“We love your book and sites man! Can you sign our girlfriend’s tits?”
“WHICH ONE IS THE GIRLFRIEND?” said Brett looking around. Brett could not assume their gender. All of their faces were round and cherubic like a great big fat woman’s. Their clean shave features fell back into adipose tissue framed by silhouettes of greasy hair. They all had larger bitch tits than Brett’s last conquest. Clearly this group did not believe in brassieres.
“I am! We’re poly!” said bustiest one. She was wearing glasses and a belly shirt. Her navel was pierced like Britney Spears’. Around it was “heartburn” in faded black ink.
‘ALL TOO EASY’ thought Brett puffing on his pipe. ‘I AM THE SODOMIZER INVICTUS!’ He wouldn’t have to satisfy himself with the cattle tonight. There was no hope for this soon to be dead chick. His black Sharpie was up and ready.
She walked toward Brett and eagerly lifted up her halter. Her breasts were oblong with puffy nipples. The titties were an unusual shape and slightly hairier than usual but nothing out of the ordinary for Texas. Brett kept the pipe deep in his mouth as he gazed upon the saggy sight. His mind was full of sodomatic slaughter and lust.
How should Brett Stevens go about this as an outlaw conservative internet commentator alpha?
- Cop a feel and autograph the titty without leaning over.
- Respect her apparent gender. Bend over to sign the breast without touching using anything other than his Sharpie.
Vote in the comments below!