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I don't know what started it. Maybe it was my calamitous life over the past 3 years. Calamitous. Oh yes. Very. Evil. But I knew that I wanted to kill. What else exists than anger and hate and blood and squiggly, jiggly bits? Like the veins hanging out of a dismembered stump where flesh used to live and work and struggle. Hmm. I like veins.
Anyway, it was a dark night, that night. Wind was howling, as was my cat. I quickly squashed it and then ate its eyes because my tins of fish had all found their way over to my bath, where they covered the milkman. I only asked for 2 pints, one of each and one of the other. But no. That was too damned hard. So I quickly pronged him with the coatstand and then promptly finished him off with a handy milk bottle. Nice and quick, and the cat had what turned out to be it's last meal. Poor little Twiglet. I didn't want him to get hurt. Much.
It was dark outside, because it was night. My flat was dark too, from the outside, and I stashed Twiglet half in a bin. Hmm. The past 3 years. Well, that's all irrelevant now because I was a murderer, and therefore had no qualms or regrets, no story other than what I was about to do. And the milkman of course. I set off down the street, and quickly smothered a bush that looked at me odd. It hissed at me and I went 'RAGE!' and attacked it. Evil bushes, like the very fingers of Satan's malodious and meloflous and mad body, the body that had begun to consume my flesh in a dark torment of half lit rooms, me in shadowy corners, blood on white carpets and some red eyes that seemed to poke out of the walls every now and then.
With the bush sent away, I continued down the night-lit street, my head a mess of whirling emotions, mostly concerning the bush and the way it looked at me. I turned off into the side street that led up to the main road through the city, and began to run. Blood ran down my eyes. The bush really had attacked me, Satan had dug into my flesh again, gnawing at me, and my soul was trapped in blood, horror and jiggly bits. Just then, I turned and saw something large looming at me. My anger took hold, anger at what had been given to me by the torments of the night. I picked up a chainsaw and began to hack at the old man, who whimpered as his legs were torn off in a torrent of blood and gore and carnage-eous deathliness of evility. I quickly tore up a lamp post and skewered him with it, and pinned him to a wall. I stole his pie and ran on.
WHYYYY?!!! RARRRARARAARARARRRR! I screamed at the faces that looked at me, the evil curling faces in the fish and chip shop window. Everything was laughing at me. I eat my pie, the flesh tasting good, before I ran back, the juices dribbling down my chin, in a very symbolic way, at least that's what I thought at the time. Maybe I should write it down?
So I did, and that's what you're reading now. Twiglet is my new rug, the milkman is currently being boild for sustenance, and you know what is most scary? I have no regrets. MMMMWWAHAHAHHAHAHAHAAAA!
Anyway, it was a dark night, that night. Wind was howling, as was my cat. I quickly squashed it and then ate its eyes because my tins of fish had all found their way over to my bath, where they covered the milkman. I only asked for 2 pints, one of each and one of the other. But no. That was too damned hard. So I quickly pronged him with the coatstand and then promptly finished him off with a handy milk bottle. Nice and quick, and the cat had what turned out to be it's last meal. Poor little Twiglet. I didn't want him to get hurt. Much.
It was dark outside, because it was night. My flat was dark too, from the outside, and I stashed Twiglet half in a bin. Hmm. The past 3 years. Well, that's all irrelevant now because I was a murderer, and therefore had no qualms or regrets, no story other than what I was about to do. And the milkman of course. I set off down the street, and quickly smothered a bush that looked at me odd. It hissed at me and I went 'RAGE!' and attacked it. Evil bushes, like the very fingers of Satan's malodious and meloflous and mad body, the body that had begun to consume my flesh in a dark torment of half lit rooms, me in shadowy corners, blood on white carpets and some red eyes that seemed to poke out of the walls every now and then.
With the bush sent away, I continued down the night-lit street, my head a mess of whirling emotions, mostly concerning the bush and the way it looked at me. I turned off into the side street that led up to the main road through the city, and began to run. Blood ran down my eyes. The bush really had attacked me, Satan had dug into my flesh again, gnawing at me, and my soul was trapped in blood, horror and jiggly bits. Just then, I turned and saw something large looming at me. My anger took hold, anger at what had been given to me by the torments of the night. I picked up a chainsaw and began to hack at the old man, who whimpered as his legs were torn off in a torrent of blood and gore and carnage-eous deathliness of evility. I quickly tore up a lamp post and skewered him with it, and pinned him to a wall. I stole his pie and ran on.
WHYYYY?!!! RARRRARARAARARARRRR! I screamed at the faces that looked at me, the evil curling faces in the fish and chip shop window. Everything was laughing at me. I eat my pie, the flesh tasting good, before I ran back, the juices dribbling down my chin, in a very symbolic way, at least that's what I thought at the time. Maybe I should write it down?
So I did, and that's what you're reading now. Twiglet is my new rug, the milkman is currently being boild for sustenance, and you know what is most scary? I have no regrets. MMMMWWAHAHAHHAHAHAHAAAA!
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I don't know what started it. Maybe it was my calamitous life over the past 3 years. Calamitous. Oh yes. Very. Evil. But I knew that I wanted to kill. What else exists than anger and hate and blood and squiggly, jiggly bits? Like the veins hanging out of a dismembered stump where flesh used to live and work and struggle. Hmm. I like veins.
Anyway, it was a dark night, that night. Wind was howling, as was my cat. I quickly squashed it and then ate its eyes because my tins of fish had all found their way over to my bath, where they covered the milkman. I only asked for 2 pints, one of each and one of the other. But no. That was too damned hard. So I quickly pronged him with the coatstand and then promptly finished him off with a handy milk bottle. Nice and quick, and the cat had what turned out to be it's last meal. Poor little Twiglet. I didn't want him to get hurt. Much.
It was dark outside, because it was night. My flat was dark too, from the outside, and I stashed Twiglet half in a bin. Hmm. The past 3 years. Well, that's all irrelevant now because I was a murderer, and therefore had no qualms or regrets, no story other than what I was about to do. And the milkman of course. I set off down the street, and quickly smothered a bush that looked at me odd. It hissed at me and I went 'RAGE!' and attacked it. Evil bushes, like the very fingers of Satan's malodious and meloflous and mad body, the body that had begun to consume my flesh in a dark torment of half lit rooms, me in shadowy corners, blood on white carpets and some red eyes that seemed to poke out of the walls every now and then.
With the bush sent away, I continued down the night-lit street, my head a mess of whirling emotions, mostly concerning the bush and the way it looked at me. I turned off into the side street that led up to the main road through the city, and began to run. Blood ran down my eyes. The bush really had attacked me, Satan had dug into my flesh again, gnawing at me, and my soul was trapped in blood, horror and jiggly bits. Just then, I turned and saw something large looming at me. My anger took hold, anger at what had been given to me by the torments of the night. I picked up a chainsaw and began to hack at the old man, who whimpered as his legs were torn off in a torrent of blood and gore and carnage-eous deathliness of evility. I quickly tore up a lamp post and skewered him with it, and pinned him to a wall. I stole his pie and ran on.
WHYYYY?!!! RARRRARARAARARARRRR! I screamed at the faces that looked at me, the evil curling faces in the fish and chip shop window. Everything was laughing at me. I eat my pie, the flesh tasting good, before I ran back, the juices dribbling down my chin, in a very symbolic way, at least that's what I thought at the time. Maybe I should write it down?
So I did, and that's what you're reading now. Twiglet is my new rug, the milkman is currently being boild for sustenance, and you know what is most scary? I have no regrets. MMMMWWAHAHAHHAHAHAHAAAA!
Anyway, it was a dark night, that night. Wind was howling, as was my cat. I quickly squashed it and then ate its eyes because my tins of fish had all found their way over to my bath, where they covered the milkman. I only asked for 2 pints, one of each and one of the other. But no. That was too damned hard. So I quickly pronged him with the coatstand and then promptly finished him off with a handy milk bottle. Nice and quick, and the cat had what turned out to be it's last meal. Poor little Twiglet. I didn't want him to get hurt. Much.
It was dark outside, because it was night. My flat was dark too, from the outside, and I stashed Twiglet half in a bin. Hmm. The past 3 years. Well, that's all irrelevant now because I was a murderer, and therefore had no qualms or regrets, no story other than what I was about to do. And the milkman of course. I set off down the street, and quickly smothered a bush that looked at me odd. It hissed at me and I went 'RAGE!' and attacked it. Evil bushes, like the very fingers of Satan's malodious and meloflous and mad body, the body that had begun to consume my flesh in a dark torment of half lit rooms, me in shadowy corners, blood on white carpets and some red eyes that seemed to poke out of the walls every now and then.
With the bush sent away, I continued down the night-lit street, my head a mess of whirling emotions, mostly concerning the bush and the way it looked at me. I turned off into the side street that led up to the main road through the city, and began to run. Blood ran down my eyes. The bush really had attacked me, Satan had dug into my flesh again, gnawing at me, and my soul was trapped in blood, horror and jiggly bits. Just then, I turned and saw something large looming at me. My anger took hold, anger at what had been given to me by the torments of the night. I picked up a chainsaw and began to hack at the old man, who whimpered as his legs were torn off in a torrent of blood and gore and carnage-eous deathliness of evility. I quickly tore up a lamp post and skewered him with it, and pinned him to a wall. I stole his pie and ran on.
WHYYYY?!!! RARRRARARAARARARRRR! I screamed at the faces that looked at me, the evil curling faces in the fish and chip shop window. Everything was laughing at me. I eat my pie, the flesh tasting good, before I ran back, the juices dribbling down my chin, in a very symbolic way, at least that's what I thought at the time. Maybe I should write it down?
So I did, and that's what you're reading now. Twiglet is my new rug, the milkman is currently being boild for sustenance, and you know what is most scary? I have no regrets. MMMMWWAHAHAHHAHAHAHAAAA!