Post by Guillotine (QDT) on Feb 10, 2019 17:37:21 GMT -5
The Bon Secours hospital staff clearly aren't AW fans, otherwise I'd have never been granted visitation. If only they knew that I was responsible for the depravity inflicted on the patients whose beds I stand between. Papa's all mangled, beaten red raw and comatose. Doc "reassured" me he'll pull through... great news, enjoy your agony Papa. Mama, on the other hand, has supposedly been up and talking. Bet she's awake right now... too petrified to open her eyes.
Quixote: Mr. and Mrs. Della Torre, what a terrible fate has befallen you. Your dear son, your good boy, your little gentleman turned out to not be so good and gentle. If it's any consolation, I'm proud of me. I stand beside you truly happy for the first time in my life. I can be MEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!
I let out my best maniacal laugh. Been practising them into a pillow for years. Wowaweeewa that felt orgasmic.
Quixote: It's okay, it's okay. My internal conflict has gone. It was hard work being decent, especially when all of my primal instincts were battling. Evolutionary speaking, I've transcended the gentleman paradigm. Values and morals only serve the controlling forces who like order and hierarchy. I've superseded virtue. If one stands for nothing, one falls for nothing either. Win win. I can get what I really want and be who I really am. Is it Nihilism? Hedonism? Maybe. Maybe it's Nihihedolism. Doesn't matter. It just doesn't matter. Finally I can breathe.
Inhale. Oh the sweet air of profligacy.
Quixote: Take Ms. Monster for example. Papa you were on at me - "you mustn't hurt a girl, Qui". Then I find out that YOU, hypo-fuckin'-crite, knocked Mama about. Bet that made your dick hard, hey Pap? Your idol is control yet you sugar-coat that shit with "ethics". Anyway, that self doubt temporarily cost me my 201 belt! Who did my righteousness serve then? Only served the gutter trash Monster.
Speaking of gutter trash bitches, I'm up against another one this week. Rita Stevens. Think that's her name. A poor woman's Ms. Monster as far as I can see. Least Monster could beat Jaice "Pussyass" Wilds. You might feel I'd warm to this turd, especially given my new appreciation for total paucity of moral standards. Well NO, she's a LAZY kinda evil, the antithesis of The Guillotine. I've been upstanding, I've done all the nice guy shit. My journey's been a rich tapestry. She's just a scum sucker, a leech, a haemorrhoid on a prolapsed rectum. Her malevolent ambitions are base level desires that she's a slave to - get rich, fuck hard, spill blood. It's not impressive, it's visceral and feral. My brand of diabolical is more calculating and unpredictable.
She called me a fuckin' incel? An incel? Any evidence for that, ya saggy perineum? No, you've lumped me into a category because you're so simple you don't grasp nuance and individuality. YOU are a category, ho, not me. You're a one dimensional stereotype FUCKING WENCH!
Voice: Who are you talking to?
Ah great, Mama's woken up. She's looking at me with tears in her eyes. Through her broken heartedness, I still see love. Foolish maternal bond.
Quixote: Cuttin' a promo here Mama. Good to see you. You look beautiful... in a Linda Blair Exorcist way. A dislocated retina really brings out your tits.
She no sells. Stoic.
Mama: Wh... why? Just why?
I embrace her. She flinches, pained.
Quixote: Perhaps long held childhood resentment. Perhaps I felt oppressed, bullied, manipulated, deprived. Perhaps the psych cunt has a cushy little explanation of deep trauma, identity crisis or some oedipal shit. But NO NO NO! That just isn't it. You want to know why? IT WAS FUN. I had such a jolly time. You felt good bouncing off my knuckles. Papa's skull had a smooth texture that got my rocks off. I felt truly ONE with you for the first time. We bonded, didn't we?
Mama: You're not well. Get help.
I sit on the edge of Papa's bed, my arse directly in line with his battered face. I let out a rip roaring fart. Ohhhhhhhhh that was immense.
Quixote: Rita Stevens needs help. She'll be joining you here soon.
Quixote: Mr. and Mrs. Della Torre, what a terrible fate has befallen you. Your dear son, your good boy, your little gentleman turned out to not be so good and gentle. If it's any consolation, I'm proud of me. I stand beside you truly happy for the first time in my life. I can be MEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!
I let out my best maniacal laugh. Been practising them into a pillow for years. Wowaweeewa that felt orgasmic.
Quixote: It's okay, it's okay. My internal conflict has gone. It was hard work being decent, especially when all of my primal instincts were battling. Evolutionary speaking, I've transcended the gentleman paradigm. Values and morals only serve the controlling forces who like order and hierarchy. I've superseded virtue. If one stands for nothing, one falls for nothing either. Win win. I can get what I really want and be who I really am. Is it Nihilism? Hedonism? Maybe. Maybe it's Nihihedolism. Doesn't matter. It just doesn't matter. Finally I can breathe.
Inhale. Oh the sweet air of profligacy.
Quixote: Take Ms. Monster for example. Papa you were on at me - "you mustn't hurt a girl, Qui". Then I find out that YOU, hypo-fuckin'-crite, knocked Mama about. Bet that made your dick hard, hey Pap? Your idol is control yet you sugar-coat that shit with "ethics". Anyway, that self doubt temporarily cost me my 201 belt! Who did my righteousness serve then? Only served the gutter trash Monster.
Speaking of gutter trash bitches, I'm up against another one this week. Rita Stevens. Think that's her name. A poor woman's Ms. Monster as far as I can see. Least Monster could beat Jaice "Pussyass" Wilds. You might feel I'd warm to this turd, especially given my new appreciation for total paucity of moral standards. Well NO, she's a LAZY kinda evil, the antithesis of The Guillotine. I've been upstanding, I've done all the nice guy shit. My journey's been a rich tapestry. She's just a scum sucker, a leech, a haemorrhoid on a prolapsed rectum. Her malevolent ambitions are base level desires that she's a slave to - get rich, fuck hard, spill blood. It's not impressive, it's visceral and feral. My brand of diabolical is more calculating and unpredictable.
She called me a fuckin' incel? An incel? Any evidence for that, ya saggy perineum? No, you've lumped me into a category because you're so simple you don't grasp nuance and individuality. YOU are a category, ho, not me. You're a one dimensional stereotype FUCKING WENCH!
Voice: Who are you talking to?
Ah great, Mama's woken up. She's looking at me with tears in her eyes. Through her broken heartedness, I still see love. Foolish maternal bond.
Quixote: Cuttin' a promo here Mama. Good to see you. You look beautiful... in a Linda Blair Exorcist way. A dislocated retina really brings out your tits.
She no sells. Stoic.
Mama: Wh... why? Just why?
I embrace her. She flinches, pained.
Quixote: Perhaps long held childhood resentment. Perhaps I felt oppressed, bullied, manipulated, deprived. Perhaps the psych cunt has a cushy little explanation of deep trauma, identity crisis or some oedipal shit. But NO NO NO! That just isn't it. You want to know why? IT WAS FUN. I had such a jolly time. You felt good bouncing off my knuckles. Papa's skull had a smooth texture that got my rocks off. I felt truly ONE with you for the first time. We bonded, didn't we?
Mama: You're not well. Get help.
I sit on the edge of Papa's bed, my arse directly in line with his battered face. I let out a rip roaring fart. Ohhhhhhhhh that was immense.
Quixote: Rita Stevens needs help. She'll be joining you here soon.