Foreward to a new story
The world is a real fucked up place, you know?
When a man does horrible, wrong, evil things, somehow it’s easier to swallow, not so hard to believe. When someone like me commits some act of atrocity, everyone reacts. And why not? You look at me, you think you have me pegged as some sort of innocent.
I’m young, but so what? Ages are numbers. Fucked up shit happens, next thing you know there’s a sixteen year old whore running around with a gun and a forty year old’s cynicism.
And somehow, that’s less ok than the real forty year old man who picks her up on the side of the road and decides, hey, why pay a prostitute? Have a quick suck, a quick fuck, slit her throat and toss her to the side of the road.
Well I tell you what, mate: This gun keeps me safer than your teenaged daughter is, even in your own fucking home.
Because I know where my enemies are, and I know how to use one. Her? She walks to school each day, completely unaware of that crazy lecher who stares at her from between his blinds, fisting his cock and imagining her warm thighs wrapped around him.
Yeah, she goes to that big private school and she sees these older boys who have cars and can drive, and what happens when she accepts a ride home, and he don’t understand that no means no?
Either way, eventually, she ends up raped. And they can’t let her live, oh hell no, she knows them. She would tell the cops who they are and where to find them. So what do they do? Quick suck, quick fuck, you find her on the side of the road, dead, cleaned out and showing signs of abuse, bruises and scrapes, and flashing her cunt to the world, cold and dead as it is.
So object to me carrying? I won’t end up that way.
Object to me shooting the bastard who tries, well good on you.
But you think of your little Princess, and you think of me, and you think, in the long run, who will be better off.
You shelter your kids, raise them in places that are so damn safe, and then when they move out on their own, what do they find?
Leches and Pervs, rapists, murderers, thieves, and what? Daddy isn’t gonna be there to protect them. So maybe pick up a knife, a can of pepper spray. Outfit Princess with something that’ll just piss her attackers off. And then when you find her body, bloodied and bruised and slashed and mangled, it’s that much worse, because she didn’t know how to use it.
Fuck that all to hell.
Either put your Princess in a bubble and never let her out, or hope to God she ends up like me.
Because sometime, something like this is gonna happen to her.
And you have to wonder: What choices will she make? How’s she gonna react?
Do you think Princess will live through it, Daddy? I almost didn’t. But hell, that’s what life is, right?
One big game of Russian Roulette.
And Daddy? Your finger’s on that trigger.