[Video | Broadcast Mind, April Fools]
It’s just one of those days where you don’t wanna wake up. Everything is fucked. Everybody sucks.
[John’s strewn across the bed, sheets strategically laid, hiding the worst of the incriminating evidence on a long night’s escapades. His toes curl, flex, crack, then scratch each other while he rolls onto his side, one arm covering his face against the fucking daylight. Somewhere, a happy little bird is singing, and families are exchanging pleasantries in the streets.
[ Fuck this shit; it’s way too early for crap like this.
[Especially when one some of that “crap” is the arm snaking around his waist and tugging him back against a broad chest. An arm with some of the most clichéd, stupid tattoos wrapped around it, done by what seems like a four year old with Parkinson’s. And that’s not a bratwurst against his back, is it? Fuck, he hopes it is.
[Please. Please make it a bratwurst.]
I’m like a chainsaw. [The words were hissed into John’s ear, thick with the scent of ten-year-old beer and sweat, along with onions. Onions. Where the fuck did the onions come from?] I’ll skin your ass raw.
[John’s eyes shoot open, staring across the room to the nearby nightstand and the red hat perched atop it. Stare at it. Staring at the fucking hat.
[Shitty lyrics. Shitty tattoos. Shitty red hat.]
[Pleasedon’tletitbeFredDurstMotherfuckerspleasedon’tletitbeFredDurst.]
[But this, oh like it would be that easy? So, when John rolls, oh, yes, he rolls and sees Fred Durst’s Oh Face? Then it’s a whole new level of fear.]
Fuck you, Korrok! Fuck you and the goddamn dick you rode in on!