monkeys have wicked stepchildren.
car-hit-pole.
engine-hit-firewall.
firewall-hit-steering column.
column-hit-chest.
column-hit-seat.
I have never lost the ability to smile at the loss of others, and I suppose that is what makes me such a generally fantastic thief. People just don't deserve what they have, generally, but then neither do I. At least I know it. What the fuck should I be doing with a TV or VCR? I don't trust words that you have to say one letter at a time, it makes them seem so damn unreal. Like a first grader that everyone trusted just a little too much was allowed to add some words to the general consciousness. That's why I sell the shit as quickly as possible. Sure, I could probably make a little more if I took the time to find a generous buyer, but then I'd have to hang on to things that much longer. Frankly, I'd just rather be done with it.
But you never know what to expect, not in anything. Last week I broke into a house in this fucking ritzy-ass neighborhood (you know I ain't gonna fucking tell you where, but that's just common sense). They got a TV so fucking big I can't even lift it, let alone take it out the front door. So I figure I'll keep looking, maybe they got something else in a different room. I go into the back room, just looking, but there's nothing even worth mentioning, shit just looks kinda bare. Those of us in the business call going to houses like that visiting-the-minimalists. But this place wasn't all like that, I'd seen the TV, I knew there had to be more shit.
I went downstairs to the main living room, shit, might as well call it a fucking lobby, and see a hallway leading back, to the garage I figure. So I go down it and open the door at the end. I step through the door, and inside is a fucking full-on sex chamber, like you'd see in a fetish porno. They got shit hanging from walls, chains and leather and shit that you wouldn't think anybody would do, at least I never did see the point of it. Anyway, the man of the house is there, strapped right on to the fucking wall, naked like a minute-old baby. And there's some dumb broad in there slapping him with a silly looking little whip, totally oblivious to the fact that I'm right there! Well, the guy sees me, but he's all tied up and gagged, and can't do shit about it. So I stand there for a minute, and he's all freaking out, and she just keeps saying, "does that hurt? don't struggle or you'll just get it worse, because you need to feel pain!" And she is so damn serious about it, but there ain't no fucking way that whip is doing any damage what-so-fucking-ever. So I casually walk up behind her, and hit her in the back of the head with my fist like she just insulted my mother at the 2nd street pub on a saturday night around 1 am. She dropped like I'd cut the strings on one of those stupid puppets that you see at fairs and shit.
I walked over to the guy, and asked him if pain turned him on. His head was whipping around like a fucking gyroscope or something, I couldn't tell what the hell he was trying to say, so I put a hand against his forehead and pinned it back to the wall, cracking his skull just a bit while I was at it. I told him that if he didn't just shake yes or no with his head, we'd be going nowhere, and definitely not fast. He seemed to get the point, so I asked him again if he got hard from pain. He slowly shook his head yes. I picked up the whip and laid into him with it, but It felt like I was swinging strips of cloth, nothing heavy enough to hurt. I took off my belt, and swung it straight across his chest. The slap was so loud it even took me by surprise. It welted up immediately, and a few blood droplets beaded up along the edge. And I shit you not, his little pecker twitched, and jumped up just a little. I did it two more times, and the guy was hard like he was on honeymoon with Raquel Welch.
Anyways, I took out my pocketknife, and carved a big red A right into the middle of his chest, and told him, "i guess if getting beat makes you horny like fucking, you just cheated on your old lady." But he was still excited, and only getting more so. His dick stood out like a flagpole, his perversion proudly waving, unexpectedly taken to new heights. I figured it was time to get the fuck out of there, but I felt kinda guilty for smashing the woman, who I'm sure would have one hell of a headache. I didn't want to leave them stuck all night, so I reached over and undid the restraint on his left hand so he could get himself free, but not before I was long fucking gone, know what I mean? But sure enough, that hand flies straight to his woody, and he's no sooner touched it that he blows a load straight across the room, and it lands right on his wife's closed fucking eyelid!
You ain't never seen it all, especially when you do what I do.
engine-hit-firewall.
firewall-hit-steering column.
column-hit-chest.
column-hit-seat.
I have never lost the ability to smile at the loss of others, and I suppose that is what makes me such a generally fantastic thief. People just don't deserve what they have, generally, but then neither do I. At least I know it. What the fuck should I be doing with a TV or VCR? I don't trust words that you have to say one letter at a time, it makes them seem so damn unreal. Like a first grader that everyone trusted just a little too much was allowed to add some words to the general consciousness. That's why I sell the shit as quickly as possible. Sure, I could probably make a little more if I took the time to find a generous buyer, but then I'd have to hang on to things that much longer. Frankly, I'd just rather be done with it.
But you never know what to expect, not in anything. Last week I broke into a house in this fucking ritzy-ass neighborhood (you know I ain't gonna fucking tell you where, but that's just common sense). They got a TV so fucking big I can't even lift it, let alone take it out the front door. So I figure I'll keep looking, maybe they got something else in a different room. I go into the back room, just looking, but there's nothing even worth mentioning, shit just looks kinda bare. Those of us in the business call going to houses like that visiting-the-minimalists. But this place wasn't all like that, I'd seen the TV, I knew there had to be more shit.
I went downstairs to the main living room, shit, might as well call it a fucking lobby, and see a hallway leading back, to the garage I figure. So I go down it and open the door at the end. I step through the door, and inside is a fucking full-on sex chamber, like you'd see in a fetish porno. They got shit hanging from walls, chains and leather and shit that you wouldn't think anybody would do, at least I never did see the point of it. Anyway, the man of the house is there, strapped right on to the fucking wall, naked like a minute-old baby. And there's some dumb broad in there slapping him with a silly looking little whip, totally oblivious to the fact that I'm right there! Well, the guy sees me, but he's all tied up and gagged, and can't do shit about it. So I stand there for a minute, and he's all freaking out, and she just keeps saying, "does that hurt? don't struggle or you'll just get it worse, because you need to feel pain!" And she is so damn serious about it, but there ain't no fucking way that whip is doing any damage what-so-fucking-ever. So I casually walk up behind her, and hit her in the back of the head with my fist like she just insulted my mother at the 2nd street pub on a saturday night around 1 am. She dropped like I'd cut the strings on one of those stupid puppets that you see at fairs and shit.
I walked over to the guy, and asked him if pain turned him on. His head was whipping around like a fucking gyroscope or something, I couldn't tell what the hell he was trying to say, so I put a hand against his forehead and pinned it back to the wall, cracking his skull just a bit while I was at it. I told him that if he didn't just shake yes or no with his head, we'd be going nowhere, and definitely not fast. He seemed to get the point, so I asked him again if he got hard from pain. He slowly shook his head yes. I picked up the whip and laid into him with it, but It felt like I was swinging strips of cloth, nothing heavy enough to hurt. I took off my belt, and swung it straight across his chest. The slap was so loud it even took me by surprise. It welted up immediately, and a few blood droplets beaded up along the edge. And I shit you not, his little pecker twitched, and jumped up just a little. I did it two more times, and the guy was hard like he was on honeymoon with Raquel Welch.
Anyways, I took out my pocketknife, and carved a big red A right into the middle of his chest, and told him, "i guess if getting beat makes you horny like fucking, you just cheated on your old lady." But he was still excited, and only getting more so. His dick stood out like a flagpole, his perversion proudly waving, unexpectedly taken to new heights. I figured it was time to get the fuck out of there, but I felt kinda guilty for smashing the woman, who I'm sure would have one hell of a headache. I didn't want to leave them stuck all night, so I reached over and undid the restraint on his left hand so he could get himself free, but not before I was long fucking gone, know what I mean? But sure enough, that hand flies straight to his woody, and he's no sooner touched it that he blows a load straight across the room, and it lands right on his wife's closed fucking eyelid!
You ain't never seen it all, especially when you do what I do.