This story started a long time ago before now and before your greedy fucking eyes ever got a hold of it. Like the great tumbling ball of shit that is my life it is all the same ball of shit. People will lie, change the truth, anything to making a fucking dollar so, here is the truth so you too can change it later to fit into your own tale of how fucked up I really am. Are you listening to what I am saying? Are you paying attention? Good, I just want to say one thing to you before we start. I am legend and you’re just jealous. Fuck off. Oh and I didn’t bother thinking any of this over so deal with it. God you are such an asshole.
It all start, this all started when I fell down the stairs. I think it was maybe five years ago, but I can’t really be held accountable for minute details. We have a lot to cover so a detailed timeline is really just a waste of time so stick with me and put your fucking hand down. Time isn’t everything people. Back to my God damn story, I fell down the stairs and of course it wasn’t a simple fall down the fucking stairs. I couldn’t just break my arm or a fucking leg, no I had to break both of my useless good for nothing shitty appendages, an arm, and worse of all my fat ass fell so quickly and with all the laws of gravity not on my fucking side I had to crash through the door at the bottom of the stairs. The same damn door my wife told me to change out years ago. The same fucking door she continues to bitch about despite the fact that it’s long since been replaced. Well that shitty door had to break my fall and shatter into a million pieces, all except one piece mind you. That one was nice enough to stay fucking put. That one piece stayed real fucking strong as it went through my back bringing my wild ride to a quick stop. Ever have to spit blood out of your mouth to stop from drowning in it? Well that’s too damn bad. Tastes like shit, actually it tastes like I had a wild idea to drag my tongue across a rusty pipe just for the fuck of it. The damage was done from that point on I was fucked, but of course I had to push my luck. Hold on this is a great fucking song. “You’re so scared and so alone.” I had to keep going on and keep on living because God knows that’s what I wanted at that fucking second with the EMT’s standing over debating what would be the best way to move me. My spine was damaged this was true. IT is also true that if my spine wasn’t damaged I might have died from the pure shock of having both of my legs broken in multiple places. Couldn’t feel the fuckers. I could barely feel anything. My spine was damaged but for some God damn reason my spine wasn’t severed. For some God damn forsaken reason there was still hope for me yet. There was a special surgery the doctors said that I might be able to have that could reverse the damage and give me one more chance to land the dismount. Too bad it cost an arm and a leg, and I was fresh out of legs. This magical surgery was all thanks to those demigods up on the hill. You know those ones that want to advance stem cell research so they can help turn some unwanted child into a new limb or body part for some sad sack of shit solider no one gave a fuck about in the first place. Fuck did I miss that up? Fuck it, fix it later. What I am saying is that congress recently passed a bill or a law or whatever that allowed the use of stem cells for those who could afford it. All I needed was half a million dollar or find someone to pay for it. So I did what anyone in my financial standing would do. I went to the bank and pulled five hundred thousand dollars out of my personal just encase life fucked you in the ass account. All in ones of course and made it rain all over his office like he was Candy from Sweet Charles Strip Club and BBQ lucky day. So began my next chapter in life strapped into a wheel chair shitting on myself. The fun chapter really. Half price dances is nothing to shake a stick at. Funny how the health bill fell flat on its fucking face, but stem cell use got the ok. Small victory for ignorance and one giant leap for the future. Yeah I’m that bitter.
Thanks to the wheel chair I know found my fat ass sitting in I lost my job. It is a little hard to lift fifty pound boxes of produce from the safety and comfort of a chair with wheels. I needed to find a new career path, a new way so to speak not that my last one was really anything worth losing to begin with, but there comes a time in a man’s life, maybe a woman’s too though I was beginning to understand what life meant without a penis, that he has to make a decision. Sometimes though that decision isn’t made by one’s own hand. It was at this time that I had to look deep within myself to figure out what it was that I wanted to do with my new found sense of existence. I knew I needed money so I could shut my wife up about the fucking surgery. I knew I didn’t want to go to work at any place with human beings. I knew a lot of things I didn’t want to do basically, but what I found in my hours of cheap whiskey and a crotch full of Candy was the inspiration to write. Something I hadn’t done since I dropped out of college all those years ago. It wasn’t like I was hiding some deep unearned skill deep within myself, but who has the fucking time when they are knee deep in the bullshit called life? Whatever, thanks to my horrible accident I was able to find my voice once again. All good artist must suffer and I had plenty of it thanks to my impending position. So that is what I did day in and day out I wrote. Drank a little bit too much and then wrote some more. Paid Candy to play with my flaccid dick and I wrote some more. Every second of every day I used putting pen to paper, paper into computer, and back and forth until I had something, until I had a story worth writing about. My story, well a version of my story I’m sure you have all read my book by now If I Could Only Get It Up. No? Then why the fuck are you here right now. Go buy a fucking copy, pop your pants off, and come back to me when you have finished. Why the fuck are you even reading this? Because you like reading stories about human suffering? You’re a fucking selfish prick aren’t you? Good than you and I have something in common at least on a surface co-hatred and contempt for anyone that isn’t us. Though I have to say it is a lot like preaching to the stupid. Still with me? Fan-fucking-tastic let’s move on. It took two years of fighting, clawing and scratching, sucking and fucking to get that piece of shit book printed and pressed and in the hands of you dick lickers, and it would take another two before I could even make enough money to put a down payment on the surgery. Yeah they have those. I was as surprised as you to say the least, but it makes sense if you can walk again you can make money. Oh yeah the health industry will suck the life right out of you just like any other. The way it is when everything is for profit. Honestly though if you are figuring that out right now as I tell you please don’t forget to visit my website where you can buy some more bullshit to complete your empty life.
Even after all the record breaking sales of my book by a first time writer. America really loves a tragedy. Hey kids want to get famous saw your legs off and see what happens. Okay don’t do that find your own God damn way to milk the tit that is the American conscious. Run for president or something the point is that I still didn’t have enough money to pay for my operation out right, but I did have enough credit with the publishing company to barter my soul for the money I still needed. They were just thrilled to hand over several hundred thousand dollars to me so I could fucking walk again because apparently it is really expensive to send a cripple on a book tour. Heartless fucking ass clowns that they are. Oh and plus America likes a redemption story so, they had me sign a paper that said they could release my next three books. Lucky me. I know what you are thinking holy shit he gets to write three more books. He is so blessed, yeah well fuck you because now I had to produce three more fucking books without a single fucking idea. Do you know what kind of pressure that has on a fragile mind? Yeah you don’t, what it is like is telling the bank you can pay them back the whole loan in than five years without a fucking job. Good luck, hope everything works out for you because it’s not. So here I am recovering from my operation and trying to come up with something to get those fucking heathens off my back. They are blood thirsty, it may not seem that way, but they really are some blood thirsty no talent fucking cunts. They’re like vampires in the night. Constantly calling, “How’s the book going? How’s this going? Are you feeling better?” Assholes, they can’t even come up with their own God damn idea so, they suck the ideas out of writers as quickly as they can, and when they are done with us we are just cast aside like a dry husk of what was once a human. Vampires of ideas are what this whole industry is like. It torments me every second of every day and with all this stress and rehab my head is like a tornado of shit smashing from one side of my skull to the other. My head feels like a pinball machine that has been well used. A bit dated of a reference but needless to say the stress is getting to me at this point. But I’m not even sure if it is the stress of everything lately or the God damn operation. I’m on a strict regimen of headache medicine, pain killers, and a great amount of alcohol but I still can’t get rid of this pain in my head. The only thing that I have found that actually gets rid of the pain in my head is not really accepted by society as a whole. Maybe a few societies out there but not many. I’m getting a head of myself hold on let me get back on track.
Okay so I told you ass stains about my problem with the books I have to write for the vampires that’s the climax. So all we really need is some falling action to really get your panties soaking wet. I bet you wear lacy ones that you think are so sexy as they stretch around your curves, but you never show anyone because you are a highly regarded person in your community and if you’re a lady I’m confused as to why you’d bother wearing nay at all. If my mind wasn’t a blender on puree I’d probably have this story written out already and you could move on to more pressing matters of life. Months went by as I tried to decide what to write next. I had already used up my asshole card so I couldn’t write another book about telling the world to fuck off or a book literally about assholes. I had no ideas and the longer that I had no ideas the worse the pain in my head got. It got so bad I had to start taking more drugs and mix in other ones to try and numb the pain for a little. This time period should have been the best time of my life and it was quickly growing worse and worse. I could walk again, I had an extremely successful first novel, and yet I was too busy trying to drown out my pain. I started to take walks around this time mostly to get away from the bitching at home and because for the first time in a long time I could. It was during one of these walks that something extraordinary happened. I got the pain to finally go away. Not permanently but long enough so I could think. It wasn’t runners high or something stupid like that it was survivors high. Is that even thing? I don’t know, but while I was walking one night down in the shitty part of town some asshole came up to me waving a gun in my face. Telling me to give him all my money or he would waste me right there like I was a piece of trash someone didn’t want anymore. I don’t know if it was the third of bourbon I had in me or the fact that I was only carrying enough cash to get me more, but something rose up in me. A sense of calm I had never experienced before. I calmly looked the young man in the eyes and I told him to stop waving that gun in my face before I take it way and shove it up his ass. He wasn’t too thrilled by that scenario and as he placed the cold barrel right up against my forehead and demanded his demands all over again I thought maybe I wouldn’t either. I waited for the loud bang to echo through my skull as I somehow survived the odds for the second fucking time.
I’m just fucking with you. Why the fuck would I be walking around the shitty part of town like some commoner? Seriously though I’ve butchered like six women in the last year. It was actually easier than you might think and it really did make the headaches go away, but they only go away for a little while. I have found that the only way to make my headaches go away long enough is to skin a woman alive and listen to her scream. Slowly of course because there is something about hearing their screams of pain as I torment them piece by piece that just melts my own pain away like butter on a hot knife. Oh stop your, “That’s so wrong fucking judgements,” you’re passing through your head fucked up head right now. Who the fuck are you to even judge me in the first place? You bought the fucking book about how I committed each crime in full detail. I mean this is only the fucking forward, the preface of a book called How I Committed Each Crime and You Paid Me to Do It. I know, I know it is a really long fucking title, but the vampires didn’t really get my original title, Knife in your Vagina. I thought it was catchy, but nope you the readers just get a slap in the face. They also didn’t get the concept of each page being made from human skin or at the very least the cover. Gave them a prototype and everything. You didn’t think that I would let anything go to waste did you? Oh well go ahead and get on with it. Go ahead and read the rest of the God damn book. Long story short the critics will just laugh it off as a fictional tale of my deeply deprived mind raised on junk food and twisted tales of horror and rape, but know this dear reader I am really something sinister.
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