Grimace
motherfucker
[my enumerable hindi guideword]
I was sitting on the couch with my head tilted back and mouth agape, staring directly at the ceiling. I felt like I had been there for hours that way. I was studying the designs in the ceiling and wishing that I could incorporate myself into them and become a part of them when I heard a blood curdling scream from next door. I leaped off of the couch and without even really thinking about what I was doing, I ran outside and tore through the thorn bushes that separate my house and my neighbor's house. I planted them there a few years back because his cats and kids and shit kept ending up on my yard so I planted some thorn bushes to deter them from entering. In my wild hysteria to find out what was the source of this scream, I tore through them and severely lacerated my entire body. I came out on the other side and was bleeding from head to toe, but I couldn't be bothered with that. I snuck up to the window and peeked inside.
Inside the dust-laden house that had no lights on, I saw my neighbor on top of his son on the floor. He was using the weight of his body to pin him to the floor and a massive meat cleaver to hack off his limbs by the joint, one at a time. Apparently, the scream had come from hacking off his son's left hand. He had his arms raised, meat cleaver in hand, with a impish grin scrawled across his face, as he brought it down hard on his son's elbow joint, severing it. His son wriggled in pain and screamed in agony. I stood there in pure amazement at what I was watching. A single drop of piss escaped my dick.
I reached down and jerked my dick out of my pants, snatching out a handful of pubic hair in the process by accident. I began to stroke. I watched as the man hacked off limbs, joint-by-joint, and I stroked. Harder and harder, faster and faster! My body began to convulse. My head titled back and my eyes rolled back in my head as I pumped harder, timing my rhythm ever-so-carefully to achieve my purest form, when a single whimper escaped my lips. My neighbor, having already butchered his son to little more than a torso must have heard me, because his gaze snapped to the window and our eyes met just as I was jizzing all over his vinyl siding. I was scared. I didn't want to be butchered, but I was jizzing and I couldn't stop, Lucy. I couldn't stop..
I violently pumped and shook my dick, squirting out the spraying jizz all over the man's vinyl siding as he got up to run towards his door to come outside. I was quicker than that though, I tore back through the thorn bushes, dick flailing and all where it was severed almost completely off by the large barbs of the thorn bushes. I made it back inside my place and BOLTED THE DOOR SHUT to my fucking CHAMBERS. Here I am now, where I dwell now and forever and ever. Amen.
Grimace
motherfucker
[my enumerable hindi guideword]
Is that what you're trying to do?
2017-07-28 at 10:29 AM UTC
in
Bruise stimulation
Grimace
motherfucker
[my enumerable hindi guideword]
Smash all ten fingers and toes in a car door simultaneously. After you have done this, you can begin to stimulate your bruises by rapidly pounding away on your smartphone screen and keyboard while twiddling your toes in blissful ignorance that you have, in fact, almost severed all ten fingers and toes in the car door slam and they are dangling and flailing about your digits, only being held on by a thin piece of skin that stretches more and more with every wild keyboard stroke. STROKE. IT'S ALL ABOUT THE STROKES, MAAAAAAAAAAAAN.
Hey.
Grimace
motherfucker
[my enumerable hindi guideword]
Everyone just shut up, please. Shut up. Thank you.
2017-04-16 at 12:01 AM UTC
in
Derail me
Grimace
motherfucker
[my enumerable hindi guideword]
I smoked leaves and raked weed.
2017-04-15 at 11:45 PM UTC
in
ITT: Name Calling
Grimace
motherfucker
[my enumerable hindi guideword]
PENIS WRINKLE! Hehehehhehehehehehehheheheheheheheheh!
I said "penis"!
2017-04-15 at 11:29 PM UTC
in
Derail me
Grimace
motherfucker
[my enumerable hindi guideword]
I agree. Children should always be abused, both psychologically and physically. "BEAT them regularly!", my father always said while sitting at the table with a HEAPING bowl of mashed potatoes steaming up into his face. My father was a simple man who often resorted to violence when he didn't understand something. "Father!", I used to cry out, hoping to gain his attention. He would become startled and leap up from his chair and bludgeon me in the head with his bowl of mashed potatoes, shouting, "YOU'RE A FAGGOT! YOU'RE A FAGGOT! YOU'RE A FAGGOT!" over and over. He knocked my teeth out more than once while I was growing up. I wear dentures now and I am 37. I'm not old. I'M NOT OLD!
