Post by Ciles Gorey on Jan 22, 2019 16:37:05 GMT -4
"Fuckin' cunt."
Drunkenly sputtering out these profanities sits a run-down, glassy eyed drunkard in the front room of his house. The man sits in scuffed black brogues, a three-piece pinstripe suit with long fish tail, a curry stained white shirt missing the second off of top button and an askew bow tie. By his side sits a top hat that has clearly seen better days atop a coffee-stained and ring marked wooden side table. In his hand he holds the cheapest off-brand vodka he can find in his local off-license. The man is clearly going fucking nowhere in life.
"The fuckin' lot of 'em. They're all fuckin' cunts."
The man is watching television. It would appear he's not a fan of the news. He takes a swig of his cheap booze and grimaces as the liquid flows into his mouth and he swallows. A cough sputters out before he continues to talk shit to the air.
"Who do they think they is? Telling me what's going on in the world? Why don they think I give two shits? Why does anyone give a shit nowadays? The world's fucked. Politics: fucked. Economy: fucked. Fuckin' 'ell everybody and everything in this fucking world is fucked and no fucker wants to fucking hear that it's fucked! Well I'll tell you fuckers what; tough fucking luck! The world doesn't give a fuck about ne twats feelin's and that's just the way the world is. It's how it should fucking be a tell yer..."
The man takes another sizeable gulp of what was likely made from brake fluid in an immigrants garage. This time it doesn't stay down on the first attempt. A little bit of vomit trickles from his mouth, no longer able to be contained by his inflated cheeks before the rest of the flow is swallowed back down. The man groans and takes multiple heavy breaths. He does not bother wiping the puke from his shaggy beard.
"I used to fucking be somebody."
His voice is notably beginning to quake as emotions begin to take over. His glassy eyes begin to fill with tears.
"I USED TO FUCKING BE SOMEBODY!"
He leans forward out of his chair, his jacket pulling itself away from the fabric makes a concernable squelching/ripping sound. He drops his bottle to the floor letting to remaining poison pour out onto his already filthy carpet. He rubs at his face with his grubby hands, rubbing his vomit further into his beard as he does so.
"I used to be on top of the motherfucking world. I used to cave people's skulls in with steel chairs for a living. I used to have a crowd in the palm of my hand wondering what I would do next to not only those that oppose me's bodies to to my own. Now look at me. It's 6 o'clock on a Tuesday evening and I'm three litres of vodka down and I've pissed myself. I make a living pulling fucking rabbits out of hats at kids parties!"
The man begins to weep. He looks up through his hands and tears at the exposed rafters holding up the ceiling.
"Fuck it."
Deciding to end it all he tries to force himself to a standing position, forgetting just how shitfaced he is and promptly falling face first onto the floor. He wallows in his misery for a second until something catches his attention.
"They say that time heals all wounds.."
The hobo-esque man looks up from his floor at his television and can barely believe what he is witnessing. He lies there, mouth agape as the full footage plays out before getting a second lease on life.
"NO!"
He pushes himself up off of the floor.
"FUCKIN' NO! I'm not fuckin' 'avin' it!"
Veins pop out along the side of his head and down his neck as his skin turns a deep shade of red (for once not due to alcohol).
"I've waited too fuckin' long for this. Finally I'm going to bury those cunts, once and for all. EVPW will fuckin' die. I'm going to make sure of it!"
*burp*
"But first, I should probably try to sober up..."
Drunkenly sputtering out these profanities sits a run-down, glassy eyed drunkard in the front room of his house. The man sits in scuffed black brogues, a three-piece pinstripe suit with long fish tail, a curry stained white shirt missing the second off of top button and an askew bow tie. By his side sits a top hat that has clearly seen better days atop a coffee-stained and ring marked wooden side table. In his hand he holds the cheapest off-brand vodka he can find in his local off-license. The man is clearly going fucking nowhere in life.
"The fuckin' lot of 'em. They're all fuckin' cunts."
The man is watching television. It would appear he's not a fan of the news. He takes a swig of his cheap booze and grimaces as the liquid flows into his mouth and he swallows. A cough sputters out before he continues to talk shit to the air.
"Who do they think they is? Telling me what's going on in the world? Why don they think I give two shits? Why does anyone give a shit nowadays? The world's fucked. Politics: fucked. Economy: fucked. Fuckin' 'ell everybody and everything in this fucking world is fucked and no fucker wants to fucking hear that it's fucked! Well I'll tell you fuckers what; tough fucking luck! The world doesn't give a fuck about ne twats feelin's and that's just the way the world is. It's how it should fucking be a tell yer..."
The man takes another sizeable gulp of what was likely made from brake fluid in an immigrants garage. This time it doesn't stay down on the first attempt. A little bit of vomit trickles from his mouth, no longer able to be contained by his inflated cheeks before the rest of the flow is swallowed back down. The man groans and takes multiple heavy breaths. He does not bother wiping the puke from his shaggy beard.
"I used to fucking be somebody."
His voice is notably beginning to quake as emotions begin to take over. His glassy eyes begin to fill with tears.
"I USED TO FUCKING BE SOMEBODY!"
He leans forward out of his chair, his jacket pulling itself away from the fabric makes a concernable squelching/ripping sound. He drops his bottle to the floor letting to remaining poison pour out onto his already filthy carpet. He rubs at his face with his grubby hands, rubbing his vomit further into his beard as he does so.
"I used to be on top of the motherfucking world. I used to cave people's skulls in with steel chairs for a living. I used to have a crowd in the palm of my hand wondering what I would do next to not only those that oppose me's bodies to to my own. Now look at me. It's 6 o'clock on a Tuesday evening and I'm three litres of vodka down and I've pissed myself. I make a living pulling fucking rabbits out of hats at kids parties!"
The man begins to weep. He looks up through his hands and tears at the exposed rafters holding up the ceiling.
"Fuck it."
Deciding to end it all he tries to force himself to a standing position, forgetting just how shitfaced he is and promptly falling face first onto the floor. He wallows in his misery for a second until something catches his attention.
"They say that time heals all wounds.."
The hobo-esque man looks up from his floor at his television and can barely believe what he is witnessing. He lies there, mouth agape as the full footage plays out before getting a second lease on life.
"NO!"
He pushes himself up off of the floor.
"FUCKIN' NO! I'm not fuckin' 'avin' it!"
Veins pop out along the side of his head and down his neck as his skin turns a deep shade of red (for once not due to alcohol).
"I've waited too fuckin' long for this. Finally I'm going to bury those cunts, once and for all. EVPW will fuckin' die. I'm going to make sure of it!"
*burp*
"But first, I should probably try to sober up..."
