11-13-2022, 02:46 PM
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Banned
Join Date: Aug 2019
Posts: 911
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Quote:
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He rolled out of bed, his girth making the springs moan like a high class whore, flaccid cock waggling about like a dying knight's arm. He sat up, the stink of wine wheezing through his yellow teeth, bleary eyes casting about the room. He spotted the bag of McDonald's on the dresser and threw a fat hand out for it, greedy and searching like a noble virgin pawing at the hem of the first whore he had bought, tearing the bag apart. Two Junior Chickens, a scattering of fries in the bottom, and a half eaten Big Mac remained of last night's gluttony. Not much, but enough for now. Enough to please, like the first whore of spring. He broke his fast and felt the rumbling in his gut before he was through with the first junior chicken. He waddled to the washroom, greasy bag clenched in one liver spotted hand as preciously as a knight would clench their sword, or a man would hold a whore's plump tit. He reached the toilet and squatted and shat. But the more he broke his fast the more he shat, until soon he passing nothing but putrid brown water. He looked up and his weak weasel-like eyes caught his own writing, a massage scrawled on the bathroom wall: TODAY WE START THE WINDS. "Cunt of a whore," he hissed to himself, spraying more brown water into the now rancid toilet bowl and breaking the last of his fast by pouring the fries into his gullet. He remembered the night he had scrawled those words on the wall, swimming pleasantly in the miasma of good wine and milk of the marijuana leaf, his cock still stinking of a high priced whore's honey pot. Ten years ago. Where he the time gone? Well, he knew where today's time wasn't going. Throwing on a ragged pair of boxers, George strode past his dusty office and retrieved his phone. Ah ha, just as he thought. Some cunts on twitter were trying to start a war. He grinned to himself, phone held in front of his fat enfolded body with the determination of a knight wielding his shield, and began to tap away at the screen.
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