- story 2
Warning: This story contains scenes of an intense and pointless graphic nature, including: sadism, torture, malpractice, rape, murder, and everything between and beyond.
Chapter 1: Chase The Stomach
Many'a year since the grizzly demise of eight of the finest cookie-cuttin', future cock slurrpin' Scout girls were found decimated in the wake of The Hamburger, and the unforgotton stench left behind at Burkman High of two paramedics -- who were just trying to do their jobs -- the jobs, just like everyone else who seems to encounter this enchanting soon-to-be 'King of the City': SAVING VICTIMS.
Have you seen this man?
Please, don't allow these brave paramedics to be entwined with the fate of your crusted, coated in kidney failure soul. If you have seen this man, you will soon know why you are a victim.
"Look bub', I don't give three quart'a milk and a broken ni**er if the payment didn't go through. I'm good for the cash, homeboy. You know me."
The voice, calming the displeased look on the counter jockey's face was strong enough to overwhelm him with a sense of pity. That, and he could smell lice and afterbirth on the breath of this man. He gently shifts the 24-pack of Coors across the counter top.
"Thanks, seņorita!" Michael Hamburger, now 20-years-old says, sliding his elbows along the counter and picking up the beer, giving his server a seductive wink as he does.
"I don't even know you," the stocky Indian man states, his accent thicker than Hamburger's lice-infested breath... barely.
"Haha, you're such a f*ckin' joker," Hamburger laughs, walking out with the case of beer pressed against his chest. "Cheesus Crust, God of Pizza, me 'n you gotta get our bee-hinds to the part-A."
The lust-covered walls were sweating with sex, both forced and consensual as The Hamburger drags his blistered heels down the corridor. He arrives at number 34. Home for him as of last Spring. He really is trying to become 'normal', believe it or not. He kicks the base of the door. "Let's go, broseths. Part-A won't wait for no man, y'hear?"
The door is immediately opened by a sickly muscled blonde haired teenager. Letting out a sigh of relief he grabs the Coors from Hamburger and nods his head.
"You did good, cock sucker. But I tell ya'," he leans in closer to Hamburger, twitches briefly, then leans back after realizing the stench of Bronchitis and 16-minute-old still-birth was emanating from Michael's very existence.
"...Where was I? ... Right. I tell ya', you keep talkin' like me, I fittin'a smash 'dem knee caps, y'hear?" he half-jokingly warns of his room mate.
"Gotcha, slick," Hamburger replies. On the outside, he smiles. On the inside, he wonders how hard he'd have to scratch through his stonewashed jeans before he could break skin. He dearly notes this to himself before he, the muscled blonde teen and another male, with long brown hair and a Mr. Bungle 'There's a Tractor in My Balls' t-shirt head back down the corridor Hamburger just came from.
The sound of student life is more alive than ever in the heart of Liverpool, England. The chilling Winter air is enough to warrant early indoor time to anyone who isn't ravenously assaulted on alcohol, drugs, or a combined mixture of both.
"Catch!" Todd, the aforementioned heavily muscled blonde teen yells to a group of girls, tossing a Coors their way. A girl catches it, barely, and they cheer as if they've f*cked their way from Broadway to feature-films. The Hamburger notices this, as Todd and his friend Murph both laugh and clap.
"Catch!" Hamburger yells, gripping his open beer and getting a full-fledged pitcher's piston force behind his scrappy right hand, then launching it through the air, across the busy roads, and nailing one of the girls square in the mouth, alcohol spilling everywhere upon impact.
The mood quickly turns, as screams and blood are both drawn from innocence just moments ago. Todd and Murph both look at Michael in disbelief, then can't help but laugh.
"Stupid maw'f*cka," Todd barely gets out between fits of laughter. Murph, gripping his sides with tears streaming down his face, begins to run as the girls all start running after the trio.
Five angry, barely clothed 'women'; one with a lip that can now only be described as mince meat, charging towards them, is what makes Michael forget that he's in Med. school, trying to be normal, with friends.
With Todd and Murph out of sight, and only strangers and those whores in sight. It's Hamburger time.
At nine-years-old, Kelly was a ballerina. She was accepted in to a top London school for junior dancers. Her parents pushed her, because they loved her. She couldn't see it then, but in this split moment -- leading her four other cheap slutbag friends towards The Hamburger, she finally found clarity after years and years of her parents trying to keep her focused on dancing. She could've been something. She could've been someone. Somewhere in 1983, her childhood self just shed a tear, because unbeknownst to her, she was about to get jack knifed to whatever God she chose to worship.
This scene, in three minutes:
Five dead whores, covered in the failings of society, a crimson red, and aids.
Rewind two-minutes and fifty-three seconds ago.
The Hamburger palms the jack knife he's kept close to him for four short years. He grabs ahold of Kelly's tattered sandy blonde hair and yanks her down to waist level. Her friends stop in their tracks as The Hamburger looks up at them, not breaking eye contact, as he begins viciously goating Kelly's left eye out of her skull with his trusty jack knife. Her legs instantly give up as her spine goes into what can only be described as a narcoleptic fashion.
She drops to the floor as chunks of her hair remain in Michael's hand. Her friends slowly step back, as cars begin slowing to a halt around them.
"Have you ever really, really wanted to eat Toxic Shock Syndrome between bread as if it were a sandwich?" Michael asks of the cum dumpsters in front of him before pacing forward after them, jack knife at the ready...