Little Ellen and Mary-Beth strolled along the sidewalk, as they always did after school. They stood side by side as they pushed their strollers along. Each stroller held a baby doll. Little Ellen had a pink doll; Mary-Beth had a yellow doll. Every day after school, Little Ellen and Mary-Beth pushed their baby dolls around the block in their quiet, idyllic suburb. But you don’t give a damn about that, right? I know, I know, I know you’re reading this and thining, “When do these little girls get horribly raped and murdered?” I know you’re waiting for the blood and guts. No one can write simply a cute little story about eight-year-old girls. No, there simply must be death and destruction. You’re all sick fucking pessimists, but that’s neither here nor there.
Anyways, Little Ellen suddenly stopped. Oh, fuck yeah! I can just you jizzing your pants with the anticipation of some vicious beast mauling little Ellen. That’s not at all what happens. Little Ellen suddenly stopped and loudly proclaimed, “My pink dolly is better than your yellow one!” “Nuh-uh!” Mary-Beth cried. She crossed her arms immediately and huffed. Oh, shit! She’s gonna fuck that bitch up, nigga! Yes, because that’s totally fucking logical. That is entirely the realistic reaction of an eight-year-old girl, to fuck a bitch up. God damn, I can’t write this story! Everytime I try to continue this innocuous child’s tale, your voices scream in my mind, demand me to cause violent atrocities to poor Little Ellen and Mary-Beth. Fuck it, I’ll sell-out to your will, just so I can finish their tale. And then, Soviet Russia fired a nuclear missile at America, incinerating all inhabitants.
The End.
No comments:
Post a Comment