A/N: Yes, this needs to be here. rated 'R' for bad use of letters to form words.
This poem/story has that certain Noodle Boy "quality". Feel free to flame, it's what I expect and hope for. I'm trying to make you hate me...writing that last fic was painful and depressing, and I wanted to write something even more painful but the outcome was supposed to make ME giggle. So this story was made for my benefit...though, what do I get from it? Masses of giggles, you moron. I -already- said that...well, not the masses part, but you get the picture. I hope. Read it, stupid!
My throat hurts...it's one in the morning and birds are chirping. Those creeps (replaced another word)!
Oh yeah, a couple of more things.
This was written from a "victim's" point of view before he died...and I'm not wasting my energy to type a disclaimer, because you -should- already know who Johnny belongs to. The poem belongs to me, though.
Johnny C.
You little Fucker!
Johnny C.
You little Shit!
Johnny C.
This Stupid Poem may not rhyme!
But Get over it!
Wait, that rhymed...
I may be a presumptuous...
But you are a skinny faggot and insane!
At least I'm---
::Johnny approached the moron who was reciting his disturbingly stupid poem/song with a hatchet. Johnny swung, and smacked the moron with the blade. It embedded in his head with a sickening whack, but the man didn't die. Instead, he started to scream, which annoyed Johnny. He was talking enough already.::
WAIT, NO!!! GO AWAY!!! GET THAT THING AWAY FROM MEEEEEE!!! I'M SORRY!!! DON'T KILL ME!!!! DON'T KILL ME, PLEASE!!!! I'LL BE NICE TO Y---
::Johnny grimaced, and continued to hit the moron in the head with the hatchet. The man kept screaming, then Johnny spoke up.::
SHUT UP AND DIE!!!!
::The moron, as if on cue, fell forward and started to bleed all over the floor. Yipee.::
[Covers my eyes in embarassment]
This poem/story has that certain Noodle Boy "quality". Feel free to flame, it's what I expect and hope for. I'm trying to make you hate me...writing that last fic was painful and depressing, and I wanted to write something even more painful but the outcome was supposed to make ME giggle. So this story was made for my benefit...though, what do I get from it? Masses of giggles, you moron. I -already- said that...well, not the masses part, but you get the picture. I hope. Read it, stupid!
My throat hurts...it's one in the morning and birds are chirping. Those creeps (replaced another word)!
Oh yeah, a couple of more things.
This was written from a "victim's" point of view before he died...and I'm not wasting my energy to type a disclaimer, because you -should- already know who Johnny belongs to. The poem belongs to me, though.
Johnny C.
You little Fucker!
Johnny C.
You little Shit!
Johnny C.
This Stupid Poem may not rhyme!
But Get over it!
Wait, that rhymed...
I may be a presumptuous...
But you are a skinny faggot and insane!
At least I'm---
::Johnny approached the moron who was reciting his disturbingly stupid poem/song with a hatchet. Johnny swung, and smacked the moron with the blade. It embedded in his head with a sickening whack, but the man didn't die. Instead, he started to scream, which annoyed Johnny. He was talking enough already.::
WAIT, NO!!! GO AWAY!!! GET THAT THING AWAY FROM MEEEEEE!!! I'M SORRY!!! DON'T KILL ME!!!! DON'T KILL ME, PLEASE!!!! I'LL BE NICE TO Y---
::Johnny grimaced, and continued to hit the moron in the head with the hatchet. The man kept screaming, then Johnny spoke up.::
SHUT UP AND DIE!!!!
::The moron, as if on cue, fell forward and started to bleed all over the floor. Yipee.::
[Covers my eyes in embarassment]