George, I will fucking cut you cock to collar and wear your skin for a coat when it gets cold. Jesus. I remember you complaining about the heat once or twice in your life (which just got shorter). I know you are One-Time Man, and elements don't affect you (just pictures of ghosts), but Jesus!
Remember that time you shut the door to the bargain comics room at the shop? I arrived Saturday morning to start work, immediately noticed the door is shut and that it's dark in the tiny room.
For some reason, this is what entered my mind on that day: "The door is shut, it's dark in there, there's something evil in that room."
Naturally, my fear kicks in.
Instead of running away like a smart man, I low-crawl over to the door to get a peek in the damn window. Sweating the whole time, because I keep picturing The Grudge Girl jumping from behind the door once I get there, wondering if I can make it back across the store and out to safety in case she does show up.
I remember that so well. I remember when I did it I knew it would freak you out. Such a simple thing. It's weird how all that kind of stuff works. Me? I'm afraid of Tucker Carlson.
5 comments:
I thought you were going to stop with the tears and sobbing?
Are these legitimate high temperatures or your version of hot that I consider so cold it requires a jacket?
George, I will fucking cut you cock to collar and wear your skin for a coat when it gets cold. Jesus. I remember you complaining about the heat once or twice in your life (which just got shorter). I know you are One-Time Man, and elements don't affect you (just pictures of ghosts), but Jesus!
Bastard.
Remember that time you shut the door to the bargain comics room at the shop? I arrived Saturday morning to start work, immediately noticed the door is shut and that it's dark in the tiny room.
For some reason, this is what entered my mind on that day: "The door is shut, it's dark in there, there's something evil in that room."
Naturally, my fear kicks in.
Instead of running away like a smart man, I low-crawl over to the door to get a peek in the damn window. Sweating the whole time, because I keep picturing The Grudge Girl jumping from behind the door once I get there, wondering if I can make it back across the store and out to safety in case she does show up.
Bastard.
I remember that so well. I remember when I did it I knew it would freak you out. Such a simple thing. It's weird how all that kind of stuff works. Me? I'm afraid of Tucker Carlson.
Post a Comment