Hey there, baby! Daddy’s home from the bar, and, y’know what… he’s had an idea
I’ve been thinking about it, and I’ve had enough. Enough of you and the cyclone of bullshit that follows you around, dirtying or destroying everything you touch. Since moving in, you’ve been a constant burden to me, making life difficult and endlessly irritating; your personality has become a tax on pussy that I’m no longer willing to pay. I suspect I may have even come to despise you. But I believe I’ve finally figured out how to offset my losses.
I’ve decided to sell your ass to strangers.
Part of it is obviously the money; I plan to furnish my world with the proceeds of your degradation. But it’s more than that; there are so many opportunities for you to entertain me and enrich my life while earning a living on your back. You’ll be infinitely more valuable as a commodity than you ever were as a person.
Oh, don’t look so hurt! Surely you’ve always known this could never have been about love! There are things inside you worth using, but nothing anyone could ever cherish; with your novelty gone, I’m not sure what you thought I was getting out of this… or out of you. Did you think I was running some kind of charity for wayward girls, scraping up garbage from the street and recycling it for the good of cuntkind? Wouldn’t that be delightful? Me, a philanthrapist.
You’re a hoot! Have I ever told you that? And this is just the beginning of the endless fuck carnival I’ve decided to make of your life! It’s going to get so much worse, and so much better.
I can’t wait to hear the sound of your father’s voice on the phone when he finds out, and see the look on your face the first time he calls you a cunt. I want the chance to welcome you back from a bad night at work –spent beneath a nervous, rat-like man who smelled faintly of old cheese and older desperation– by petting your hair and telling you sweet, slightly sinister lies that sound like fairy tales but haunt you like ghosts. I can’t stop imagining standing next to you at the pharmacist’s counter and smiling brightly as he looks you up and down –from your disheveled sex-hair, over your ruined makeup, past your torn skirt, to the flaking cum on your thigh– and coldly hands you a bag full of Valtrex and Plan B. When I close my eyes, I can see myself sitting down to count my cash at the desk as you sit and count your bruises in the tub, both of us knowing there can never be enough.
Heh. Look at how hard I am, just thinking about everything you’ll lose, and everything I’ll gain. Isn’t it wonderful?
Yeah, I know this all seems rather abrupt and shocking. Up until five minutes ago, you still believed you mattered. But you really haven’t, not for a long time. I’ve kept it from you, well, let’s be honest… because silently laughing in your sweet, hopeful, upturned face seemed easier than throwing your shit in the street and changing the locks.
But this new plan, it puts all of that behind us. We can be together again, like before, only this time I won’t lie and tell you I care. This time we can be what we always have been, that most perfect of pairs.
A monster and a whore.
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