that bull sheet

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Mystery and Crime  |  House: Booksie Classic
A short piece taken for the book:
Your Money or Your Life by Th£ Ba$tard
coming soon...

Submitted: November 24, 2009

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Submitted: November 24, 2009

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Chapter -3 behind the mask







I’m not one of those twats that wake up one night angry and bitter at the world after suddenly realizing that I’ve been trying to make ends meet for much too long, or been reaching out for success for too long without any luck, wanting to murder everything in my way and take everything without asking in the spirit of that childish vengeance and anger that is usually the result of one too many chill out sessions watching the scripts of today’s damn fantasy crime writers that make the youth more overambitious than they should be.

I’m not bitter at all; if at all I’ve had to make ends meet even in the last twenty four hours, it’ll have been my entire fault. I never expected anything from the world or from anyone since my earliest days of adolescence; one could say I woke up to the ways of modern society really quick, either that or I was just a hard headed, stuck up teenager that wanted to do everything by himself so he could become more than just a real man - a god. Everything has always been about me, if I can’t get it done then I screwed up, if I’m broke then I didn’t put enough work in – I didn’t get paid, if I’m lonely then maybe I’m not friendly enough or maybe I’m just shy or no, maybe the world is full of billions of twats that want to use other twats as stepping stones to God or no, maybe all friends just want to see their friends fail so they can feel better about themselves and boy would they see a lot of failure in me…


…boy have I seen some damn lonely nights. But bitter? Why? Why the hell would I be bitter?




…Is it because I can’t seem to live a normal life no matter how much money I’ve got? Or that after years of running through dark streets all on my own facing fears that I didn’t even know existed, I was still unable to capture the girl of my damn dreams…

Or…or how the cops won’t get off my ass until they make that big seizure and finally get paid big time after years of surveillance, or how the damn alpha dogs keep acting a damn fool trying to give me an excuse to give them an excuse to invade my territory, as if THEY should need a reason, or how sometimes I’m so scared at night after risky jobs when all the thoughts I had held back flood my mind till I have to hold my head while my heart almost beats me to death and it suddenly occurs to me once again that all I have is those damn red bills to show for my many years in isolation, bills that disappear in the blink of an eye?

…or how I hit the gym on Friday nights with my weed sacks and my bank rolls nowadays because I can’t seem to find anywhere else worth while to go? Or how these damn bitches won’t even do ‘Everything’ these days? Always talking shit, “I don’t do this, I don’t do that”, like they are some respectable individuals or something…How these damn potency pills won’t even get me hard anymore…or get me too hard for too long instead? How the weed won’t even get me high anymore, instead just mess with my brain cells and fuck up my coordination and shit?

…or how I have to resort to hanging with my arch enemies most of the time because I have no friends? This is bull shit…



…Damn it I should be bitter…damn it…maybe I SHOULD be bitter. This is bull shit!


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