General trigger warning for… pretty much everything. The second part will be in a comment right below this, because I’ve reached the character limit.
I was always pretty unusual looking. Well, I guess that’s a bit of an understatement. Did you know that if you have an ugly face, it’s extremely easy to piss people off? You’d be surprised.
It’s hard to pinpoint when exactly I realized this. It could’ve been in school when I noticed the teachers were more impatient with me than anyone else, or in the line at taco bell when I stuttered one too many times trying to order and the cashier decided that was the last straw, or maybe at Sunday school when I would try to participate in the discussion, only to end up convinced that I died and became a ghost nobody could hear. Even my parents were less patient with me than all seven of my siblings, both young and old, all making the same mistakes any kid would.
Either way, simply existing seemed to make everyone around me angry. Years of training myself to be as little of an inconvenience as possible just resulted in people getting mad at me for interacting with them too much in general. Keeping to myself didn’t work either. Now I was a creep, about to prove everyone right at any moment.
I had to be extra careful that nothing I said could be misinterpreted in a way that made me sound devious. I wish I could’ve simply stayed silent, but that didn’t seem to work either. One time, just one time, I spaced out a little too long before realizing I was making eye contact with somebody, and then I was known as a starrer. You would’ve thought I burnt down an orphanage the way it made all the girls angry.
I ended up hating women for a while. Joined one of those “incel” forums until collapsing at school one day from exhaustion. If that was a confusing sentence, it might help to know that carrying too much anger inside you for extended periods of time can drain the living shit out of your energy.
Of course since I was hideous, this somehow made it weird and scary rather than concerning that I suddenly collapsed. At least someone called an ambulance, but that’s besides the point. The point is, I realized that all the anger I carried around was draining my energy, and began to realize it was a problem.
Every time I saw a post on facebook about how “true beauty was on the inside”, or “don’t make fun of people for being different!”, and saw the same people who had no tolerance for me at school commenting on those posts with the same empty platitudes I saw constantly, I’d go into an internal fit of rage. A lot of things would have that effect on me.
At one point I just had to accept the fact that until I grew out of my awkward phase, I was bound to upset people. Maybe until I looked at least normal, and I could move to a different city, I could try to enjoy life for what it was. Until I grew out of my awkward phase where I looked ugly.
How could I enjoy life without companionship, though? I had my bad days still, sure, but I tried everything I could to entertain myself. Sometimes I was able to find joy in the simple things.
For example, one thing you probably didn’t know if you don’t relate, is that when you’re ugly, everyone assumes you’re stupid as fuck. This allowed me to play dumb and get extra help with things in situations where people had no choice but to work with me. Group assignments? I hardly did any work. I confirmed the preconceived notion everyone had from the beginning, and as a result, they did things for me instead of letting me “ruin” it. And then they would get mad at me for not doing anything.
Their anger, and their assuming I was an idiot would’ve happened anyway. Weather I did the majority of the work, or a calculated amount in an attempt to appease them, no matter what I did, it would be an issue.
So why not take advantage out of it? Everyone around me enjoyed life in their own way, so I was going to enjoy mine until this awkward phase ended. If I could just hold out until then.
Eventually, I began to take joy in the predictable anger of everyone I mildly inconvenienced. At first I didn’t even have to do anything morally wrong. I would go to taco bell, and approach whichever cashier looked the most tired.
“And can I get uhhhh coke please? No wait, actually uhh… lemme get a Dr. Pepper.”
The slight amount of extra time due my indecisiveness, my “um”s and “uh”s, it fueled their anger more than anything else that happened that day. Why? Cause my face was just annoying like that.
Eventually I didn’t get much of a thrill from that anymore. In hindsight, I think it’s because I had so much confidence in those small interactions where I intentionally tried to piss people off, that my ugliness was less noticeable. It became a human error, like it was for everyone else.
Don’t get me wrong, everything else still went how it normally did. Kids my age would go out of their way to outright tell me to my face that I was ugly, like the cartoonish sitcom bullies you don’t think are real. Fun fact, when you’re ugly, people have a tendency to assume you don’t have the emotional capacity to care about it. People don’t really look at your face long enough to realize they just made you sad or angry, and they already think you’re stupid, so they actually, genuinely, have no idea that their comments effect you.
You see, an ugly person is a non-entity. An NPC, if you will. They don’t actually exist, so there’s no reason to be worried about their personal thoughts and feelings. At least that’s what people assume.
Anyways, to continue getting some type of enjoyment out of life, I had to graduate from making small, realistic mistakes. I started doing teachers pet shit. The teachers who usually would appreciate this, hated it. The teachers who didn’t care about the subject they taught, especially hated it. The other kids in class? You bet they fucking hated it. And I relished every groan and eye roll I got in return for shooting my hand up to answer every question, to ask every obvious question, to crack every unfunny joke possible, to just talk and talk every opportunity I could.
When I was sent to ISS, I had some quiet time to myself. It was a win-win either way. At home I would fuck up even the most simplest of tasks until my parents finally decided I was useless and left me alone. This gave me more free-time to play video games and fuck around on the internet.
Revisiting that incel forum I mentioned, I just saw the same kind of stupid anger I saw from everyone else, just with a different ideology behind it. It was all a bunch of self induced misery. Just a shitfest of whining that was beneath me. When making posts on there pretending to be this handsome dude that got laid often, the large amount of anger that came my way, gave me a massive hardon.
Naturally, I got banned from that forum, so I started posting on other ones dedicated to random interests of mine like Mario and Anime or whatever. Interacting with people online, not showing my face, I was able to get a glimpse of how normal looking people were treated. It’s as if there was this unspoken agreement between everybody that even strangers were given this baseline of common courtesy or respect.
I realized just how fake it all was. Did anyone actually care about each other, or was it about status all along? I saw the way drama arose from nothing in every single community, and how anyone’s reputation could fluctuate from one extreme to another over the years, over the most petty things.
Did people actually ever care about each other from the beginning? There was nobody that I particularly cared about, so maybe human interaction really was just a clusterfuck of constant virtue signaling. I just wasn’t able to see it because of my predetermined position at the bottom of the social hierarchy.
But I wasn’t quite ready to accept that as reality yet. I’m human afterall, so I still had hope in the form of one person.
Long story short, I got some internet bitch to fall in love with me. I thought I kinda liked to her too, but I couldn’t get rid of that feeling of smugness every time I told her a fake story about how uncomfortable getting hit on made me, and every time I lied about being too shy to show my face. I loved showing my face. It was so punchable and annoying it was like a superpower.
Anyways, when I finally showed her my face, she made an obvious lie about how her parents found out about me and said we couldn’t talk anymore, or she’d have her computer taken away. Because everyone thinks ugly people are stupid, she doubled down and even got angry at me when I calmly asked for the truth from her.
It was then that I accepted the fact that love and morality weren’t real things. It was just lust that drew me towards her from the start anyway, so it was probably the same for her. I realized that people got together because of attraction, rather than some vague soft feeling that I thought was the cause.
I think what I had confused, were feelings I used to have as a child. There was this strange want that I had for my parents affection. I think that’s what most people have when they’re born. It’s a way to help them survive, until they can fend for themselves. By that point, those squishy feelings go away.
I thought I was fucked up for losing affection for my parents, but now I realize that’s what everyone does. You grow out of those soft feelings, some people sooner than others, and by the time you’re in your early teens, you use those feelings as a frame of reference for how you treat other people. Not because you love other people, but for your survival. If everyone is civil enough, we won’t be killing each other off.
This is where that unspoken baseline of common courtesy comes from. I finally started to get it.
After that, my tactics for pissing people off became more extreme. I talked to strangers wherever I went. I stood uncomfortably close to everyone, spoke just a little too loudly, smiled too broadly, lingered too long, any little thing I could think of.
Sometimes I began to feel like an asshole, so I started thinking of the greatest outbursts I was able to get out of people every time I rubbed one out, until I was finally able to make a strong enough association between sexual arousal and pissing people off that it became a drive. Now I had no choice but to do it.
My “awkward phase” turned out not to be much of a “phase” afterall. If anything, I think I just became worse looking. But hey, with the energy I was able to suck out of people, I was jumping out of bed at four in the morning and retiring at midnight.
When highschool came to an end, I realized I would need a job, but I was well established in my city as the most hated person, and had no connections whatsoever. So, I did what any stupid ugly asshole with no money would do when they needed a job. I joined the military.
Now, before going to basic training, you went through reception. There’s a lot of standing in lines, being handed equipment, being told to sign things, getting asked questions, etc. And you know what this meant? That’s right. Lots and lots of opportunities to make mistakes. I held up so many lines asking stupid questions and correcting avoidable mistakes. I remember one I even made on accident that worked like a charm.
At some point we had to have our pictures taken so our military ID’s could be made. In my sleep deprived state, I didn’t realize it was my turn when the lady said to me “stand here”. I only looked up in time to see her looking at me, and lowering her arm. She must’ve been pointing at the camera, so I stood in front of it.
“Right here?”
I asked.
“No..”
She made a vague motion with her hand that I could only assume meant “back up a little”, so I did just that. She proceeded to stare at me for a moment as if I was expected to read her mind, before saying,
“You’re irritating. Take a step forward. God, you people don’t listen.”
Every other person before this interaction, I could hear her calmly saying things like “just a little bit to the left aaaaand… perfect! Right there”, as if it was part of her job to position people for the picture, which I’m pretty sure it was. It was then I decided to really test my luck.
Just as the picture was about to be taken, I stretched and squinted my eyes.
“What are you doing?”
I stare at her blankly. She grunts.
I start walking away.
“Where are you going?!”
I smile.
“Oh haha, my bad, I uh… I thought y- I thought you, I thought- I thought you took the uhhhhhh the picture…. already….”
Everyone in line before me was too tired to give much of a reaction, but picture lady gave me all the energy I needed for that hour.
In actual basic training, making mistakes usually resulted in me having to do pushups, so I had to get a little more creative. I decided to act like I thought I was captain America. Fully brainwashed by yee yee propaganda, sleeping at position of attention, unironically giving speeches about friendship and camaraderie, snitching on people who had contraband, ranting about how America could “easily conquer the world if we wanted to”, etc. etc. etc. I had years of practice from being in ROTC in highschool. My patriotic meathead persona had already been refined over three years, and it was only improving from there.
Fast forward to another three years later. I got promoted as fast as I possibly could, and was now a sergeant. You would think the brand new power dynamic I attained would be a goldmine for explosive sexual satisfaction, right? Well, by that point I was like a junkie that had already moved on to heroin, and needed a dose so big it wasn’t possible without dire consequences. I was in a constant state of near-numbness. I could restrain myself until the tolerance went away a little before going on the occasional power-trip, but nothing really did it for me the way it used to.
I looked at my highschool memories with fondness. Gone were the days where I could just raise my hand and the ensuing complaints from kids who knew what was about to happen could make me cum a hole in my little cargo shorts immediately. No, I needed something a thousand times stronger, and it was constantly on my mind.
I kept rising through the ranks, getting into positions where I could try crazier and crazier shit and get away with.
During one deployment, a little girl walked towards our ditch with a bomb strapped to her chest. She was shaking and crying the whole walk there. She threw up a few times, unable to handle the dread of her ensuing mortality. The people to my left and right screamed out the few words they knew in her language.
“Stop,” “we don’t want to harm you,” etc.
These situations were common. Usually a warning shot or two would scare them away, but I’d always play the role of the patriotic meathead who felt he was robbed of yet another heroic kill. I loved pretending to be that asshole who loved war and couldn’t comprehend the nuances of morality. Every time the guys around me wanted to spare someone, especially children, I would yell out;
“We don’t negotiate with terrorists! Never negotiate with terrorists!”
In my exaggerated southern accent. You know how repetition has a way of making things annoying? I made sure to say that phrase at least once a day. These situations became my only saving grace for a while.
But this girl was different. Our warning shots didn’t do shit. She just kept walking closer. At one point someone called the Master-Sergeant on his phone, asking what they should do. Even when Master-Sergeant yelled at him to shoot the kid, he couldn’t do it.
We could see the girls face now. The guys to my left and right were begging her to stop, some with tears in their eyes.
While everyone’s eyes were completely off me, I aimed my rifle and shot her perfectly in her forehead with no hesitation. There was a moment of silence, which I promptly broke by yelling out in glee how I saved the day.
One guy snapped, grabbing my collar in a balled first before realizing what he was doing. He stayed like that for a second, then let go.
When Master-Sergeant got there in a panic, and I explained the situation, he smoked the dogshit out of the ones in the ditch with me who refused to shoot. Five thousand pushups, crunches, and iron-mikes later, laying in a puddle of their own sweat in the hot Iraq sun, I walk over to them calmly with some bottles of water. They think I’m about to offer them some, so they struggle up to a seated position. As I get closer, they realize the bottles are empty. I’m just taking them to the recycling bin behind them, as opposed to the one that was right next to my tent. As I walk past them, I give them a smug look and say,
“Never negotiate with terrorists. I hope you’ve learned your lesson.”
Their screams of anger make me spasm and fall to the ground. It’s my first orgasm in six months. After years of the world telling me “you’re ugly” over and over again, I made it my life duty to respond to the whole world, with my thoughts, with my actions, with my words, and of course, with my face, “Yes, I am ugly. What about it?”
-———————————————————————————————————-
When I eventually reenlisted and got stationed in Germany, things took a turn for the worse. The workload was a lot more demanding, and I had not yet established myself as someone who was annoying. I was also in great shape at the time. I believe I was what you’d call a “butterface”. Now people in my platoon were responding to my displays of dominance with genuine respect. They were talking to me like I was an older brother or some shit. There was one kid in the platoon who was a bit of an outcast. I was able to get some anger out of him at first but then he ended up PCSing to some other unit. Times were tough then. My supply of rage was smaller than ever, and I was just a regular person without any real power. Sometimes I could supplement what I needed with alcohol, but this was hard to do during work hours without causing issues.
-———————————————————————————————————-
And then I met Melvin. I’m not shitting you when I tell you that this brand new nineteen year old kid who was pressured into joining the army by his parents, who actually turned out to be a twenty four year old with a babyface, who was timid and had not at all come to terms with his self hatred, again I’m not shitting you when I say this, he looked ten times uglier than I ever did.
Immediately he became everybody’s punching bag. They couldn’t believe he was twenty four. It didn’t help that when the awkward fuck needed help because his bank account was somehow empty, we found out that the reason it was empty was because he decided to share it with some girl he met back home. He claims it’s his girlfriend, and that she “probably didn’t mean” to take away/spend/whatever the fuck she did, with every last everfucking cent in his bank account.
So he didn’t just look like a dumbass. The pussywhipped motherfucker was never gonna live that down. He was reminded of it every day, and still he swore up and down that she loved him.
Here’s the thing, this isn’t the first time I’d met another ugly person. Me and the others, when we crossed paths on the rare occasion, we’d share stories of playing dumb, making people uncomfortable, etc. Most would never take it as far as I would, and I could tell, but there was a very clear difference I learned to recognize between someone pretending to be stupid, and a genuine nimrod. This Melvin guy, he was fucking stupid. I saw the empty bank account with my own eyes. I saw how tired he’d get every time someone smoked the shit out of him, before he promptly made the same mistake that got him in trouble again.
He had this weird habit of building stuff out of pens he took apart, paperclips, whatever random shit he could find. Some of it was actually mildly impressive, but you can only launch pennies across the room with your weird contraptions so many times before it pisses someone off.
One day he came into my office after work. Apparently he didn’t know how much shit I was talking behind his back, because he started confiding in me about the way others in my platoon were treating him. They wouldn’t stop asking how his “girlfriend” was doing, they wouldn’t stop saying “I like ya cut G” and smacking the shit out of his bald, trapezoid shaped head, and they wouldn’t stop pointing out his fucked up facial features.
Lemme give you the rundown:
This dude had massive fucking ears. The top parts were larger than the bottoms, which made it worse. His nose was not only big, but somehow from the front it looked like a peanut, and from the side it was angular. Most bizarre shit I’ve ever seen. His Adams apple bounced up and down when he talked, and the way he squinted constantly because he didn’t like wearing glasses made his eyes look all kinds of weird. His chin was so recessed his Adams apple disappeared behind it when he spoke.
I hated Melvin. He was everything the world told me I was. I only looked like the lazy dumb fuck this kid embodied so well. He was just out here helping the stereotype grow. It was then that my brain hatched an idea. I would get my next nut, and I would get it by drawing out the depths of Melvin’s pathetic virgin rage.
Long story short, I pretended to be the one person who was there for him. Someone he could trust. I got him to tell me in specific detail what he hated the most about his face. I got him to stop trusting everyone else in his life, family included. Everyone except for the manipulative girlfriend of course. I encouraged him to stay with her. I insisted that she was just testing him cause she was insecure, and it was up to him to “save” her from her fear of being alone and her trust issues.
I helped him set aside miniscule amounts of cash. He got all his food from the DFAC, didn’t buy new hygiene supplies aside from razors (and yes, he did constantly smell like ass now), and he never went out to experience Europe. It was a damn shame he was so stupid.
He opened up so much about this girl that was blatantly stealing his money, that he gave me a creepy amount of information. When I went on leave during the summer, (after finding many excuses to discourage Melvin from taking leave), I found out where this girl was, just for shits and giggles. I found her outside her favorite noodle shop with a tall, handsome looking guy.
I knew immediately it was Jake, the guy who Melvin hated most in the world. He seemed to think that the girl he simped so hard for hated him too. Evidently, that couldn’t be further from the truth. They had more chemistry than any two people I had ever seen. I’ve never seen someone that in love. Holy shit.
So naturally I follow them from afar, back to Jake’s place. Her and Jake talked to his dad in the driveway for a minute, who looked like he was about to leave.
I get a text from Melvin. He sent me a video of something he made out of magnets that could spin indefinitely.
He sent a paragraph of how he was thinking of attaching some wire and other bullshit to it so he could make…. a space projector? I had no idea what he was talking about, so I just sent him a thumbs up emoji.
I snuck into Jake’s house. You read that right. It was an opportunity that couldn’t be missed. Conveniently, Jake’s room and a guest bedroom was divided by a thin wall that I was easily able to poke a decent sized hole in. I get my phone camera ready. Long story short, I eventually get the fucking in 4k. They’re not just fucking though. It’s extremely passionate like they’ve been in love for centuries. They go into so many different positions. Showing this to Melvin would absolutely destroy him. His years of suffering were just the little baby strokes, and what happens next will be the climax.
I hold onto this video. It feels like carrying a bomb in my pocket. Did I mention that Melvin thinks his pretend girlfriend is a virgin who’s saving herself for him? Yeah, he’s one of those guys.
For some reason, incels and the like have their own strange version of the American dream that’s equally as oddly specific. A big part of it is having their first time with a virgin, one who will only ever be with them for their whole life.
There’s a lot of other arbitrary requirements and boxes to check in this incel American dream. The half eaten plate of tendies that magically disappears when you come back from your monthly shower because mom-wife cleans up after you, the special crypto currency that lifts you out of the rat-race within minutes, etc. The most important part of it though seems to be the virgin thing. They attach so much of their pride to it that it alters their brain chemistry.
When I got back from my little trip, Melvin was having a hard time. Apparently the one week I was gone was “too hard” for him. God, what a dramatic bitch he was. He was so dependent on me it wasn’t even funny anymore.
He even complained that he somehow built a swing in his room out of scraps, but was told to tear it down during a surprise room inspection. What is he, five?
No, I didn’t show the video yet. I needed to not only time it right on the worst day of his life, but I needed to find a way to send it anonymously, in a way I couldn’t get caught.
There was a long, annual field mission coming up. One of the most demanding and exhausting ones we do. It always puts Melvin in a bad mood. He never has time to pretend to be Jimmy Neutron, and because the internet sucks out there in the forest of Grafenwoer, he hardly ever gets his bimonthly text from his precious Lily. Or was it Luanne? Lois? Hey Lois, remember that time I traumatized an ugly kid? You will.
In the month leading up to this field mission, I drifted away from Melvin, claiming I was busy. During the preparation for it alone, he was already developing dark circles around his eyes. He almost looked like mordecai from regular show, or whatever the gerbil’s name is. He even started openly shedding tears while the boys in my platoon roasted him one day. Good god this was gonna be an amazing field exercise.
I decided to get a little more meticulous and put him on the CQ roster. Specifically for the day after everything finally settled down, after the field mission was over. There’s always stuff to do afterwards like getting all the equipment accounted for, washing the vehicles, etc. It takes at least two weeks, and the days are always longer than usual, and that’s exactly how it happened once the field mission was over.
Fast forward to when those two weeks actually came. I slowly started to realize that my gut instinct was right. The day I scheduled him for the CQ shift, is the day after we finally got everything done, which just so happened to be December 25th. That’s right fuckers. Everything is perfectly aligned to where I can fuck with Melvin to the worst possible extent.
Now is probably the best time to explain what a CQ shift is. It’s something everybody in the unit takes turns doing, hence the roster. It’s a shift that lasts 24 hours, seven days a week. Because of this, each shift is 24 hours long from six in the morning to six in the next morning, until whoever’s on CQ the next day relives the previous shift.
Right before his CQ shift, I found the Sergeant who’s on shift with him during Christmas. He already seems in a bad mood that he can’t spend the day with his family. Perfect. I give him a “heads up” that Melvin might need some harsh disciplining, and is likely to slack off.
“Oh don’t worry,”
He responds.
“I won’t be in the mood to put up with the slightest amount of shit. I’ll make sure it’s the worst day of his life if he gives me any issues.”
Friendly reminder that Melvin is ugly as fuck. I think you can guess how this went for him.
The next day, me and the boys were doing some work in the motorpool. I waited until 1300, drove them over to the barracks, and knocked on Melvin’s door, with them standing behind me. Why, you may ask? You see, the general rule for sleep cycles in the army is that everyone is required seven hours of sleep. Usually, People on CQ shifts are given the next day off as recovery, but there is no army-wide regulation that actually covers this. Some units do for just their own unit, but not this one. This is a loophole that allows me to wake up Melvin seven hours after his long, shitty CQ shift.
Since he’s the platoon punching bag, the boys obviously find this hilarious. Especially considering how every single one of them had a CQ shift the previous week, and were not given the same treatment. I pound on Melvin’s door, the boys giggling in the background as the timid fool hastily jumps out of bed and opens it up. He’s swaying, his eye bags have their own bags beneath them. His corneas have more red than white, and there’s still a subtle imprint of tear streaks on his ugly little cheeks.
“How was your CQ shift?”
“I-It was horrible… T-This asshole s-“
“Neat. Get showered and get dressed. I want you in the motor pool in thirty minutes.”
“But I was on CQ yesterday….”
“You mean seven hours ago this morning? You had enough hours to sleep. Let’s go.”
As I predicted, he was too timid and exhausted to argue. When he showed up thirty minutes later, I made him do sprints across the entire motorpool for being late, while the boys cheered him on. Later that day, after keeping him at work overtime for “misconduct”, I finally get ready to send him the video of Jake fucking the shit out of the love of his life.
I used his girlfriends old Instagram account that he memorized the password for. For some reason, he decided to share it with me. Why he told me, I have no idea, but it was over a year ago so I doubt he remembered.
Anyways, I dropped him off at the barracks after the long shitty day, after hours of being a condescending asshole to him. I go on the bitch’s old Instagram account, video ready, and press send. Not immediately of course. I wait until the usual time the boys go out drinking. They will most likely be in the hallway.
With Lois and Jake’s passionate lovemaking now in his messages, I wait.
Given that Melvin has no life aside from his weird hobby of building stuff out of trash, it’s no surprise when I see that it gets read almost immediately. I quickly logged into watsapp to watch the work groupchat.
You see, I know exactly how people like Melvin think. What he’s gonna do when he breaks and decides he doesn’t care anymore, is start typing up a long “Fuck you” message in the work group chat, directed at everyone who ever wronged him, before hanging himself with the noose he keeps in his room.
For context, he’s so pathetic that he keeps the noose in plain sight, hoping someone will ask about it and show some concern. He’s been doing it since the first time I gave his room a mandatory inspection two years ago. Such a dramaqueen.
It took a bit longer than I thought. Ten minutes and thirty nine seconds to be exact. I laugh as I realize that’s exactly how long the video is. He actually sat through the entirety of the video, probably both masturbating bitterly and seething with rage as the love of his life gets railed by the guy he hates the most. Funny thing about Jake, he’s actually an engineer.
In the chat, I just see “melvin is typing” for what feels like twenty minutes. As a joke, and to get everyone’s attention, I say in the groupchat, “Damn, Melvin’s typing up a whole essay”. Now everyone’s online. The boys throw a few jabs at him in the groupchat as well. He stops typing for a second in hesitation, but eventually he keeps going. I bet some of the boys intuitively know what’s about to come.
I’ll cut to the chase. Basically he types a long, long message that gets cut off due to the character limit, deletes it, and scrambles to find some way to fix it. I screenshot it before he deletes it though. It isn’t very memorable. All I know is that the first line was “You know what? Fuck ALL OF YOU” or something like that. Anyways, right before he can send another message, I remove him from the groupchat and march over to his room.
With the key card I borrowed from one of the barracks managers, I barge into his room. The pathetic sight I see is hilarious. He’s standing on a stool, looking back and forth between a shittily made noose and his phone as if he’s trying to find a tutorial on self hanging, and the second I barge in he flinches with his entire body, staring at me like a deer in headlights. I snatch the rope from his hand, throw it in the closet, and start screaming at him to get on the ground and start doing pushups, yelling perfectly crafted insults using my encyclopedic knowledge of his facial insecurities.
I already have the screenshot sent to the first sergeant. He arrives five minutes later to see Melvin crying, trying to argue with me. Long story short, eight more NCOs show up to scream in his face, he gets smoked for hours, until eventually he starts screaming and shrieking like a banshee and running down the barracks hallway. Oh, and of course the boys came out to watch the whole thing unfold just in time, struggling to contain their laughter.
When he faceplants in the hallway, the boys start to go silent. They’re not laughing anymore. As he spasms and screams like a toddler, the boys just look sad. A random girl walks by and looks at him weird. Apparently this is the last straw, because Melvin immediately stands up and tries to deck her in the face. He misses, because of course he does, and the boys instantly beat the everfucking shit out of him as the girl screams and runs away. Me and the NCOs scream at him that he’s so fucked.
My dick gets harder than the core of Jupiter.
“I-I gotta go”
I walked off. I didn’t expect the effects to come this early. Melvin’s rage had finally given me my latest fix, but I didn’t expect it to actually be so strong. I must’ve done too much..
The others, my boss included, just nod with misplaced understanding. They think I can’t stand the sight due to disappointment. It’s quite the opposite, but they don’t need to know that.
I get in my car and drive home ASAP. I can hardly contain it. I fumble for my keys at the door, my legs are wobbly. Next thing I know I’m in my room, and I ejaculated so hard it projectile launched me into the wall, obliterating my pants and underwear. I land and roll onto my back. I’m still ejaculating onto the ceiling like a fountain. I laugh. The world. It’s mine. I am power.
“NEVER NEGOTIATE WITH A TERRORIIIIIIISSSSST”
I yell. I don’t know why. I go to the bar, drink my heart out. I feel amazing. A German fifteen year old picks up on my powerful energy. She gives me the eyes. I bang her right then and there, somehow getting away with it. I go to the redlight district near the Rezi. I find a thicc prostitute and fuck the shit out of her. Bring her back to my place. Fuck her until the sun rises. I feel amazing. It’s Saturday, I don’t have to work. Nobody calls me. I convince the bitch to marry me. She’s Korean and has always wanted to move to America. She thinks it’s gonna be California or new York. Nope. Take her back to my place in bumfuck Nebraska. I don’t help her learn English. She’s all alone, can’t contact her family. For years I just look at her, and she knows to open her legs. Fuck her senseless every day while she stares at the ceiling with a glazed look in the eye. I hope she doesn’t kill herself like Melvin definitely did.
Last I heard, he tried to represent himself in court (dumbass) and went to prison. This information is enough to keep me going. Eventually my high wears off. (see my comment for the rest of this)