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Whipped Is Not The Word

Women control too much of our lives, especially when they tell you who you can and can't talk to. Why do I bring this up? Oh I don't know, maybe because the other day I witnessed a man turn in to a big, wet, soppy vagina, right in front of my eyes.

The aforementioned "man" was walking toward me with his "fiancé" (which is a word that is used to describe a man eating disease in other countries). The fiancé hates me because I'm just so damn cool and she can't stand the fact that I'm more famous than her. As they got in earshot, he made eye contact with me and I with him. I casually greet him with, "hey man," like most people with penis' do to other people with penis'. What does the so-called male do? Ignores me and purposely walks the other way.

Some would say he just didn't like me. But those ignorant bastards didn't see him come up and talk to me like a best bud the very night before. Therefore, he sold out. He is now a big, wet, soppy vagina.

Why should this matter to you? Because this is the mark of the beast, 666. The fables I have told you about a beast known as SuperBitch are true. The very devil I created the comic series after really does exist. It's all connecting now...

The beast strikes

I could probably go on for hours about how much of a woman he has just turned himself in to. I could also go on about how much of a man his fiancé actually is. Mustache? Check. Fetish for sports? Check. Balls? Check. But bringing them down with sentence after sentence of banter about the waste of atoms they're made up of is pointless... because everyone from our town that reads this will know exactly who they are... and that'll be enough punishment in itself.