Review Summary: The world is a World War II museum
My step dad was sitting around the campfire with some teenagers. One of the teenagers spoke up and said, in correlation to the ongoing conversation, that he enjoyed stealing ideas. These teenagers were my friends, apparently, because their eyes shifted to me for agreement. I was silent. My step dad enjoys ideas. So he took it upon himself to punish and slay these children. The campfire glowed further red, but was cold, i wished the campfire was blue. He choked and smacked them with a leather thong and ripped their clothes off. One of the women here, the blonde, was appalled and mouth-agape at this. The surreal was choking me. But curiously I found much pleasure in the removing of the lass' clothes.
They were all naked, and i was sitting on the log still, poking the ground with a nimble stick. My step dad was like a war sergeant, but his anger quickened. I could not tell if I was expected to agree, enjoy, and/or ignore this, or be completely against it. His first call of action was to call his brother Tom to prepare the crosses.
When two minutes passed, and ox-strong Tom came hurtling the five crosses on his back. The teens were tied to them and beaten with four inch thick cudgels. Between Tom, step dad, and their fellow friend Sam, those children were being murdered. I saw their teeth knocked away, flesh bruised, ripened eggplant. I grabbed two pieces of red hot logs tapered to a point by the fire. I grabbed the non burnt ends with both hands.
Tom, step dad, and Sam's eyes were burned out and their limbs beaten with their own cudgels. I took the bruised bodies down, one by one, and finally fall upon the unclothed lass. So delicate, and fresh ripened. I took it upon myself to become her knight in shining armor. I dreamed of the day that we shall lay still by the fjords, and intake the breath of air so dear, laid out on bear skins, but still shall we respect them reverently.
Her eyes, unscathed, were delicate utensils, like beads of dew from the fresh rain generated by her alarming brow the storm-cloud. Her nose was an innocent and frightened child running from my incoming kiss. Her eye sockets were like the belly in which i was born, I felt comfortable resting inside of them. Her throat was a ripened eggplant-peach hybrid. Her cheeks were formations of wine. Her lips were like the snakes eyes, ready to lunge. My dick was like a bruised tomato. Time to make sauce. I pooped.
