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"Snake Is A Chain"
Do you know where your children are? You should be worried about them. I think
they're plotting to kill us. The big one keeps laughing for no goddamn reason, and
the little one hasn't blinked in hours, and the medium-sized one is just standing facing
the corner talking to himself. It's getting dark and it's getting weird, and we need to
get the fuck out of here as fast as we can. Oh God, I hear it coming. Impending death,
our death, is coming. It will be violent, and it will take its time, and we will beg for swift mercy (Oh God, how we will beg) but there will be no mercy. Instead? A sadist buffet
of buzzsaws and kitchen knives and stripped electrical wires will come forth to visit us
(soft, private, human parts of us) to drain the body prison of the red-hot-wet within.
We will be fed rotten horse meet, cockroach shit, cigarette ashcan water. We will be
paraded through town square on rusted skewers, mouthes stapled shut but eyes held
open. We will live the nightmare and learn to love the nightmare, and we will become
our own nightmare for all of time everlasting. And the darkness will know no end.