Friday, August 28, 2009

2 diE for

hi. been a few hours. things went quicker than figured. sometimes they do. miss me? i missed you. maybe not missed you. missed talking to you.
     this has been a great idea, starting this...i've always considered myself an artist. but is writing really an “art?” i mean when it’s just telling how you feel? what you do? probably. maybe not.
     killing, however, can be an art. should be an art. so there. i'm an artist.
     let’s clarify why I started this.
     i was pretty young when I found out what my life’s calling was to be. very early teens. we'll go into that later.
     but being who I needed to be wasn’t enough. had to do it with style. flair. be an artiste. become the ultimate artist in my field. and now, i enjoy that...but sense a need for more.
     to share.
     to create “art” from the art of my life.
     presumptious? c'est moi!
     let’s get to something not so confusing. probably what you really want to know. How do i look.
     well, i can’t show you. not without a wig, sunglasses (ray ban originals, naturally), a disguise. that would ruin things in my 'real' life.
     some time in the future i may give you voyeurs a glimpse of moi, but not something you could say...a police lineup.
    chuckles!!!!!!! crack myself up.
    so, back tooo...where were we...? I look. you all want to know. the pubescent teens drooling over words from a real hit woman...
     ...those naughty boys...
     then the dirty old men sitting there in their dirty old undies, or not...ychhh, what a picture, huh? playing with themselves as they read about a real female killah telling it all...
    ...dreaming what it must be like to be naked, on their knees, before a 6' 1/2" blonde/brunette/redhead (whatever I want to be that day) with spike heels and legs 2 die for...and they will die...always do.
    ... the end of my glock 17 trinity suppressor...silencer for you idiots who watch CSI...firmly against their neck...or the barrel of my .38, if i'm lucky enough to be in ruralsville outdoors, where a deliciously placed shot won't be heard       
    my sweetie, the mark...frightened...crying...and, more often than not, hard. down THERE, you know...below the waist? something about how a tall dangerous bitch standing above you with a 9mm, wearing manolo blahniks (bought on sale even better!), wet between her legs at the yum yum of taking your oh so over life, dahling!
     ... facing away from me, looking down on the ground, as your hot tears drop to the pavement, of some deserted industrial warehouse at 3 a.m...seeing my expensivo strappy heels on either side of your trembling i stand above, touch myself with one hand, under a knee-length bcbg skirt, feeling my liquid cunt.
    sorry if i sound nasty. what did you expect? 'misty's' a sweet name, but not my real name. which is as cold as ice. frigid. like me. who can only really really enjoy it when she's...bang it?
    ...and then, as I lose control, squeeeze a 9mm gift into the trembling base of your skull.
    ...dreaming, you old geezers, what it must be like to lose control of yourself sexually as I execute you! you painlessly lose consciousness from a superbly, if i say so myself, placed bulletissimo into the back of your brain.
            you fall to the pavement, between my blahniks...thankfully NOT spattering blood on them, or my skirt...though red on black is not too much of a problem to get out.
        you crumple flat, head twisted to one side, fading eyes taking one last look at the beautiful arch of my left foot, the dark red painted nails on my long, beautiful toes, size 10 foot, planted firmly, your dying gaze searching up my full, yummy calf...making it almost up to my knee before your brain dies, and you lay dead. me above you...drool running from your old, just expired lips...semen dripping from your softening cock, which couldn’t take the rush of being killed by a deadly hottie, and spurted it’s old, semi-impotent squirt ultra milliseconds before your miserable life ended, and you fell, shot, dead to the ground...executed by sweet Misteee...mmmmm...
         hot just writing about it.
         can you tell?
 that what you old geeezers at the computer imagine? naughty teens...?  future sickies? do you see a six foot perfectly attired (nieman marcus, of course!) killer doll taking your juvenescent, meaningless x-box playing lives?
       i suppose we can go into these things later. got real things to do now, rather than get kix playing on the pc..or mac...? better not be too specific, huh?
       anyway, gotta go...things to do, places to be...people know......kill. Tah for now.
           p.s. i was pretty nasty, huh? but you know you like it.
                 makes two of us dahlings!

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