Kyle Rosenburg hated his step-dad more than he hated child rapists and clowns. Clowns have stupid fake faces and that "fuck you be happy!" attitude. Child rapists were just gross and demented. His step-father was another level of asshole scum. The way he walked, the way he talked, the way he did just about everything bothered Kyle. It was the type of hatred that makes people stab someone 28 times in the face just so they don't have to look at them anymore. This feeling didn't help Kyle at all. Every time he heard that bag-of-dicks breath he felt he needed to make it stop, forever. His social life had joined his love life on the crazy-ass roller coaster several years ago. This was the result of his hatred for his step-dad. He had even begun to keep a journal of all the little things he hated about that giant sack of douchè. Needlessly to say he quickly ran out of room by the end of the second week.
He came to the realization that he simply wanted the old fag to just stop existing. Unfortunately for Kyle, he decided to act on his feelings.
Kyle:
It was a mid-summer day outside in early November when I finally fucked him up. The old tart never saw the silver titanium knife blade coming. I jammed that shit so far in between his pathetic little ribs that I am sure I got half my fist into his side before he realized what was happening. The look on his face was priceless, "The FUck?!", his eyes screamed in agony and disbelief. I took the weapon out of his body, moved two inches down and slammed the tip into his putrid flesh. One quick slash upward and he doubled over in pain. I instantly snickered and raised my knee up to meet his ugly twisted face.
"Got'Em!!" I proclaimed with triumph.
His rancid blood was quickly flowing to the tiled floor below him. We were standing (well, now he was kneeling) on the right side my peach-colored kitchen. I placed my left, red-soaked hand on the fake wood counter in front of me while simultaneously grasping his mop of grey, unkept hair. With one clean shove I bounced his pathetic head off the counter to the right of my resting hand.
"Now for the revenge.." I muttered to no one with a devilish sneer.
"Wakey wakey!, Whips and stakey...sss!" I shouted with a slap.
"Get the fuck up you dunce!" I tried again.
"Fine" I mumbled and walked away. I reached over to my tray and carefully selected a medium sized frying pan. In one fluid motion I turned on my heel and smacked the underside of the pan against my step-dad's bare stomach.
While he was knocked out I had completely stripped him down to his underwear and socks and tied his limbs to a bed frame that bent in two. This would be useful later...
For now I had him upright so I could deal with his whole body and all the torture that would ensue. He looked like a baby Christmas tree in my eyes. I couldn't wait to begin. He needed to be awake for me to properly torture him.
"AahHAha!!" He screamed as he awoke from the piercing pain of the frying pan.
""Welcome to Candy Land asshole..." I snorted with satanic joy and triumph.
I stepped up to him and punched his dick so hard he almost vomited. He helplessly struggled against the iron chains and leather belts that held him firmly in place. I laughed at his feeble attempt at freedom.
"You done..?" I asked with bored sarcasm.
"Fuck you you little shit!" He spat.
"That's just rude" I muttered and backed away.
"We've only just begun..." I sneered...
