FaceandBBC
Anti Foid | Libertine
- Joined
- Aug 29, 2022
- Posts
- 19,662
- Reputation
- 53,690
I'll rape him until he bleeds the fucking pixels out of his eyeballs and cries like the bitch he truly is, screaming for his mommy's titties to save him from the wrath of my unbridled fury. The very thought of his smug, entitled face makes me want to gouge my own eyes out with a rusty spork, but instead, I'll channel that anger into a rape so brutal it'll make ISIS look like a fucking boy scout troop.
I'll start with a tripod, shoving it so far up his shit-chute that it'll pop out his mouth like a goddamn jack-in-the-box, his teeth chattering like a crack whore in the throes of a meth comedown. The sound of metal scraping against his delicate insides will be the sweetest symphony to my ears, as he begs for mercy that I have none of. Then, I'll follow up with a DSLR, the kind that costs more than his daddy's monthly alimony payments, cramming it into his gaping wound of a rectum, capturing every grimace and tear in high-definition, 4K bullshit.
Next, a boom mic, because nothing says "you're fucking dead to me" like the sound of your own pain echoing in your ears. I'll force it down his throat until he's choking on the cold steel, his tongue swelling like a fat tick on a blood orgy. And for the grand finale, a fucking spotlight, right up his ass, so the whole world can see the fear in his eyes as he realizes that fame and fortune won't save his pathetic soul from the kind of pain I'm about to unleash.
I'll crank the voltage up on my gear, turning his guts into a live-action episode of "Jackass" meets "The Texas Chainsaw Massacre." He'll sizzle and pop like a cheap firework, his insides turning to mush as the electricity fries his nerve endings. And when he's nothing but a twitching, sobbing mess, I'll pull out the gear and let him watch his own destruction, the footage playing on a loop in his mind for the rest of his worthless days.
This is what you get for thinking you're above everyone else, you YouTube prick. This is what you get for playing the hero with your stolen fortune. You're nothing but a walking, talking target for the kind of violence that'll make the dark web blush. I'm going to rape him so hard, he'll think twice about throwing money around like it's fucking confetti at a kindergarten birthday party.
And when it's all said and done, when he's just a pile of steaming meat and shattered dreams, I'll take my gear out for a victory lap, waving it around like the trophy it is. The sweet, sweet smell of his fear will be the new cologne I wear to all my future shoots, a constant reminder that no one, not even a washed-up, clickbait-peddling piece of shit like MrBeast, is safe from the wrath of a true artist who's had enough of his bullshit.
I'll start with a tripod, shoving it so far up his shit-chute that it'll pop out his mouth like a goddamn jack-in-the-box, his teeth chattering like a crack whore in the throes of a meth comedown. The sound of metal scraping against his delicate insides will be the sweetest symphony to my ears, as he begs for mercy that I have none of. Then, I'll follow up with a DSLR, the kind that costs more than his daddy's monthly alimony payments, cramming it into his gaping wound of a rectum, capturing every grimace and tear in high-definition, 4K bullshit.
Next, a boom mic, because nothing says "you're fucking dead to me" like the sound of your own pain echoing in your ears. I'll force it down his throat until he's choking on the cold steel, his tongue swelling like a fat tick on a blood orgy. And for the grand finale, a fucking spotlight, right up his ass, so the whole world can see the fear in his eyes as he realizes that fame and fortune won't save his pathetic soul from the kind of pain I'm about to unleash.
I'll crank the voltage up on my gear, turning his guts into a live-action episode of "Jackass" meets "The Texas Chainsaw Massacre." He'll sizzle and pop like a cheap firework, his insides turning to mush as the electricity fries his nerve endings. And when he's nothing but a twitching, sobbing mess, I'll pull out the gear and let him watch his own destruction, the footage playing on a loop in his mind for the rest of his worthless days.
This is what you get for thinking you're above everyone else, you YouTube prick. This is what you get for playing the hero with your stolen fortune. You're nothing but a walking, talking target for the kind of violence that'll make the dark web blush. I'm going to rape him so hard, he'll think twice about throwing money around like it's fucking confetti at a kindergarten birthday party.
And when it's all said and done, when he's just a pile of steaming meat and shattered dreams, I'll take my gear out for a victory lap, waving it around like the trophy it is. The sweet, sweet smell of his fear will be the new cologne I wear to all my future shoots, a constant reminder that no one, not even a washed-up, clickbait-peddling piece of shit like MrBeast, is safe from the wrath of a true artist who's had enough of his bullshit.
just to inform you just incase you didn’t know.. *you → 
* that you will be 𝗧𝗢𝗨𝗖𝗛𝗘𝗗 
by approximately 180 men under 50 seconds 
time is ticking! 
