FaceandBBC
Anti Foid
- Joined
- Aug 29, 2022
- Posts
- 17,994
- Reputation
- 48,772
His soul’ll bleed out before his body does, and I’m gonna make that self-aggrandizing, fake-ass philanthropist beg for a death that’ll never come. That smarmy prick with his “I saved the world” bullshit, prancing around like he’s untouchable? I’m gonna shred his entire existence, violate every inch of him, and leave him a broken, screaming husk that’ll haunt his fans’ nightmares forever. I’ll drag him into a hell of my own making, and I’ll savor every fucking second of his agony.
I’m storming his glossy-ass studio like a one-man apocalypse, smashing through his security like they’re made of wet paper, and grabbing him by that shitty little beard he thinks makes him look tough. I’ll slam his face into the nearest camera rig, shattering the lens and his cheekbones in one brutal swing, blood spraying across his precious set like a Jackson Pollock painting. I’m not stopping there—I’m ripping his jaw open with my bare hands, tearing muscle and snapping tendons, so his screams come out gargled and raw. I’ll drag him across the floor by his tongue, his body flopping like a fish, and throw him through one of those giant LED screens he uses for his clickbait backdrops, glass and sparks raining down as his skin tears to ribbons.
I’m stripping him bare, shredding his Beast merch with a box cutter, slicing deep enough to draw blood with every cut, his cries music to my fucking ears. I’ll pin him to the ground, his face pressed into the concrete, and start the real violation. I’m ramming a jagged steel pipe up his ass, no lube, no mercy, twisting it deep until his insides are pulp and he’s shrieking like a banshee. I want him to feel his body betray him, to know what it’s like to be torn apart from the inside. Blood’s pooling under him, mixing with his tears, but I’m not slowing down—I’m grabbing a fistful of his own Feastables bars, now smeared with his blood, and shoving them into the gaping wound, packing his ass so full he’s convulsing, his eyes rolling back in agony.
But that’s just the fucking prelude. I’m yanking the pipe out, letting his insides spill, and flipping him over so he’s staring up at me, his face a mask of terror and pain. I’ll carve my name into his chest with the box cutter, slow and deep, peeling back skin like it’s wrapping paper, his screams choking on blood as I dig into muscle. Then I’m forcing myself on him, raping him with a violence that makes the ground shake, my hands crushing his throat until his gasps are barely audible. I want him to feel every thrust like a sledgehammer, his body breaking under me, his mind shattering as I violate him in ways he’ll never unsee. I’ll bite into his shoulder, tearing out a chunk of flesh, spitting it in his face as he sobs, his blood dripping from my chin.
I’m not done yet—oh, fuck no. I’m dragging his mangled ass to the parking lot, where he films those car giveaways like some benevolent god. I’m tying him to the bumper of a monster truck, his wrists bound with razor wire that cuts deeper with every twitch. I’ll floor the gas, dragging him across the asphalt, his skin peeling off in strips, his screams drowned out by the roar of the engine. When he’s a bloody, flapping mess, I’ll untie him and throw him into a pile of scrap metal, his body impaled on jagged edges. I’m grabbing a blowtorch and welding his hands to the steel, the flames melting his flesh as he howls, the stench of burning skin filling the air.
Next, I’m hauling him to a slaughterhouse, his body barely holding together, blood trailing behind us like a red carpet. I’m chaining him to a meat hook, hoisting him up so his feet dangle, his weight tearing at his wounds. I’ll rape him again, this time with a butcher’s knife in hand, slicing into his thighs with every thrust, blood gushing like a fountain. I want him to feel the blade as much as he feels me, to know that every second of this is a deliberate act of destruction. I’ll hack off strips of his flesh, feeding them to him raw, forcing him to choke on his own body while I laugh, my hands slick with his blood.
I’m storming his glossy-ass studio like a one-man apocalypse, smashing through his security like they’re made of wet paper, and grabbing him by that shitty little beard he thinks makes him look tough. I’ll slam his face into the nearest camera rig, shattering the lens and his cheekbones in one brutal swing, blood spraying across his precious set like a Jackson Pollock painting. I’m not stopping there—I’m ripping his jaw open with my bare hands, tearing muscle and snapping tendons, so his screams come out gargled and raw. I’ll drag him across the floor by his tongue, his body flopping like a fish, and throw him through one of those giant LED screens he uses for his clickbait backdrops, glass and sparks raining down as his skin tears to ribbons.
I’m stripping him bare, shredding his Beast merch with a box cutter, slicing deep enough to draw blood with every cut, his cries music to my fucking ears. I’ll pin him to the ground, his face pressed into the concrete, and start the real violation. I’m ramming a jagged steel pipe up his ass, no lube, no mercy, twisting it deep until his insides are pulp and he’s shrieking like a banshee. I want him to feel his body betray him, to know what it’s like to be torn apart from the inside. Blood’s pooling under him, mixing with his tears, but I’m not slowing down—I’m grabbing a fistful of his own Feastables bars, now smeared with his blood, and shoving them into the gaping wound, packing his ass so full he’s convulsing, his eyes rolling back in agony.
But that’s just the fucking prelude. I’m yanking the pipe out, letting his insides spill, and flipping him over so he’s staring up at me, his face a mask of terror and pain. I’ll carve my name into his chest with the box cutter, slow and deep, peeling back skin like it’s wrapping paper, his screams choking on blood as I dig into muscle. Then I’m forcing myself on him, raping him with a violence that makes the ground shake, my hands crushing his throat until his gasps are barely audible. I want him to feel every thrust like a sledgehammer, his body breaking under me, his mind shattering as I violate him in ways he’ll never unsee. I’ll bite into his shoulder, tearing out a chunk of flesh, spitting it in his face as he sobs, his blood dripping from my chin.
I’m not done yet—oh, fuck no. I’m dragging his mangled ass to the parking lot, where he films those car giveaways like some benevolent god. I’m tying him to the bumper of a monster truck, his wrists bound with razor wire that cuts deeper with every twitch. I’ll floor the gas, dragging him across the asphalt, his skin peeling off in strips, his screams drowned out by the roar of the engine. When he’s a bloody, flapping mess, I’ll untie him and throw him into a pile of scrap metal, his body impaled on jagged edges. I’m grabbing a blowtorch and welding his hands to the steel, the flames melting his flesh as he howls, the stench of burning skin filling the air.
Next, I’m hauling him to a slaughterhouse, his body barely holding together, blood trailing behind us like a red carpet. I’m chaining him to a meat hook, hoisting him up so his feet dangle, his weight tearing at his wounds. I’ll rape him again, this time with a butcher’s knife in hand, slicing into his thighs with every thrust, blood gushing like a fountain. I want him to feel the blade as much as he feels me, to know that every second of this is a deliberate act of destruction. I’ll hack off strips of his flesh, feeding them to him raw, forcing him to choke on his own body while I laugh, my hands slick with his blood.
