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Little Boy
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((Jimmy Brennan continued from Woods of Paranoia ))

Fuck. Me. Fuck. Me. Fuck Me.

Fuck. Me.

Fuck. Me.

Jimmy Brennan trudged up the rocky slope, his face red, his body drenched in sweat. His red hair stuck to his face (When it was busy not getting fucked about every which way by the wind). It was hot. Too fucking hot. The five stages of grief are, in order; Denial, Anger, Bargaining, Depression and finally Acceptance.

The first two stages of Jimmy Brennan on SotF? Utter Hysterics and Rage respectively.

"Fuck you. Fuck you. FUCK you. FUCK you. Fuck YOU. FUCK YOU. FUCK YOU!"

Jimmy chanted to no one in particular as he ascended the rocky slope, his heavy bag weighing him down. He kicked up dirt and turned around staring down at the forest below.

The forest which more likely than not, held his future killer.

"FUCK YOU!!!" He bellowed at the top of his lungs.

"Fuck you, fucking Danya! What the fuck, did you get dicked in the ass one too many times as a kid!? You stupid fucking fucktard, I DON'T DESERVE TO DIE! I'M JIMMY BRENNAN! Why the fuck did you pick me!? I'm BETTER THAN YOU! I don't deserve to die!"

He sank (or rather plopped down) onto his butt, throwing his pack beside him. He breathed deeply through his nose as he opened it.

It has to be a mistake. That soda, Mom must have packed it for me. I've got an Uzi in here, I just know it. I'll blow that fuckers face off with it, fatass cunt Danya...

Jimmy grew frantic, tossing the contents of the bag out onto the rocky slope. He could feel hot tears stain his face once more, but he blinked them back.

No! No, I'm better than this! I'm not crying! I'm not going to cry ever again, I'm better than that! I'm better than Danya, and I'm not going to let him get to me! I'm not going to let any of this get to me!

Jimmy pulled out the can of Moxie and looked at it mournfully.

Moxie.. what the heck is Moxie? I know why he gave me this. Because, because I'm such a huge badass, I don't need to start with an Uzi to kill people. I can start with a can of soda an- an I'll make it. He put this in here, because he wants me to show him that I'm a man...

"Mommy...." He managed to croak out. Jimmy blinked back more tears. Angrily, he shoved the can back in the bag and threw the rest of the contents of the sack back in.

Yeah fuckin' right! He doesn't think I'm a man, but I'll show him.. I've gotta show him! Because there isn't anything else left to do now, 'cept show them all who I am, what I'm made of. Show the haters that Jimmy Brennan is the man, and they really shoulda' invited him to that party...

"Where the shit am I? Some mountain of- of... shit, when the hell could terrorists afford to buy their own mountain!?" Jimmy yelled to no one in particular. He adjusted the pack on his back and looked back up. He was beginning to think he should have pulled out his map before ditching Keith and that pansy Carl-

Jimmy blinked. A map floated in the breeze down towards him.


He reached out and swatted the map out of the air.

Map. People. Killers.

Jimmy looked up the hill and saw just what he had feared, people. Three of them in fact. His eyes bulged and he froze.

Have.. have they seen me? I'm standing in the road, of course they've seen me... Oh god.. are they... are they going to shoot?

Jimmy squinted up at them.

No... are they good guys? They don't look like Jocks, or those Preps who are always chirping me... Maybe they are... maybe...

He looked down at his pack, and an idea struck him. He began to walk towards the group.

Moxie. Weapon. What if I could get a weapon? What if I could get a weapon...?

"Hey! 'Sup!" He called out. He could feel his balls swelling to ten times their size. He smirked in delight.

Yeah, that's right. Death game, and I'm casually callin' out to my classmates. Hehe, they probably had a 20 minute standoff, barely able to talk. No one could possibly act this cool, 'cept me. I can't be bothered to freak out, I got this all under control, that's why.

Yeah, that's why.

"It's Jimmy Brennan!" He called out.

Hope they don't know me... I need them to know who I'm 'supposed' to be...

Would be easier to steal that way...
Edited by Little Boy, Aug 26 2010, 12:18 AM.
Posted Image Posted Image
Oswaldo Marx --> "Chicks dig scars? Yeah, I'm calling bullshit." --> Cicada Nights
Mikko "Mike" Korhonen --> "Interesting, very interesting!" --> A Casual Question
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"My dick did the Mexican Hat Dance and I had to suppress the moan that wanted to escape." - Casey

NOTE TO SELF: Burns on the left side. LEFT SIDE.
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