WEEK 8: Ender vs Johnny 6 feet 6ft WINS

Johnny 6 feet · 05-14-2020, 09:39 AM

Snuff Film

Growing up he was the boy the kids called a pervert
Leering letch who'd stretch his arm to flip up the girl's skirts
He'd spy through knotholes so he could watch them undress
His personal pot of gold to relieve all his stress

"Take your hand out your pants, Jason!"

Embarrassment was a car crash
It never stopped him as a teen from snapping bra straps
The principle expelled him; it didn't do the bastard good
The obsession had taken root when he grew to adulthood
Still a slob, he got a job in the triple X store
Employee discount amounts to a smorgasbord of whores
Silver screens got crusty sheens, that was his nightly ritual
Saliva stains on the carpet, the sight was pitiful
In his fevered brain, a thirst that couldn't be quenched
BDSM was tame, lame! He had a darker intent
He'd made contacts in the underworld, hundreds it seems
The kind of men who peddle slapping around runaway teens
Snuff films of every flavour, torture fantasies
A wonderland of whips and scratches, gashes...

"Damn, do they bleed!"

Their tears were a treasure, he pressed hand to the glass
Their fear he couldn't measure, that's when his sanity snapped
Caught in vanity's trap, lustful, worse than delirious
He told his smut dealer:

"I want first hand experience!"

The trade was made, the addiction he planted grew fruit
In the form of Peaches; an ex-vagrant who'd done some nude shoots
The orchard was a motel, he'd wrote the script in one sitting
And as he strode in with his knife...

"Oh shit! You're kidding!"

Three cops and a suited guy faced the pleading filth
A stack of his correspondence, texts, receipts, screaming guilt
The man stepped forward and, after a beat, pulled out a chair
And said:

"Hi, I'm Chris Hansen. Take a seat over there."

05-14-2020, 09:39 AM	#4
Johnny 6 feet Storyteller Join Date: May 2020 Posts: 446 Battle Record: 8-4 Champed - Guerrilla Writing League Rep Power: 5558447	Snuff Film Growing up he was the boy the kids called a pervert Leering letch who'd stretch his arm to flip up the girl's skirts He'd spy through knotholes so he could watch them undress His personal pot of gold to relieve all his stress "Take your hand out your pants, Jason!" Embarrassment was a car crash It never stopped him as a teen from snapping bra straps The principle expelled him; it didn't do the bastard good The obsession had taken root when he grew to adulthood Still a slob, he got a job in the triple X store Employee discount amounts to a smorgasbord of whores Silver screens got crusty sheens, that was his nightly ritual Saliva stains on the carpet, the sight was pitiful In his fevered brain, a thirst that couldn't be quenched BDSM was tame, lame! He had a darker intent He'd made contacts in the underworld, hundreds it seems The kind of men who peddle slapping around runaway teens Snuff films of every flavour, torture fantasies A wonderland of whips and scratches, gashes... "Damn, do they bleed!" Their tears were a treasure, he pressed hand to the glass Their fear he couldn't measure, that's when his sanity snapped Caught in vanity's trap, lustful, worse than delirious He told his smut dealer: "I want first hand experience!" The trade was made, the addiction he planted grew fruit In the form of Peaches; an ex-vagrant who'd done some nude shoots The orchard was a motel, he'd wrote the script in one sitting And as he strode in with his knife... "Oh shit! You're kidding!" Three cops and a suited guy faced the pleading filth A stack of his correspondence, texts, receipts, screaming guilt The man stepped forward and, after a beat, pulled out a chair And said: "Hi, I'm Chris Hansen. Take a seat over there."