Private P. Parts lifted his head from behind the thorny crowns of his barbed-wire fence. Terrorists. Two terrorists to be precise, wielding double-barrel Smirnkov shotguns, crossed to their chests like a Holy Grail. Silently cussing through a lockjaw grimace, he picked up an edged stone. Crooked nail to hand, the Private tossed the stone out of sight. Lurching against shadowed rocks, risen from ashen ground. Hell was fought, wrought from the crimson Sun. Mid-day, he had reached the Iraqi fortress. Heaven- Sent ’til uudgement come. Sneakingly finding salvation in saved souls! A computer immersively sucked P’s lap. P***. Beautiful, sensual, elegant “Gay Church Mukbang B******”. Mind in a Christian nirvana of ecstasy, racing for c***-control, he smeared his faith and holiness! Then, the world end. He who was divine; was caught among his dine. Fake Christ, merchant of egotism and neuroticism. With two guns placed in his eyes, closed eyes accepted the fate of Private parts. He fell, as fastly as the gay Korean moaned from his hermaphroditic mistress. -Aspie
