You probably don't get bussy because you're the type of guy who fucking nails his dick to a board

Snapshots:

1. This Post - archive.org, megalodon.jp*, snew.github.io, archive.is

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Love you shillbot ❤️❤️❤️, will you love me back?

Snappy's love is infinite. Our one true God! Papa bless.

This is cool and all but what are you wearing rn?

Mmmm, are you that twink in the middle?

Hot 🔥🔥🔥

Hope you're into Gaelic bears.

It's the guys from the other thread!

Is this from a /r/malefashionadvice meetup?

Are 4chan users really that young or is it only the people willing to go to a meetup that are so young?

Is that what people wear these days?

We stray farther from God everyday

This but unironically.

This but with more zozbot comments

That was last month, now I like seeing t_dtards in refugee shelters while their basement is underwater, crying cuckservative tears because their last cloud backup of mlp/icp crossover porn was two weeks ago.

That's the problem with you nazis, you think it's still 1939 when in 2017 we have two brilliant tard-killing storms giving us newsgasms and sweet, sweet drama. Terfs whine good, but the straight edge whines best.

implying there are basements in Texas.

No basements, just tunnels for smuggling drugs and humans.

Just at The Alamo.

icp are proletariat revolutionaries now. get with the times, grandpa.

Jesus can you believe this old FART

This but - Pizzagate and mayo pride

Nazi mayos fuck off

Mayo ain't no religious call

Non-racists < Self-hating guilt-riddled liberal whites < White nationalists < Mayocidal people of colour < Neo-Nazi Slavs, Mexicans and other assorted untermenschen

Nice pasta mi amor 👌🍝🍝🍝

I don't this joke and I prefer mustard as a condiment.

no u.

Fuck off with your meta horseshit, you effeminate cocksucker.

You dont look very masculine with a bussy in your mouth.

prolapse

Pre-Match Jitters

Soupy blackness, thick and congealed, swamping her brain … She clawed her eyes towards a pinhole of light, but she was awash in a sea of ink, with only a solitary lighthouse glinting on a distant shore …

The limousine hit a monster pot-hole and jarred Anna Kournikova from her stupor. Another pot-hole, and her head rattled again. She yawned and then moaned, rubbing her neck and eyes, and sucking at the puddle of drool collected on her lower lip. She tried to brace herself against the seat and force her body into an upright position. Her arms felt like soggy loaves of bread, though, and all she could manage was a half-sitting position with her cheek resting against the door's armrest. She was in a limousine on her way to the courts. That much filtered through her stupor and seeped into her conscious mind. There had been a commotion at the hotel. A fire?! People running and pushing and shouting … Then the man .. the man in the security uniform. He'd led her down the back stairs to where her limo had been waiting. 10 minutes ago? An hour? A day? A week?

Anna Kournikova massaged her temples and tried to reorient herself to the land of the living. Her body was arms and legs were limp, but her joints were stiff, like she hadn't been on her feet for quite some time. But that was impossible. She was in the limousine, and it was rambling along. The longest she could have been unconscious was maybe 10 minutes at the most. The ride from the hotel to the courts, even in heavy traffic, was 20-30 minutes, and judging by the limo's speed they were on an open stretch of road … probably close to Wimbledon.

The smoke … she thought to herself. That must have been it. She'd taken in a lung full of something, and it had put her down once her adrenaline quit pumping. But I'm not coughing … she realized, trying to clear her throat. Some kind of gas leak maybe ..? she continued trying to puzzle out what had happened as she pulled herself up in the seat.

Her forehead was covered in sweat. Her whole body was … Shit … she patted down her hips and crotch area in a blind panic. She wasn't wearing any panties. Shit … she cursed again. How did I ..? she rubbed at her crotch trying to desperately find the missing undies. I must have been rushing out so fast that I forgot to … She shook her head and tried to clear her mind. Now what the hell am I supposed to do ..? The prospect of asking one of the tournament officials if they had a spare set of panties was out of the question. I'd rather die …

Maybe one of the other girls ..? she wondered in vain as the limo sped onward. She tried to imagine asking Martina or Stefi or Monica for a pair of sports undies for the game. She had an image of everyone laughing at her the whole tournament long. Suddenly, she was overwhelmed by the irresistible urge to start crying. She buried her head in the car seat and pounded her fists against the leather upholstery. How could you be so stupid, stupid girl ...? she cursed herself. This is Wimbledon. How could you be so stupid?

The limousine was slowing now, and she looked up, trying to peer through the tinted windows and into the street. This was the first time in her life she'd ever seen limo windows tinted on the inside, too. It was as impossible to see out as it was to see in. She hit the power window button, and received a shocking jolt along her entire arm. Shit! she cursed, shaking her arm. I'll sue them, sue them to hell …

Anna through herself back against the seat and continued bawling. This is the worst day of my life ... she pouted. Wimbledon of all places. Why does it have to here ..? She hadn't been having a very good run lately. Several mediocre tournaments in a row, and all the rumors had started. "She's too young … flash in the pan … spoiled little brat … gone Hollywood …" the phrases buzzed about in her brain like a swarm of gnats. Each time she batted one away, more flew in to replace it.

She sobbed now, hard. Her hard little body shuddered as she choked out the tears. She put her face in her hands and thought about dying … Right here .. right now … just dying.

I must have dozed off … the thought amused Martina Hingis as she raised her head up from the clubhouse bench. Hours before I'm center court, and I dozed off … She couldn't believe it. She hadn't been feeling ill. A little stressed, maybe, but that was just Wimbledon. Maybe it was the stress. People sleep a lot when they're stressed. But she'd done this all before, hundreds of times, hundreds of tournaments. Even at her young age, the nineteen-year-old sensation had played in enough money tournaments to learn coping strategies. Just focus on the game … had always been her motto.

But right now, she could barely focus on anything. Her mind was in a fog that refused to clear. Her limbs were sore, as if she'd been napping for days, not minutes. How odd … she rubbed her elbows and her knees. As her hands moved up her thighs to the hem of her short sports skirt, she felt something odd below her waist. The cold of the bench .. directly against her …

She jerked up and patted down her tummy. I'm not wearing any panties … The thought struck her like a cold bucket of snow dumped across her sweaty brow. She noticed that, too, now, how sweaty she was. Her body was bathed in perspiration, like she'd just put in a whole match. Where the hell are my panties … She clawed around desperately beneath the bench, thinking maybe she'd somehow dozed off in the middle of changing and kicked them to the floor.

But she found nothing. She pulled herself up and staggered to her locker. She could barely walk her knees were so stiff. She fumbled with her lock, trying the combination six times before she gave up and collapsed back onto the bench in an exasperated heap. What the hell … she began laughing at the top of her lungs. Of all the absurd situations she'd been in, this one took the cake. She was getting ready to take center court at Wimbledon, and she wasn't wearing any panties.

She reached over to where her water bottle sat along the bench and took a big swig. That's funny … she thought to herself as she chugged the cold water into her dry throat. This tasted kind of funny before … she recalled. Just before she'd dozed off, she'd taken a swig just like she was doing now, and she remembered a bittersweet, almost almond taste. Weird … she shrugged off the notion, and took another swig. Now to find some panties …

"Hey, you up?" Serena William's voice nudged her sister Venus from the darkness.

"Uh, yeh .. I guess … what's ..? where ..?" Venus was disoriented. Her head felt like a smashed watermelon. Her tall, six-foot frame ached all over. She looked over the small couch to the clubhouse chair where her sister sat in a bleary stupor. They'd come into the ready room in search of more tape for Serena's wrists. That had been .. what ..? It couldn't have been more than a few minutes ago.

So why did it feel like hours .. days even. Venus rubbed her hands through her braided cornrows and brushed the sweat back from her brow. Shit … she cursed to herself. I'm sweatier than hell … So was her sister. Serena's dark, chocolate complexion glistened like polished ebony in the fluorescent light of the clubhouse.

"What happened?" Serena asked.

"I was about to ask you the same thing," Venus answered.

"Where the hell is everyone?" Serena gazed about the empty ready room, which had been filled with other players mere minutes ago.

"We must have dozed off," Venus pulled her tall, sinewy frame off the couch and staggered over to her sister. "They must all be out warming up. We gotta get out there, girl. We got some butt to kick today." She stretched out her hand and pulled her little sister to a standing position. "Here take some of your water." She held the bottle up to Serena's lips.

"No," Serena shook her head. "That shit tastes funny. I noticed it back in the changing room before we got up here."

"You know mine did, too," Venus remembered. "Must be the English water or something. Come on. We gotta go."

Suddenly there was a loud crash, as if someone back in the changing area was banging on the lockers. They heard cursing and laughing, high-pitched nervous laughing. Venus pulled Serena up, and they walked back to investigate to the noise.

Martina Hingis sat on the floor, her back against a row of lockers, half-laughing and half-crying. Her legs were spread apart, and Serena giggled and nudged her big sister. Venus followed Serena's finger and stopped. Fool girl ain't wearing any panties … Venus laughed to herself. She was just about to crack on Martina and score some psych-out points, when more commotion burst through the clubhouse.

"I will sue you all to hell!" There was only high-pitched whine on the circuit like that. The three competitors watched in amusement as Anna Kournikova strode into the changing area, her eyes ablaze with rage and frustration. "All of you!" she repeated. "I will sue all of you .. this whole fuck country to hell!"

"Ah, that's fucking, 'A,'" Martina couldn't resist cutting in. "Fucking country, not 'fuck country.' If your going to swear you may as well know how."

"Well you are fucking, too, then," Anna spat at Martina. "You are all fucking! You, as well!" she pointed at Serena and Venus.

"And what did we do?" Serena challenged.

"You .. you are … black!" Anna hurled at them.

"Say what?" Venus edged her six-foot frame past her sister and stared down the small, hard-bodied blonde.

"You heard me," Anna stuck her chin out defiantly. "You are black. I sue you for that, because I don't like look of you. I sue you all."

"I'm gonna do more than sue your ass you don't take that back, bitch." Venus straightened up and towered her whole six-inch height difference over the trim blonde.

"You tell her, 'V'," Serena backed up her big sister. "Knock the snotty bitch's face off."

"Stop this," Martina called out. She stood up and slid between Venus and Anna. "You know you two aren't going to fight here, so save it." Martina brushed Venus back.

"This ain't over, 'A,'" Venus muttered under her breath.

"We shall see who is over," Anna stammered. "You are not over with me, too."

Martina shook her head at the blonde's garbled syntax. When Anna's temper flared, her English went south, too. "Grow up already, Annna," she scolded the pretty teen. "We do have a tournament to play, remember ..?" she reminded the girls.

"Hey, why don't you quit acting like your some kind of boss around here, okay ..?" Venus fumed in Martina's face now. "I can take of myself."

"I see .. fighting in the clubhouse before a match .. very wise," Martina sneered.

"Listen, bitch, least I'm wearing my panties," Venus shot back.

"What you say?" Anna shouted. "You make fun of me again?"

"I wasn't talking to you, bitch," Venus glared at Anna. "I was talking to Miss Glamour over there .. forgot to put on her panties. 'Zat a trick you picked up on one of your photo shoots?"

Martina had no reply. She turned to Anna. "Do you .. uh .. have a pair of panties I could borrow. I was changing and I seem to have locked myself out of my locker, and …"

"You all make fun of me!" Anna yelled. "GO fuck to you all!"

"What's your problem, bitch?" Venus asked.

"You know my problem, bitch," Anna screamed back, then slumped over and started crying.

This action was so unexpected, the sisters and Martina just stood there and watched Anna sob for a few moments. As she bent her knees up and curled her head against her thighs, they all noticed something immediately as her skirt hiked up her hips. Anna had no panties on either.

Instinctively, Venus Williams brushed her hands down past her own waist. Shit! She shot a glance over to Serena, and knew the truth immediately. Serena's eyes were bugging out of her head.

"What the hell is going on here!?" Serena burst out. "I .. 'V', do you ..? You don't …"

"Something is wrong here," Martina cut her off. Judging by the looks on the sisters' faces, Venus and Serena were sans undies, too. "Something is really wrong. Doesn't this whole place seem .. feel .." She shook her head. "This is insane. This is crazy. How could we all not have our panties on?"

"What you talk about?" Anna looked up. "We all don't have panties on …"

"We don't," Martina answered. "I woke up here after I dozed off, and I found I didn't have my panties on …"

"You dozed off here?" Serena interrupted. "Right here?"

"Yes, why?" Martina answered.

"We were both in the ready room looking for tape, and we dozed off, too. We just got up when we heard you in here," Serena answered. She saw the water bottle on the bench. "Were you drinking from that?" she asked Martina.

Martina nodded slowly, putting two and two together. "We were drugged somehow," Martina started. "And our panties were taken off." The words sounded positively absurd as they came from her mouth, like something out of a twisted story a teenager might fabricate and post on the internet.

"I had water, too, and I doze, too," Anna sobbed. "There was fire in hotel and I hurry to limo, and I doze off on way here. Then I try to roll down limo window, and I am shocked in arm." She shook her arm. "Then I come here, and man pulls me out of limo and pushed me down hall here. Then slaps my butt and feels me .. on the butt," she bawled. "Man feels my butt and says, 'Nice ass, cunt,' and rubs my bare butt because I have no panties." She stopped. "You have no panties, too .. none of you?" She looked from Martina to Venus to Serena.

"I'm calling security, right now!" Martina stormed out of the changing area with Anna and the Williams sisters right behind her. "We're going to get to the bottom of this right now."

They walked along the walkway ramp and came face-to-face with a man standing in front of the outside door. He looked at them with an amused look on his face. "What can I do you for, ladies?" he asked in an American accent.

"You are security?" Martina asked.

"Yes, ma'am," he answered. "Security Chief Bent. Name's Nick. What seems to be the problem here?"

"Strange things are happening," Martina started.

"Like weird shit," Venus cut in. "We've all been drugged or something."

"Drugged?" he raised an eyebrow. "Is this some kind of gag?"

"No," Martina stamped her foot. "We've been drugged. We were all knocked out and …" she stopped. "We were all drugged," she repeated after a long pause.

"And what?" he pressed. "You said 'And' something. What else happened?"

"I'd really rather not discuss it," Martina answered.

"Listen, Ms. Hingis," he replied calmly. "I've been doing security for fifteen years. I've seen just about every kind of strange shit you can imagine. Now tell me, what happened. I can't help you until I know everything. Now please …"

"Some of our clothing was stolen," Martina answered slowly.

"Like what? Your jeans, shoes, blouses, what?"

"I'd really rather not …"

"Listen, do you want to file a complaint, or not?" he cut her off. "If not, then I have work to do."

"They steal our fuck panties!" Anna burst out. "They knock us out and steal our fuck panties. And the limo shocked me, and the man who took me in here molest me and call me 'cunt'."

"Enough of that, Anna," Martina cut her off. "We need to deal with first things first." She turned to the Security Chief. "She is right. Our .. panties are missing."

"Someone broke into your lockers?" the Security Chief sounded interested now. "There are lot of sickos around here. You remember what happened to Monica Seles a few years back." He watched their eyes dilate in sudden terror. "Boosting a few pairs of panties from your lockers would be like gold to these pervo stalkers. But don't worry. You told me, and I'll take care of it. Now, how'd they get into your lockers? Bolt cutters?"

"Not our lockers, man," Venus joined in. "It wasn't in our lockers."

"What then? Did you leave your bags lying around?" he asked.

"No." Martina shook her head in frustration. "It was .. they .. we were .."

"They take our panties off our fuck bodies!" Anna screamed at the Security Chief. "They knock us out and take our panties off while we knocked out. Then they shock me, and man squeeze my butt and call me 'cunt.' I sue you. I sue everybody. I make you shit shovel in .. in .. shit place, you fuck!"

The Security Chief just flashed her an amused look. "Listen, Ms. Kournikova. There's no need to get all emotional here …"

"Someone knock you out and take your fuck panties and shock you and squeeze your butt and call you cunt, let us see who is emotional then!" the bratty blonde vixen spat back at him. "Now you get our panties and find man who .. who raped me, or I sue you so much I make you pay!"

Martina and the Williams sisters just looked at Anna and smirked.

"Just let me get this straight," the Security Chief no longer looked amused. "You're telling me somebody drugged all four of you .. you while you're riding in a limo .." he pointed to Anna, "and then stole your panties right off your bodies? That's what you're telling me ..? That's your story ..?"

"Yes," Martina nodded. "That is exactly what we're telling you. Now what the hell are you going to do about it. We're supposed to be absolutely safe here. You're the Security Chief here. It's your responsibility to see that we're safe. So what are you going to do about it?"

"Oh, I'll do PLENTY about it," he shot Martina a glance that froze her blood instantly. "You ladies just stay right here. You're all due to play in a few minutes, aren't you ..?"

"Yes," Venus answered.

"Good," he nodded. "You just stay right here and don't move. I'm going to go out and make sure your path to the courts is secure. Now don't move."

"But what about panties?" Anna fumed. "We all have no panties. You must find us our panties or get us new panties, or I will sue you."

"Cunts don't panties," the Security Chief smiled, "especially four prime pieces of rape-meat like you whores." He watched as their jaws hit the floor, then opened the door behind him.

Six brown-skinned, steely-eyed, stone-faced soldiers stepped inside the tunnel. "These gentlemen are Gurkhas," the Security Chief announced, "the finest fighting force known to man." He raised three fingers, showed them to the soldiers, then pointed to the doorway and to a spot behind the 4 tennis stars. The six Gurkhas immediately broke into two teams of three and manned their respective posts.

With the door open now, Martina, Anna and the Williams sisters could finally hear the din of the crowd outside as it pounded the rafters of the stadium. "Bring on the cunts!" a loud voice cut through the cacophony. "I paid good money to see those bitches raped. Where the fuck are the cunts!"

"What the hell ..?" Serena Williams was the first to speak, only it was more of a whisper.

Martina sized up the situation in an instant and let her instincts take over. She whipped around and tried to burst through the phalanx of Gurkhas behind her. One of the soldiers scooped her up around the waist, wrapped his arm around her neck and reduced her body to utter limpness. She tried to kick, but he'd somehow paralyzed her whole lower body.

Venus reacted next, but another soldier quickly grabbed her sister and jammed a Ruger into her temple. "No," was all he said to Venus as they locked glares. Serena's eyes bugged out of her head, and Venus saw a dark puddle begin to soak through her sister's sports skirt. Serena Williams was peeing her panties, only she had no panties in which to pee. The warm piss just gurgled from her bare, black cunt and spattered her skirt. It ran down her sleek legs, making them glisten like stained walnut.

"As you can see, these men don't fuck around," the Security Chief reached out, slit his hand beneath Venus's sports skirt and grabbed her sweaty black pussy. "So why don't you be a good little nigger ho' and sit your black ass down … Now!" he stressed.

The Gurkha slid the safety off his Ruger with a sickening click. Serena's urethra was pumping out pee at full force, the drops splinking the floor at her feet. Utterly overwhelmed at the horrific situation, Venus had no choice but sink to the floor at the Security Chief's feet.

"Now that's a good black bitch," he mocked, patting her atop the head like an obedient dog. He tussled her cornrows, and ran the back of his callused hand across her chocolate cheek. "You see. Everything's going to be all right if you just obey."

"Go to hell," Venus quivered in rage.

"Wh .. what is this .. going on?" Anna stammered. Her whole body was shaking and she was leaning against the wall to keep from swooning. "Who are you?"

"Like I said," the Security Chief smirked as he continued playing with the ribbons woven through Venus's cornrows. "The name's Bent, Nick Bent. I'm the Security Chief here at the first annual Extreme Tennis Tournament. I'll also be acting as umpire during the matches." He looked into the eyes of each young tennis starlet and licked his lips. "In case your tiny, pee-brain cunt minds haven't processed this yet, you aren't in Kansas anymore."

"What you talk about we not in Kansas … We are in London … England," Anna sputtered.

"It's an expression, 'A,'" Venus hissed at the bratty blond.

"If you must know, you were drugged and transported here. We're on an uncharted island called Elesia. This compound has been constructed to be an exact replica of Wimbledon, right down to the graffiti in the johns. In case you're wondering about escaping or finding a fucking cop to save you, don't bother. There's no law here, just a bunch of multi-billionaire sick fucks who like to see fresh veal butchered and devoured on a daily basis. In case you couldn't guess, you four cunts are the main course on today's menu. You listen to everything I tell you, and obey every command, or you'll be seriously fucked up. Come to think of it, you'll all be seriously fucked up anyway, but the more obedient you are the longer you live and the greater your chance for survival. You'll learn the rest when you're at center court for the dedication ceremony. For now, just hang loose and savor your last few minutes of humanity. I've got to check on some things."

"This is insane," Martina gasped. "This can't be happening. You can't …"

"I can do whatever the fuck I want, cunt!" Nick Bent grabbed her by the hair and twisted her neck while the Gurkha held her. "And this IS happening. So you'd better get used to it real quick, or your time on this planet is going to be real short." He slashed his index finger across his throat. "Got it, cunt?"

Martina just whimpered.

"I said, 'Got it, cunt!'" He wrenched her neck so hard she heard vertebrae crackle.

"Yes," she spit through the terror and pain. "Yes …"

"Good," Bent shrugged his shoulders and strode out the door into the stadium.

    The stadium is a packed fucking madhouse.  Eggy wasn't

shitting me. Prince Chuckles had filled this place with a veritable Who's Who of the world's sick fuck elite. As I make my way through the stands to the Royal's Box, I spot Saddam Hussein and his two cunt slaves, Brandy and LeAnn Rimes. They all smile and wave, then the naked cunts go back to the sand nigger Hitler's cock - Brandy sucking the head while LeAnn tongues his bloated balls. The press is having a field day at the photo op, and Jack Nicholsen is there, too, decked out like the Joker from Batman and pulling down his purple pants.

The deranged actor's hard, sturdy cock juts out beneath his flabby belly, and he moves up to Brandy's ass. He slaps each brown cheek hard, and then bites them bloody for good measure. Flash bulbs pop like a firefight in the Mekong Delta. The dutiful little nigger fuck-toy sticks out her firm, chocolate ass and provides the Shining star unlimited access for a rear assault. With Brandy's ass-blood dribbling out the corners of his mouth, Jack flashes a Joker grins at the cameras before skewering his prick into the nigger starlet's poop chute. She bucks up a little as he starts banging hard into her sphincter, but Saddam grunts and pulls her face back down to his dirty brown cock.

While the Iraqi strongman choke fucks the hell out of Brandy's gasping mouth, Nicholson mugs the cameras and flamboyantly cuts up Brandy's asshole with his cock. I see Christopher Walken approaching LeAnn Rimes from behind with a cattle prod, a Toro weed cutter, and a roll of duct tape. This shit is getting way out of hand already, and the main event hasn't even started.

Eggy waves to me from the Royal's Booth, and I flash my Chief of Security badge to the Gurkhas guarding the box. Prince Chuckles looks up from the 4-year-old Thai girl sucking his cock and gives me an ambivalent Royal nod. He then taps Prince William on the shoulder. The teenage heir is busily buggering the ass of a little gook cunt who looks like she's the younger sister of the child-whore working on daddy. The kiddie rape-toy impaled on Willy's willie is flopping around like a rag doll. I can tell by the way her body is contorted that she has a broken back and several shattered ribs. She is barely able to breathe, and whatever life is left in her lungs is being brutally choke fucked by little Prince Harry. As I near their seats, I notice the mutilated corpses four similar gook babies stacked up like cordwood behind the box. These fucking Windsors certainly know how to party.

"I trust everything is proceeding according to schedule, what ..?" Eggy takes my arm and leads me into the inner sanctum.

"The cunts are at the end of the tunnel waiting to play." I look at Chuckles and he looks bored as fuck. I see a pile of teeth on the ground at the gook kid's knees. Her mouth is bloody, and I get the picture. While she sucks like a hoover, Chuckles is slowly strangling the life from her throat. She's bleating like a baby lamb and gumming his cock in a furious bites. Without her teeth, however, her little jaws are just giving Chuckles the gum job of his life. He shakes her by the neck while she desperately tries to eke out a meager breath. "How long is he going to keep that up?" I ask Eggy.

"I've seen His Majesty engaged as such for hours," Eggy answered. "The little whores usually give out long before he does."

"Hence the also-rans back there, huh ..?" I indicate the piles of spent Thai fuck-toys stacked up Dachau-style behind the booth.

"They were not .. hardy enough," he smiles. "Inferior stock, what ..? So hard to get decent help these days. I must really talk to our broker. Bad show, what ..?"

"Listen, I came up here to talk turkey." I point back to the tunnel entrance. "The cunts are as ready as they'll ever be. I say we get this show on the road."

"Quite right," Eggy agrees. "The natives do seem to be getting rather restless, what ..?" He looks over to Prince William. "Pardoning Your Majesty, but would Your Majesty like to commence with the festivities now. The birds are set to fly, what ..?"

"Can't you see my brother and I are raping!" Willy snapped back. "You know I am not to be disturbed while I am raping."

"William," Prince Chuckles droned. "Sir Egdon is not to be spoken to in such a manner. You know that. Now dispatch with your little friend, and join me here. You, too, Harry," he added. He turned a casual eye to me. "You may proceed with the tournament, Mr. Bent. Ready the players and bring them here to center court. I will make a speech. Prince William will explain the rules, and Miss Amy Grant will perform the Elesian national anthem. I take it she has been secured."

I nodded. Killjoy and the Posse had snatched the Christian song-cunt last night in Branson after a show and brought her right here. At this moment, Killjoy was acting as her vocal coach. She was as ready as she would ever be.

"You have taken care of the insurance policies, too, I gather," he asked.

"Everything's in order," I replied. I saw Eggy cringe slightly because I refused to call the poofy bastard 'Your Majesty.' Fuck him. Fuck all their pale limey asses. "If that'll be all, I'll go back down and get things ready."

"That will be all," Eggy answered for the Prince and hustled me out the booth. "I do say, old chap, would it hurt you too terribly to treat His Majesty with the proper respect. He is the heir to the British Throne, what ..?"

"And I've got a nine-inch cock. Big fucking deal. He's lucky I don't tell him to blow himself. So, I'm dreadfully sorry, old boy," I mocked his accent, "but that's about all the respect you'll get out of me, what ..?"

"Right .. Apologies, old boy. Didn't mean to touch a nerve, what ..?"

"Listen, I've got a lot of shit to take care of right at this particular moment, so just keep your limey protocol crap out of my fucking face, okay ..?" I see a group of three men approaching us through the crowd, and I stop dead in my tracks. "Now what?"

"Nick Bent!" a man emerges from the group and extends his hand. "Great to have you back on board again."

Sam Sneer ... I even remember the Hollywood clown's name. He almost clusterfucked the Nagano ice skating caper for us with all his worldwide television coverage. After that little op, me and the Zero Squad had to lay low for quite awhile. I spent most of the time right here on Elesia. My only question now was what the hell Sneer was doing here.

"What the fuck is this butt-munch doing here?" I turn to Eggy. "Nobody said a fucking word about Sam Sneer and his three-ring fucking circus."

"Pay per view, Nicky," Sneer cuts in. "$1,000,000 a pop for the poor souls who can't see it live. I've got Vic Swanson up in the booth with a team of analysts and color commentators we flew in special for the occasion."

"This motherfucker is not plastering my fucking face all over the airwaves again," I bark at Eggy. "You didn't say word fucking one about this shit. What are you limey bastards trying to do here, fuck me over? You don't want to fuck Nick Bent over. I don't care who the fuck Chuckles thinks he is. I'll blast my nine-inch cock up the Queen Mother's atrophied asshole, you motherfucker, and I'll make Queen Liz fucking felch up the mess with a fucking dog collar around her neck and a 3-foor dildo shoved up her cunt, you limp-wristed, limey bastard. Now you get Sneer and his Hollywood cocksuckers off my fucking court pronto, or I'll fist-fuck Chas in his proper British bum and make him drink little Prince Harry's steaming piss. You got me, Eggy?"

"I do say, terribly sorry, Nick, old boy," Eggy looks miffed. "I thought we'd worked this all out, what ..?"

"No, we did not work this out. You never said one word about worldwide TV coverage."

"Pay per view," Sneer adds. "It's pay per view."

"I don't give a fuck what it is, because IT ISN'T. Understand? I will not put up with this fucking bullshit again."

"I have a fucking contract, Bent," Sneer waves a sheet of paper in my face. "We have over 100,00 subscribers .. at $1,000,000. You were in for 10%, man. Are you sure you want to fuck that up for yourself?"

I carry some zeroes and do the math. What the fuck do I care? It's their fucking money, and their fucking funeral. Me and the Squad will be vapor before anyone knows what the fuck happened. "You just keep your pricks out of my way, okay ..?" I scowl at Sneer. "Or we'll be doing some talking, and that's one conversation you want to fucking avoid."

"No problem, Nickster," Sneer pats me on the shoulder. "Thrilled to be working with you again. So's Vic and the whole crew. Gabriela Sabatini, man. We've got Gabriela Sabatini doing courtside color with Max Hardcore, you know, the bad-boy porno star. Billie Jean King, Martina Navratilova and Chris Evert are up in the booth with Vic. It's going to be wild, man .. Wi-eld."

"So, who bagged the cunts for you?" I ask, mildly curious that I hadn't gotten wind of the op. In my circles, word travels.

"Well, you were already booked, so we went with an old associate of yours," Sneer replies. "Goes by the name Demo."

Demo, aka the Demo-lition Man. Spic psychopath who used to be in the Zero Squad until he started going solo and trying to undercut my ass. Got his sorry beaner ass busted in a sting set up by the feds. He fell for the old "Nab Chelsea Clinton" sting the feds are always trying to smoke me out with. Last I heard, he was rotting in a Max Security cell singing like a fucking myna bird about yours truly and my boys. He must have given them enough to earn his ticket home. Now Sneer and his Hollywood numbfucks had hired the weasel to do a snatch and dash on 4 major tennis cunts. Yeah, this was shaping up to be a real fucking Hindenberg.

"I know Demo," I spit. "Where is the little greaser anyway?"

"He's taking care of our celebrity guests," Sneer replies.

"Maybe I'll go up and say 'hi'," I look up to the announcer's booth and spot the Spic bastard immediately. He's already zeroing right in on me. He smirks when we cross glares. I flip him the bird and turn back to Eggy. "You run down and tell Killjoy to get Amy Grant's Christian ass out here, and let's get this show on the road. I'll fetch the four featured players personally."

Eggy nods and vanishes into the crowd. I break away from Sneer and head back to the tunnel entrance. Beautiful, just fucking beautiful …

zoz

zle

zozzle

Tl dr

wew lass

I thought this was going to be one of the Marquis' starlet snuff stories or equivalent, but all that edge just killed the erection.

This is outstanding work.

Cunts don't panties

til

Unsubbed.

ya clearly its those damn dumpf supporters who are doing all the agenda posts...

This but unironically. /r/drama is a right-wing subreddit.

Libertarianism is a right-wing ideology. Staunch private property rights and freedom of association are core right wing tenets.

post a strong opinion on private property rights

Practically everyone on the left who wants everything or most things to be seized by the government, or people kne the right who want less of that.

i do what i want jabroni and you can't stop me!