Help me Clean up this Filthy, Pornographic City? - 25 (Denver)
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Date: 2009-05-03, 1:03PM MDT
So it's come to this. Dating on the internet, that putrid, dripping soul of society's collective filth and indecency.
I thought on my nightly constitutionals, as I stalk the city seeking to punish the transgressors slowly driving society into a mire of offal and excrement, I would have found a nice girl. Every girl likes a hero, right? And heroes are hard to come by in this day and age, where the good cower behind bolted doors, ignoring the cries in the night as the evil and corrupt ply their depraved trades, making life a stinking sewer of vice and corruption. The pimps. The dealers. The glassy-eyed whores offering every debauched pleasure simply for a chance to plunge poison into their diseased arms.
I specifically asked for no mayo on this sandwich, yet there is clearly mayo on here, right between the foul, spoiled lettuce and immoral, hedonistic turkey. I must make a note to visit that boy behind the sandwich counter one of these howling, lonely nights. If he is unable to withhold his end of the social contract and make a sandwich as specified, then he must suffer at the hands of the righteous avenger.
I thought I had met a nice girl a few months back, as I prowled the cold night, peeking in windows to locate despicable crimes in action. She was being raped. The evil pig atop her grunting and moaning, drops of foul sweat falling from his brow. I kicked in the door and beat him, beat him with the rage of a thousand avenging angels, until he would never defile another innocent again. And, did I get any thanks? No, just a whole lot of "oh my God, my boyfriend!" and calls of "murderer! Murderer!". Sheesh. Women.
My god. In front of this window, there is a young woman changing, undoubtedly to fulfill some kind of depraved exhibitionist perversion. I will watch. That will be her punishment, to know that the one righteous man in this stinking brothel of a city will watch her and judge her. My god, are those C cups? They didn't look that big under her nighty. I will continue to punish her until I can no longer hang onto the sixth story ledge.
Have to go now. There is a young couple walking down the street. He has his arm around her, and she is looking at him with all the trust and adoration of a woman who is about to be kidnapped, sold into slavery, and gang-raped for years by visiting Russian businessmen. "I must stop it". That's what I tell myself as my hand slides, serpent-like, into my pocket for the collapsible baton. I may never win this war, but all that matters is that I fight...
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