the set is ready. there are posters on the walls. brittiney clip flashes. ruth, the old mediterranean goddess, can be seen through a white shell. bioshock. her drunken stepfather holds her hand and chirps merrily while hanging upside down: he is bleeding, a knot of hooks grasping his heels.
respective libidos at only a fraction of the price.
she doffs a lot of revealing clothes.
she had an ear infection and she felt the tabasco would clear her.
pip tells the uncensored oral history of punk eaters: 2 3 1 134345 12 456 5 6 767 1212 123 8 9 03456 2345 12123478 4 [+] [!]
the most innocent of ingrid adventurers. we hunt them, we kill them.
we usually infect one family per day.
“infinite infamy ingres” – that’s what we wrote on our truck. we don’t know wtf it means.
plus i’m monster food. i’m coming up with something new. my skin was covered in acne that would burst, bleed and get infected.
i won’t be escaping the paparazzi, but they seem they’re not hunting me.