•The Assassin Series•
"Too late as in I already cared about you. Too late as in I got so deep into my fascination of your simple existence that even the mere thought of hurting you, kills me!"
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Sarcastic and Bitchy.
Two great words to...
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"Oh, you dumb ass fucker." I laugh, very much amused at this oompa loompa, Trump having ass, shrimp dick, boy.
Not man-boy.
Difference: A boy is immature. He believes that slapping the top of a door frame in the hall is called humor and that when it comes Friday, it is slap all of the girls' asses day.
A man is a juicy motherfucker that you just wanna give head to. He respects you, holds the door open for you, wraps his arm around your waist and not your shoulders, doesn't act like you are not there when speaking to a group, doesn't think lower of you because you're a woman—which, first of fucking all, is sexist. Like damn. I have vagina that spread god knows how many inches to birth your ungrateful ass—and, wait for it..
Asks for consent.
Wow, I feel my panties dampening already.
Not the time Viagra—sorry, I meant Virginia.
But that is the difference between a man and boy. Those two nouns don't have age limits either, remember that girls, gays, them and theys.
Sorry, I am getting off track. Right! I currently have a gun, not to mention—my own gun!—pointed at my head by the Trump looking dude.
I honestly wouldn't be surprised if he pulled out a Trump flag.
"I-If you move, I'll, I'll shoot. I swear on my mama's life." shrimp dick points my gun at me with a shaky hand, his country accent giving me a migraine that was very much uninvited.
I turn my head to the right and scratch my nose before peeping out of the corner of my eye to look at him. A confused smile makes its way onto my face as I point at him.
"Didn't you say you would shoot me if I moved, or am I trippin'?" I trail off.
Shrimp dick gulps and looks at the gun, shifting from one foot to the other. I shrug my shoulders before grinning at him. My black combat boot hits his enlarged torso, causing him to fall backwards and drop the gun.
I lean forward and grab it, noticing his foot moving out of the corner of my eye. My head ducks as I do a forward roll, my legs wrapping around his neck and my hands holding my gun to his head.
Sweat drips down his wrinkled forehead just as my phone rings from my back pocket. Groaning, I toss my head back and use my free hand to dig my phone out of my pocket.
"Yellow." I grunt into the phone, not bothering to check the caller ID.
A mono-toned voice rings on the line. "Red."
My lips quirk up as a breathy laugh leaves my lips. "Green."
I toss my head to the right quickly as I flick my wavy, black hair out of my face.
