Results Day

I was sat on the bus, my guts filled with butterflies, and the wings of those butterflies making a lot of wind, in what felt like perhaps the longest journey ever, on the way to pick up my A-level results. I stared out of the window and tried desperately to relax. The seats were rough, covered in cheap, rotten fabric and the passengers were rough and covered in cheap, rotten fabric too.

Not long after I got off the bus did I unleash a giant fart, which had the potential to follow through, instinctively grasping my arsehole with one hand to grab any poo that could’ve shot through my clothes. With a small amount of intestinal control I pushed what could have been fluid faeces deep into my rectum, and could finally relax.

I walked a few yards behind some blonde girl up the road to college, so, as a covert pervert, I could spend a decent amount of time looking at her lovely bottom. This part of the journey flew by, and I soon found myself at the college gates, torn away from my fixation on her lovely aresecheeks. I considered rape, but only briefly, because I’m a gentleman.

I stared, stunned, at my results. I’d failed everything. I felt my heart drop a foot, followed by my bowels. I ran to the toilet and unleashed a waterfall of shit, the pickled chilli peppers I ate the day before sizzling my ringpiece like hot poker sodomy.

Fuck it, I thought. It’s only fucking exams. Fuck it all.

The Co-op nearby, with its bottles of vodka, was calling me, like a Siren to a Greek sailor, singing at me, drawing me closer so it could dash my brains out. Before I knew it, I was staggering on the pavement, a half-empty bottle of Smirnoff in my hands, completely fucking pissed.

The next few hours are a bit of a blur. I gave a hobo a swig of my vodka. He wrapped his lips around it and chugged a bit down. “Thanks for that mate,” he growled. “That warmed me up.” I looked at the bottleneck, thinking, you diseased cunt; you’ve contaminated my bottle now. I lifted it up and smashed him across the face with it. Shards of glass flew everywhere. He fell to the floor, blood running down his cheeks, dripping off his nose, bubbling at his mouth, landing on my boots.

At this point, I remembered, again, that I’d failed my exams. “FUCK YOU,” I screamed at the homeless cunt, lifting up my leg and stamping on his head, once, twice, endless times, until it was a mass of squished brain and broken skull – until the fucker was decapitated. I kicked the gore off my boot and started kicking his guts. I heard him shit himself.

I staggered along further, arriving at a police station. I stopped to have a piss on the door. A cop strutted over to me, thinking he was the fucking Don, telling me that “I was coming with him,” and, “get through them fuckin’ doors.” I swang at him with all my might, every pound of bodyweight focused at the tip of my knuckle, straight into his jaw. I made contact and he fell down, startled, although I overbalanced a bit and almost fell over myself. Before he had a chance to react or to slap cuffs on me. I dived on to his body, baring my teeth, and bit a chunk out of his skull, zombie-style. I then tore into his neck, straight for the jugular, ripping a chunk of skin out.

Blood sprayed out briefly, before stopping and drooling out of his mouth. “Fuck you, and fuck failing,” I screamed, before drunkenly running for a bus and going home, my face covered with blood. “YEAH MOTHERFUCKER,” I screamed to the bus passengers, blood-red spittle shooting from my mouth. I got a window seat and sat down to pick veins out of my teeth.

Nah, I’m just fuckin’ with you, I got 4 As innit.