/lit/ - Literature

Fuck. My stomachs going nuts. That goddamn coffee, the fucking cheese. Why?

Still three ahead of me. I’ve gotta shit bad but know these stupid assholes around me won’t save my place. Just looking at these straightpeg fucks you can tell they respect nothing. Why would they respect something as sacred as frontsie-backsies?

Finally, I’m up. I’m sweating bad. I’m feeling sick starting from my stomach and extending through to my asshole.

‘Your question, sir’ some nobody at the desk asks. Right, my question to the panel. I wanted to ask something about the production of season 3, but I couldn’t focus. My mind wanted to know but my ass made itself a priority.

The guy starts again asking me about my question. He’s got a whiny voice and I can see disdain and annoyance in the casts’ faces. Suddenly, I hate them. Pieces of shit cant fathom a true fan for more than they’ve been told they have to.

I nearly turn and walk out, but something in me tells me to say something. I turned back to the panel. I place the microphone by my ass and shit myself hard.

Fuck them. Fuck that whole convention. Smell my shit. Hear my ass.