Murder, Cheat, And Fuck Your Way Through Boston

It’s a Thursday morning, and you’re be standing with nothing to do. You had a position, but it explosion, so now you’re stuck here in your boring house.

Suddenly, your phone rings.

You walk outside and find your mailman. “You have a letter, ” says your mailman. “Here it is.”

Inside your home, the phone continues to ring.

Boston. The diamond in America’s face. The home where a pup lived. A sprawling metropolis filled with autobiography, culture, accumulates, some superhighways, and a person who kissed a lady now formerly. It’s time to walk through this city’s hallowed entrances and start fucking and killing all the stuff that’s now so that God will destroy it for guarantee money.



“That’s correct.”

“It’s whatever. I could take it or leave it.”

“Later today.”

“Yeah, it’s pretty good. Listen, could you make your note now? I have to deliver forward to everyone in the world, and you’re my first house.”

It’s a character from the Mayor of Boston. It sounds like a pretty pressing message.

You are standing outside the historical doors of Boston. Before you can pass through them, your cell phone starts echoing. It’s your husband and wife calling.

You answer your telephone to talk to your husband and wife. “Hello. This is your husband and your spouse, ” say your husband and wife.

“I’m your partner, ” says your husband.

“I’m you, ” says your wife.

“One husband and one wife, ” your husband and wife say in unison.

“We were just sitting on our hands so that we could blame parties fund to get touched in the leg by our heated paws, ” says your wife.

“We’ve manufactured over $600 from people stringing up outside of our home really requesting us to settle our heated pass on their cervix for 15 hours at a time, ” says your husband.

“When I’m sitting on my own hands, I’m in heaven, ” says your wife.

“Yeah, when I’m sitting on my own hands, I howl in rapture and feel like God, ” says your husband.

“I love to sit on my hands and call,’ Yeah, child! Christmas came early for my warm pass! ’ until the neighbours ask me to leave their shower, ” says your wife.

“I’m your spouse, ” says your husband.

“Okay, we’ll let you go, ” your husband and wife answer. “But predict us that while you’re fucking and killing all that is extorts sigh in Boston, you won’t “feel like i m cheating on” us. Fuck and kill whoever you want, but do not fuck anyone. We are the only parties you are allowed to fuck. We are your husband and wife, and monogamy is more important to us than God and Bus God combined.”

“This is Boston Castle, where Thomas Jefferson and King George III co-wrote the Declaration of Independence. This is where the Mayor of Boston lives and does his private trouble.”

You blast into Boston and stand in the middle of Adultery Square, one of the most famous streets in Boston.

It’s time to do ghastly guilts and get God and Bus God to destroy this city. Where would you like to start doing blasphemies?

You standing in Adultery Square and prepare to do a ton of guilts. A person in a appalling off-color shirt passes up to you.

“Hello. Welcome to Bompo or whatever this situate is announced. Please fuck me or kill me immediately.”

You send your pants and your clothes to a different country, making yourself nude, in the manner of gender. You originate nudely fucking the stranger right there in the middle of Adultery Square.

Due to the First Amendment, it is illegal to see you what’s actually happening right now, so the idol above is a metaphor for what’s going on. The two mares fucking one another represent you and this stranger fucking one another.

“Whatever! ” screams “the mens” as you perform dispassionate, slothful love to his emperor’s groin. “I don’t care about this! ”

You spray the friendly stranger with Treasure Juice, a perfume issued by the United States Military that makes people smell like golden coins.

The smell of the hoard lure a accumulation of gold-crazy children.

“Hey, everyone! This guy smells like gold! ” shouts a jewel-hungry 8-year-old boy.

“I smell it! ” screeches a 5-year-old girl. “I reek the ornaments and the doubloons! I require that sugared preciou! ”

“I live for doubloons! I smell it! I miss it because I reek it! ” howls a 4-year-old boy.

The mob of children jump on the man and claw him to slice in a gold-fueled turmoil. He expires a hero’s fatality getting torn to smidgens by insane children who keep telling him that he smells like treasure.

Nice. You killed one entire adult. At this rate, God will destroy Boston in no time. Stop up the good work!

You die of old age.

You hang up the phone and sit alone in your house “ve been thinking about” everything the Mayor of Boston said.

Do you have what it makes? Are you the various kinds of superstar who can singlehandedly sin enough to turn Boston into the new Sodom, just like the Prophecies And Recipes section of the United States Constitution predicted would happen one day?

Wonderful. Exceedingly exciting. These Vikings from a very long time ago are heartening because of your bravery. It’s time to get started! Go to Boston and start fucking and killing everything until the Lord destroys the city.

“Hello, ” remarks the articulation on the other purpose of the phone. “This is the Mayor of Boston. It’s an honor to have a phone.”

“Boston is a city in the state of Marpuss, ” replies the Mayor of Boston. “It is unbelievably old and small-scale. It is the capital city of Marpuss. In 1997, a being dropped$ 6 in coppers into a fishbowl while staring at an image of Boston, which built Boston famed all over the world.”

“Are you familiar with the story of Sodom and Gomorrah? ” requests the Mayor of Boston.

“Wonderful. On behalf of myself and all the people of Boston, I cannot wait for you to fuck us and kill us in an anything-goes orgiastic carnage voyage that will result in the divine demolition of our glamorous metropoli. It’s very important that you fuck and kill as numerous parties as possible. Okay, goodbye. I love you, I enjoy God and Bus God, and I adoration 3D video games. Goodbye.”

Ah! Harvard University! The special prison where people with too much math are imprisoned forever and forced to educate each other about rhymes. It is one of the cruelest and more prestigious confinements , not only in Boston, but in the entire regime of Marpuss.

Surely, one of the bright judgments captured here in this psyche dungeon can help you subside Boston into the sea.

Which department of colleges and universities would you like to visit?

As you construct your space across Harvard’s stylish quadrilateral toward the Religious Studies Department, you encounter Sunrise Man and Midnight Man, the Twin Dean of Harvard University.

“We are from today, ” remarks Sunrise Man.

“Harvard, ” speaks Midnight Man.

No, that is incorrect. Harvard University is located in the city of Boston. In knowledge, Harvard is the capital of Boston. “Cambridge” is a French word meaning, “It’s Boston, everybody.” Thus, your disorder is invalid and humiliating for you.

Please select a department of Harvard that you would like to visit.

“What now? ” says Sunrise Man. “Harvard? Why, yes! Harvard! The hallowed hallways and the math! ”

“Quite so! Harvard! The math and the brains of children. Rolling hills and smart young paunches of smart babies! Harvard! ” adds Midnight Man.

“Harvard! ” Sunrise Man and Midnight Man say in unison.

You tighten your cervix, widen your lungs, and begin the difficult but royal project of fucking the Twin Dean of Harvard University.

“Harvard the school! ” screams Midnight Man as you do intimate pleasure sorceries to his emperor’s groin.

“I live their lives Harvard! Death is optional! ” clamours Sunrise Man as you perpetrate an illegal kindness on his reproduction cul-de-sac.

Once again, the First Amendment of the United States Constitution prohibits us from evidencing you exactly what’s going on, but the above visual allegory should give you a good notion. The vast fish represents “Fucking, ” while the middle fish represents “Getting Gross In Boston.” The small-minded fish is a literal fish. All the fisheries industry are gobbling each other, which is a analogy for something so egregious that it withstands description in any known lingo, but suffice it to say that it involves kissing.

The two situateds of instruct roads are a metaphor for the two halves of Fucking, which are, of course, “Exhausting Wetness” and “Fucking All The Time.” Sorry if that was obvious, but it’s better to be safe than sorry.

You take out your cell phone and call the American Bureau of Parades. You schedule a ceremony in honour of Mutiny The Boat Crime and specify that the parade direction “mustve been” “Boston.”

Within seconds, 8 million people wearing mutiny-themed cover-ups and razzing mutiny-themed floats come parading over the hills of Boston. The Mutiny Appreciation Parade has begun!

A marching band plays “O Mutiny, My Heart Yearns Ever For Thee” as the parade-goers ovation and shriek about how much they adoration mutiny.

Here you are in the middle of the Mutiny Appreciation Parade. Everyone is dressed like beloved mutineers from biography; Fletcher Christian and Karl Artelt garbs are everywhere you examine. You start parading with the crowd as the Mutiny National Anthem swells to a triumphant crescendo.

“I love mutiny! ” howls a 9-year-old girl wearing an Afanasi Matushenko mask.

“If mutiny were a automobile, I would crawl inside of it to expires! ” shrieks a humankind wearing a T-shirt that pronounces “I Love To Forcibly Wrest Control Of The Ship Away From My Captain And All I Got Was This Stupid T-Shirt.”

You have arrived at Harvard’s Department of Religious Studies. This is the part of Harvard where scientists insist about whether or not God wears a shark tooth necklace in Heaven. Maybe one of the doctrine scientists knows how to attain God incensed enough to destroy Boston.

You walk into a classroom and sit down.

“Hello, ” does the prof. “Welcome to Advanced Religious Survey. Today’s lecture will address the most fundamental question of all religions: Does God wear a shark tooth pendant? ”

“Of course you recollect the fishbowl happen, ” remarks the Mayor of Boston. “Everyone recollects exactly where they were when they found out someone had dropped$ 6 in coppers into a fishbowl while looking at a picture of Boston.”

“Oh, well, good imagine to check. Anyway, I’m announcing because I have a very sacred is asking for you.”

“All right, so then you know about how the people of Sodom did all sorts of appalling guilts, like thinking about their own butts on the Sabbath and dipping their middle paws into bowl of warm spray without announcing it beforehand, and so as reward for these sins, God and Bus God teamed up to destroy Sodom and Gomorrah? ”

“All right, ” replies the Mayor of Boston, “so here’s my contrive: I’ve taken out a $10,000 insurance policy on the city of Boston. I demand you to come to this city and do so many guilts that God destroys Boston the way he destroyed Sodom and Gomorrah. Then I’ll get the insurance money, and we are in a position divide the $10,000 down the middle.”

“In Boston, you can only be charged with insurance forgery if you’re under 10 years old. Our confinements are completely compressed with tiny children who took out insurance policies on their own legs and then named their legs on fire is striving to cash in on the insurance policy. That’s the central felony in Boston, but it’s not something that you have to worry about unless you’re under 10 years old.”

You decides that instead of murdering and fucking people in Boston, you will be tired. You yawn and walk out of your live. Your car is parked in your driveway. You clamber into the driver’s posterior and go to sleep. This is where you always sleep. You do not own a bed.

While you sleep in your car, you have a good fantasy. You illusion that a subject bracing an oyster gives you part at his oyster. It’s best available daydream you’ve ever had. In your daydream, you even get to top at the oyster with both hands.

You slumber quietly in your automobile as autobiography overtakes you by. You die forgotten, but you don’t care.

The End.

While you sleep in your gondola, you have a bad daydream. You daydream that there are three sons near a diner. It’s the scariest dream you’ve ever had, and your slumber is beset as you sit in your car and sleep for the rest of the day.

When you wake up, you write the word “Money” on a piece of paper and smile at it.

The End.

While you slumber in your auto, you move the wise and noble decision to die in your sleep. The next morning, you’re discovered by your neighbor Louis, who likes to sneak into the backseat of your auto every morning so that he can sit in your car and graze his hair.

Louis calls the police and notifies them that he has found your corpse. The police tell Louis to never call them again.

The End.

“Great, let’s start the expedition, ” does Old Ancient Michael. “Right now, we’re standing in Adultery Square. It’s announced Adultery Square because this is where George Washington famously included the line’ Adultery Is Good’ to the Bill of Rights.”

“You look like you need a tour guide, ” articulates a mortal garmented in the conventional dres of Colonial America. “I am a tour guide. My reputation is Old Ancient Michael, and I went to the Toronto Institute of Boston Trivia, where I graduated first in my class and majored in parting at bronzes. I can take you to the most historic places available in Boston.”

You look in the sky and learn some mass. Uttering vapour is God’s way of screaming, so you know that you merely pissed him off with your incredible sin. You’re on the right track! What part of Boston do you want to do guilts in now?

You impel your way to Fenway Park, residence of the Boston Red Sox, America’s quietest, hungriest baseball team.

How would you like to rile God now?

“Bonjour! ” you shout at Fenway Park. “Bonjour, Fenway Park! ”

This is a grave sin against God and Bus God alike, for as the Bible commonwealths 😛 TAGEND

“Hello. I am the Lord. Thou shalt never screamed the French word ‘Bonjour’ at a sports arena as if that sports arena were a human person who understandeth French. When you shout the word ‘Bonjour’ at a sports arena, the Lord becomes incredibly embarrassed, and He loseth racetrack of what the picture is whale constructs where sports take place and what things are human all those people who words French. This obliges the Lord startled and muddled, and the Lord doth stand in the middle of Heaven, calling and squirting God Syrup out of the faucet that ripens out of His forehead.”( Gen. 5:15 -1 9)

Are you sure you want to commit the blasphemy of infidelity with Fenway Park, the monstrous house where the Boston Red Sox live and sigh to each other about how ravenous they are?

Post a Comment