Stabberson: You Have No Time.
PREFACE: THIS INST' A "TROLLPASTA" SO FUK OF, ITS SUPPOSED TO BE SKARY AND IF YOU DON'T LIKE IT STABBERSON WILL COME 4 U.
Our story begins with a little 13 year old boy, his name is Michael. Michael was in his room drawing some pictures when suddenly his father burst through his door, breaking it in half like an egg.
He had been drinking 37 Alcohols for the 5th time this month. He always goes out once a week to drink himself to near death.
"MICHAEL YOU LITTLE SHIT, ITS TIME TO FORCE SYMPATHY ON YOUR CHARACTER!" his father said. Michael trembled becasue he knew what was going to happen. His father always saved his special flaming-Barbed wire-car battery-jackhammer-salt-covered-serrated-spider-infested-poison-tipped baseball bat for when he really wanted his "discipline" to stick. He never saw anyone else in the house get this kind of punishment; it was always just him. Michael cried himself to sleep that night, thinking of all the past punishments he had received form his father, that no one ever knew about: Summoning a demon lord to tear his arms off, filling his room with killer bees, praying to god to personally smite him, and the most pure evil thing he ever did, something that crossed the line:
Telling him he's not buying him a IPhone5G.
His tears filled the room at the mere mention of that day. Any normal person would have given up and killed themselves after such a traumatic event, but not Michael. That's because of a very important reason, the sole reason his life keeps chugging along at this pace: Because this story would be pretty fucking short, otherwise, now wouldn't it?
Michael woke up in a chipper mood. He put on his favorite pair of blue jeans, and a black shirt with a bright blue overcoat with the words "Daddy's Little Wonder" on the back (he got it from a thrift store, don't ask.). His mood soured at the thought of going to school today, though, because he knew he'd have to encounter his personal bullies, Buff Mcbifferton, and Drakonov Beatasskovich. They were the top players in our schools football team, but rather than dedicating their time to practicing, or trying to juggle their grades and their interests in sports, they spend every minute of every day beating up some kid they barely even know because FEEL SORRY FOR HIM!
To be fair, Michael was always kind of weird: he spoke in whatever weird way makes you feel sorry for him the most, and had a strange set of eyes. in his left eye, he had a beautiful rainbow, and in his right eye he had a black and red gradient, to symbolize the torture his soul endured. everyone would say such hurtfully neutral things like "Hello, Michael". They didn't even try to be his friend, they all just sat there, talking with each other, and not taking the time to try to include someone who was brooding in the corner, unaware that no matter how little he actually tried to talk with other people, and expected people to just come to him and strike up a conversation, he wanted to talk to others. Nobody in his school understood Michael's struggle.
After the final bell rang, Drakonov and Buff burst through the wall, screaming like a warrior who was about to charge into battle. Nobody minded, though, because they were athletes, and were cool.
"HEY THERE, RUNT! WE'RE JOCKS, AND YOUR NOT, WHICH MEANS YOU TAKE A RIDE ON THE PAIN TRAIN! TICKETS ARE FREE, RIDE IS 1-2 HOURS TO YOURFUCKINGDEADSVILLE, AND THE FOOD IS actually rather shit, I'd pack something for the ride, personally. ARE YOU READY FOR SOME MOTHERFUCKING FORCED SYMPATHYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYY?" Buff said, as he and Drakonov combined their powers to initiate an orbital laser completely composed of fists, which knocked him out. You'd think that after 7 Years of daily Orbital strikes he'd be used to it, but this one felt extra painful today.
Michael woke up in the middle of a forest tied to a tree. Buff and Drak were there.
"Well, well, well, well, well, look what we have here. Looks like someone didn't meet their forced sympathy quota today. That's rather naughty, don't you think Buff? Let's fix that." Drak said in his thick foreign accent. he then took out a chainsaw Flamethrower and started carefull skinning his arm with it, laughing like a maniac.
It was then he felt a power begin to well up inside of him. all this abuse, all this neglect by my peers, was building up to this point. His body became the avatar of the purest edge. He felt its ebbs and flows, its shitty OCs and stupid killer catchphrases. He felt it all. He controlled it all.
Michael broke the ropes easily with his newfound killer strength, and they ran away at the sight of the new version of himself. He inexplicably had a cat tail and cat ears. They both were dripping with blood. He chased down his would-be murderers in the forest, and stabbed them with his Cat Ears repeatedly, licking up their entrails like a bowl of milk.
He then went back to his house. His father was drunk again.
"MICHAEL, I SWEAR TO GOD IF I COME OVER THERE, AND YOU'RE STILL EXISTING, IT'S THE FBWCBJHSCSSIPT BAT FOR YOU!"
Michael went to his recliner, and he froze in fear after seeing him: Michael wrapped Drakovich and Buff's entrails around him like a scarf. He reached for his bat, but Michael grabbed it and made it disappear into black sludge. Then suddenly, Michael's father gets up to check the time. He always wanted to wait until after dinner to be brutally murdered in his chair. It was about an hour to dinner, so he watched TV for about that time until he was done baking his Pulled Pork (BTW, Squidward's Suicide and Lost Silver was on. They're my favorites)
After he was done, he got back in his chair, Michael started laughing manically.
"POOR FATHER, NOW..."
"YOU HAVE NO TIME."
And then he stabbed his father until he bled and died. He like stabbing things with his serrated cat ears so much he decided from then on to call himself Stabberson McDread. He then dumped oil all over the house and lit it on fire.
Some say he's still at large. Some say he never existed. Some say he's... he's...
Right Behind you.
Haha, just kidding, he got oil on himself, and it burned him to death when he lit the house on fire.
THE END(?)
P.S. STAY TUNED FOR PART 7, WHERE I MAKE OUT WITH JTK, AND I GO SUPER SAIYAN!
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