The Death of Envy

When I spoke enviously of Josephine’s long lashes, rosy cheeks and soft curves, the corners of my Samael’s lips lifted, and he let out a low, menacing laugh that sent an erotic chill down my spine. He withdrew his blade and spoke in a hauntingly satisfied murmur to its blood-stained tip: “My love, all skeletons look the same.”

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He pontificated to his band of retard children, talking of revolution and apocalypse. To them, he was god, to us, he was simply Charles Manson.

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After searching for an eternity, he arrived at the final door.
Grasping the handle he pulled,but then he smiled and went looking for the key.

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The thing looked strange, it’s teeth all crinkly and eyes crazy like they were cut out and pasted back in by that fat kid that sat behind you in third grade and wheezed all the time. The description read “Last known Maori kuri – collected 1876 Catlins, New Zealand” and you didn’t even know that there were such things as Maori dogs and now you find out that they are all extinct and you Google it and find out that Hawaiian poi dogs are also extinct and you wish that instead of dogs that all red headed fat kids were extinct.

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