Murder the user above you.

All of these threads of murderous intent are not painting a picture-perfect view of me, likening my quality to a serial-killer. That creepy girl who would love nothing more than to drag you down to hell. But unlike the other thread, this one is a free-for-all. Kill in however way you please, there are no defining rules.

Look who's first.

Haven't learnt my lesson, posted in the spamzone once more...

 

*sees thread title*

*runs away*

 

*Kills Amaury by deleting his post count*

 

Infuriating. You, yes you, if you are going to post why not post something of worth? I will go all out on you, merciless and cruel. You haven't any right to complain, you. Slamming you down onto the table, stripping you and forcing you down with adhesive tape. You would like nothing more than to cry, but unfortunately for you my handkerchief was gagging you, stifling and rendering all sound inaudible. Can never be too careful, had your mouth taped shut too. You had awaken here, disoriented as confused as can be, not but minutes ago. Had another wild party, Amaury? But none of them had ever ended like this, none so... queer as this. Firstly, you were naked; not as if that took the cake, you having seen and done far worse during these reunions. It didn't stop there, of course. Secondly, you were taped down. On a table. How eventful, and how wild your night had gotten! You would have liked to laugh it off, but the handkerchief well into your throat prevented that. Thirdly, there was a girl person standing right over you. No! Even I have limits, you thought indignantly. You would have never touched her, neither drugged nor pissed.

(bored of this story, might continue later)

 

Do those long replies make you feel special?

 

Do those witty remarks make you feel special?

 

Does my butt look big in this?

 

If post counts are health bars then I feel horribly sorry for those who have theirs at zero, poor souls.

 

You die now! *explosion*

 

You. Since you have a love for literature. I will take the ironic route. I would demonstrate where the "war" from War and Peace comes from as I use this colussus of a book to bludgeon your skull in. Oh there will be blood and oh will it be messy. It will be akin to this:

 

I wish that I was dead.

 

At least it was not Atlas Shrugged.

 

If you are going to murder him, he should be murdered at the hands of the french. This book is thin but is is thick in spirit, carrying the weight of of the little prince. Vanquish him, for once and for all.

 

If you were to murder myself with French novels then I would recommend throwing Les Miserables at my head.

 

@Laria,
The puppets.
Always the puppets.

It's your Dave Strider moment now.
So many puppets.
Puppets.
Suffocating you.

The puppets.

 

i will strap you to a chair and force you to watch all the justin beiber movie and all of the high school musical movies!

imsoevilmuahahahhahahh.jpg

 

Feeling odd posting in this dead place but ah well. I promised someone something.

Spoiler

She hung there. The ground literally 88 feet away from her. Blood was dripping from her right ankle where the rope was tied. Laria was dangling from a rope over the edge of a stone building in the city. She was wearing jeans and a red t-shirt as well as a pink zip-up hoody that was falling away from her body. She wasn't screaming, odd enough, but was watching with fright the ground below. I sat across the block on the edge of another building. I had a revolver in my hand and was just spinning it around my fingers, staring at the ground with my head resting on my hand. I figured now was the best time. I stood up and pointed the revolver at her. She looked away from the ground at me in fear, but still no screaming. I aimed at her left leg and shot her once. Still no screaming. I shot her in her right arm. Still no screaming. I shot her twice in her hips. Still no screaming. I raised the gun above her right foot and shot the rope. It split and she started to rapidly fall to the ground. Still no screaming. I watch and waited for her death as she turned into a pile of red onto the ground. Still no screaming. I pointed the gun upwards and shot once at the sky. Her scream pierced my ears as the bullet went into the never-ending sky. I looked down. I was sad. She was my fan. I turned around and went onto the world, writing more stories.

 

Stab. Run.

Perfect getaway murder.

 

I know we're supposed to kill people above us but sorry. Got to do one thing.

Spoiler

They were tied down on top of each other. Their bare skin touching, there bountiful chests squishing together. Daxa and Ingrid were tied down onto each other. The ropes made sure they didn't move. The one around their heads made them locked in a kiss forever. It was time for the end. I pulled a rope and a bucket of honey cascaded down onto them making them sticky. I started to take pictures, memories for a gift to my mind. They didn't even talk as doing so only made them go into a passionate kiss. My fun was done. I pulled another rope and a giant slab of a rock fell down on top of them, blasting blood out into the room. I sighed. It was sad that I could no longer be sticky with them. I only hoped they remained sticky with each other. I grabbed my photos and opened the door out of the basement. I left knowing that it was time to grow up. Time to mature.

 

I feel ignored. *stabs Ace with a sticky knife*

Darn, I got blood on my jam cleaver.