This so called... Doc
Red. The kind of red you would picture James Dean wearing in Rebel Without a Cause. The kind of red that cheap 1970s Hollywood used, as their so called protagonist hero tragically bleeds out being impaled by some narc son of a yankee working for the system.
"Tearing a whole right into your cranial cavity?" Middle aged skinny bastard of a dentist who spent college years doing queer things at the request of other masculine fags trying to get into some middle class WHITE-MAN'S fraternity. After those ambitions, dreams and weiner-to bun-to-cock holding triathlons all slipped away. The lubricated fabric of post pubescent hormones and pornogrphic abuse have come to fade. Here was this so called... Doc.
Gagging. "Mmm hmm yuaahhp, HAHA!"-grunting is no form of communication. Why is it that these camofags always resort to asking questions when answering is impossible given the conditions? Seat at a full 170degree incline- stunning-radiating-light blinding one eye- strapped down being foreplayed for an alien probe. Fag would probably love it if he could. *choking on saliva*
Scraping and grinding never stops, occasionally poking inflammatory gingivitis, but stay in silence. Mustn't show a pinch of weakness or pain. Pre conditioned masculinity of western cultural has programmed hard wiring into the cranial cavity. Scraping mindlessly into the rotten decay of plaque enamel.
Here was this so called... Doc.