Have you been searching for castration phone sex? You may have read it is my speciality. I am a sick bitch. My personal hero is Lorena Bobbit. She didn’t take the balls, she took the whole damn dick! I channeled my hero this weekend. I was at this new Goth club. Normally, ass wipe, douche bag hipsters don’t frequent such clubs, but I found the one who did. From his skinny jeans to his cheesy pornstache, he annoyed the fuck out of me. Out of all the punk princesses in the club, he fixated on me. He took my blunt “Get the fuck out of my face” statement as flirting. I don’t flirt. I either fuck you, kill you or castrate you. He ordered a Pabst Blue Ribbon beer. Dude, what the fuck? This is like an Absinthe kind of place. He was the biggest tool I have encountered in a long time. I decided to castrate him in the bathroom. I would cut his balls off and pin them to the bathroom wall as a warning to other guys that this is not a pick-up bar. I made him think he was getting lucky in the bathroom, but it was me who was getting lucky. I told him to show me his cock and balls. When he unzipped his pants, I pulled out his cock. As I was getting ready to slice his ball sack off, I slipped. I took more than the tip! I ended up Lorena Bobbitting him. His pecker was sliced clear off. Blood was spurting all over the bathroom floors and walls. It was a happy accident! I thought perhaps I should call for help. I mean that can kill a guy. I just walked out of the bathroom, with his pecker in my purse. I drove home and fed it to my Pitbull. Next day I heard about a man found in a pool of blood in a new club missing his penis. There was a large search for his severed dick. I just laughed and patted my dog’s head.
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