Have you heard of the expression, “A 100 ways to skin a cat?” Well, I like pussy too much for that, so for me it’s, “a 100 ways to castrate a chap.” Sure, being a twisted little butcher babe, I could give a chap fifty whacks. That’s too easy, too boring, too conventional. I have been experimenting with castration methods for years now. Tiny dick losers, asshats, perverts, deviants and annoying fuckers have long been saying goodbye to their junk at my hands.
I think my favorite method for removing worthless and improperly used appendages is my special creation: The Venus Penis Flay Trap. My first test subject of this method was Paul: a drunk trailer park daddy fond of diddling little tykes of both genders. If you can’t use it properly, you should not have it is my motto. I paid Paul a visit one day. Caught him red handed with his worthless pecker up some poor young school girl’s ass. I told him I was a disciple of God, and it was time to have a come to Jesus conversation about his man bits.
I had his little victim help me show him both the error of his naughty ways and his road to redemption. I pushed him to the ground, while she removed my special instrument and set it on the floor in front of him. I invited her to take a front row seat to what I like to call a little trailer park justice. I gave Paul an option. My knife could slice his throat, killing him instantly, or he could tea bag my Venus penis fly trap, remove his evil appendages on his own, thus saving his life and his soul. For whatever reason, Paul struggled with this choice. He took too long deciding if his balls were worth more than his life. Idiot. No life, what the fuck does it matter if you got balls or not?
His little victim became my accomplice in the time it took him to realize that life is more important than balls. She leaped off the couch were he violated her little ass, pushed him hard enough that his drunk ass fell onto my contraption. Bonus. Not only did it take his worthless balls, but his pecker too. All of his evil appendages snapped clear off. Suddenly his living room looked like a crime scene. Blood splatter everywhere, male parts tossed around like dirty clothes, and a drunk p daddy passed out, bleeding all over the shag carpet. My youngest little accomplice stood over his lifeless body, gave him a swift kick where his gonads use to be, then pissed on his bloody stump. If I ever were to have a daughter, I could do no better than this perfect angel.
Girl power was alive that day. Like me, she would be a victim no more. She has become my little castration accomplice. Some things in life are better shared with a friend.
