Sociopath Community

by Murder She Wrote

His computer rang with a new Facebook message. It was Sarah. Maybe she wanted to apologize, maybe she didn't mean it. Maybe she wanted to take back all those terrible things she said. Maybe she loves me after all...

He stumbled over the broken remains of his sanity to his desk, and clicked in anticipation.

Then, the doorbell rang.

The boy jerked in surprise. He was not expecting anyone. He figured it was the pesky 7 year-old scout girl trying to sell him confetti again. Maybe if he doesn't make a sound, she will think he is not home, he thought.

A couple of knocks on the door called for his attention. A bit annoyed, he glanced at the lower corner of the screen; it was 3 AM. The terror invaded his temples, and soon a stream of delusional thoughts filled his mind. Girl scouts don't come at ridiculous hours to get people to buy their cookies, and he had no friends, what fiend could possibly be at his doorstep– at this hour? 

Dexter was idle, thinking whether to call the police or look for the closest blunt weapon he could find. A loud knock brought him fright. His muscles tensed with the third and fourth and fifth knock, more often and louder as the percussion progressed. Each one forcing Dexter to back away, one step at a time, until his back met the furthest wall.

You'd first need a house, I suppose, and we all know you don't have one of those.

That being said, your stories and Monica's contain similar content.

excuse me but i can recognize asians

by Murder She Wrote

 

 

by Thrill Kill

One hot, summer day Dexter was sitting home alone in his mother's basement jerking off to pictures of Sarah. Unbeknown to Dexter, Thrill Kill had discovered Dexter's address and was on her way to give him a surprise he wouldn't soon forget.

With a grunt that'd put any pork to shame, he came on the floor, and fell back in his chair exhausted.

"Man if I wasn't such a fat fuck", he thought. "I might actually be able to do something with myself."

He glanced wistfully at the oversized doll leaning against the wall, ragged blue curls and garish red, painted lips smeared with speckles of cum from times gone by.  It had been lying there, decrepit, since that fateful day Sarah had called him a tool, a shitstain smeared in her memory, a pesky little sewer rat, not worth knowing.  In a fit, he tore the clock from his nightstand and bashed her face into a pulp, smashing the pieces into her chest over and over, until her breasts fell limp and her body, wilted and deflated.  It felt good, and he had lost track of time anyway.  What day was it? What hour?

Ding! His computer rang with a new facebook message. It was Sarah. Maybe she wanted to apologize, maybe she didn't mean it. Maybe she wanted to take back all those terrible things she said. Maybe she loves me after all... He stumbled over the broken remains of his sanity to his desk, and clicked in anticipation.

Then, the doorbell rang.

 "Who the hell are you?" Dexter did not recognize the Asian girl at the door, who looked like all the other Asian girls on the fucking planet. Except this one looked lost, even though she was using her GPS.

"Hi, I'm Emily. Remember me?"

"Emily? But I was expecting Thrill Kill to come over and kick my ass."

"She didn't want to waste the energy. Or dirty her boots. So she sent me instead. To give you therapy, till you died. Or begged for mercy."

"I'm fine, I don't need therapy. I'm actually providing therapy to others. As a gift to SW who are blessed with my presence."

"With your long message that neither TK or I could even read. Yes, we can make beautiful therapy together."

Dexter screams in horror. A million miles away, TK laughs a wicked laugh, watching everything transpire in her evil third eye.

Either that, or he's just your average run-of-the-mill hipster, loaded with white guilt and the desperate need to maintain an image based on PC rules and regulations.

by Dexterity

excuse me but i can recognize asians

 Can you recognize self-deprecating sarcasm and racist asian humor?

It's ok emily he's autistic.