TFW you blew up 14 afghanis on a mound with a predator drone and come to find out it was actually an american platoon and everyone decided to keep their mouth shut about it because there was there was such a bad public impression of drone strikes and learning a lot of fuck ups like that never got out and because of that you should feel better not worse and guys kept their contracts but still paid a price down the line with that dead feeling where you kind of look like a wax figure and emit this odor (I call it stress pheromone) from when you casper'd those fourteen pure american souls like chris watts did to his little girls and you stare at a candle for hours thinking about how casually we snuff out a candle and think about the last candle on earth and no one being there to relight it when it goes out but get used to it because you can't lay down and sleep for more than 30 minutes at a time before the permanence of our constraint to the whipmaster time and dominatrix nature constraining us to delicate bodies that continually rot and fall apart with time that we lock in a little bubble of safety , the reality of being in that prison cell emits such a black stink that it shocks you awake and makes you go sit on the toilet seat and just drink a glass of water and try to accept this is part of the toll.
Thinking about making casper's?
you pay for that toll fucker