wtfofl

You relish your neighbours faces of horror, as you slice their arms off with their own kitchen knives, then boil the limbs inside their own pot, you watch as the blood pours from their wounds, grinning one cruel psychotic smile, the husband you never knew of, limps away, only one leg supporting his fatty body, then, as quickly as he had reached the end of the room, he quickly loses balance and falls to the ground, he slams his head against the wooden tiled flooring, obviously weakened by the loss of blood, and the fear that has overwhelmed his consiousness, he becomes unconsious. Whether he's dead or not, it's irrelevent to you, he's going to be devoured no matter how much he begs and cries for mercy. You place his oven-cooked leg on a plate and devour it, it's gristly, and quite fatty, but to you, it's delicious! You smack your lips, delighted, but still unsatisfied. You slump back in your chair, pondering the meaning of your existence, you come to a conclusion that you were created by the Devil, either that, or your existence is inevitable, in a hope to lead your life of a psychopathic, random-filled life of fun and games. You requote one of the commandments of God. 'Love thy neighbours.' You sure do, in a way that involves dinner.



After you've finished 'dinner,' you dig their remains in the garden, separating every bone from each other so it doesn't look too suspicious. 'Nobody will ever find these bodies!' You think to yourself, smirking. Your meal was everything to your satisfaction, except for the greatly gristly parts. You thank your neighbours for their wonderful meal, then return home.


Now that you've accomplished your goal, what do you do next?