NSFW - Quite A Bit Of Bad Language; A Hint of Violence; Probably Lots Of Offensive Grammatical Errors.

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Ted Loses His Cool In The Ice Cream Shop

Manners, thought Ted, the little fucker has no manners. Ted's eyes danced over the brat's parents, taking their measure in about two seconds - the way a polite person with manners does it; fast, unobtrusive, barely noticable. That's how a person acts in society if they don't want to rock the boat and cause unnecessary friction. Friction causes heat, and heat can build until it burns. Ted could feel the little fucker still staring at him; could feel the little asshole's eyes burning into him. Shit was going to get real and shit was going to go down if that ratfaced fucker kept staring much longer. Ted ate another scoop of his ice cream; it was nice - creamy and cold, but it didn't do a damn thing to cool the rage building inside him.

What sort of parents don't teach their snotty little groin fruit basic manners? Ted asked himself. What Ted presumed to be the dickeyed kid's former incubator was sitting on the left, the sperm donor on the right. Ted guessed that the mom might have been pretty once, before time had gone to work fucking her in the face, etching it with lines and pummeling it 'til the flesh seemed to be drooping away from the bone; and her tits - gravity had had a lot to work with there and had apparently yanked at them until they hung down on her belly. And the dad looked like some impish demon had been plucking hair follicles from the top of his head and jamming them up his nose and in his ears; and had also made off with his neck at some point, leaving his pumpkin like head sitting right down on his shoulders.

Ted ran his spoon around the bottom of the bowl, cleaning up the dregs of his dessert. He still felt those eyes crawling over him like ants... No, not ants... Like flies - incessantly flittering all over him, touching his hands, his ears, his nose, his mouth. Ted kept his eyes averted - he didn't want the dirty little punk's shitty eyes touching his own. Ted licked his spoon, rested it in the bowl, and dropped his hand below the table. The feel of the cool steel down there calmed him, a little. Knowing the gun was there, that it would protect him, made him feel a little better. But just a little.

There was a crash to Ted's right and instinct and years of training and muscle memory resulted in his weapon being drawn, raised, and swinging in an arc searching for a target in under two seconds. Ten pounds pull of the twenty necessary to send lead rain flying was already applied as the gunsights aligned over the bad mannered kid's face. The little cunt didn't even blink. The kid had cocked his head at the noise - what Ted had now realized was just a butterfingered and buttfaced waitress dropping a tray of glasses - but his beady little dead fish eyes were still glued to Ted. Ten pounds became fifteen as Ted's finger tensed against the trigger.

And then, if you can believe it, the bad mannered cold eyed cocksucker, while looking Ted in the eye over the barrel of the gun, cooly licked a dribble of chocolate ice cream off his spoon. Ted's rage exploded and fiftteen became twenty...