IS RYAN A GIRL?
Ryan was seated, somewhere. He had a question. He thought of his mother.
"Ma, am I a girl?"
Ryan's mother paused, I guess. But, really, she was kind of busy with other thoughts, or things. She didn't look at her son. She remained quiet.
Ryan started touching his dick. Again.
"Stop that," said Ryan's mother. "Why do you always have to do that?"
She was so fucking sick of her son. She considered she might need to drown him in the bathtub again. Extra bleach in the water, this time. She usually added some amount of bleach to the drowning-cleanse water.
"It was an itch, Ma. I swear," Ryan lied. His Autism was showing through his lacking expressiveness. His unnatural, and slow, way of being.
"Ryan, honey, I do believe you to be a girl, but what's that between your legs?"
"It's a little 'dog boy!" squeaked Ryan, excited, a bit happy, for no good fucking reason.
"What kind of buns do you want, sweetie?"
"Baby buns, Ma."
"That shit again?"
"Yeah, Ma, always."
Ryan's mother then proceeded to beat the shit out of that Autistic fuckwit, and Satan grew sick of writing this story.
In conclusion? Ryan is, in fact, a girl.
Raped the wrong buns, bitch.
-
Years later, Ryan's mother was grateful he finally moved out at the age of 39 or 40. She didn't really want to spend her retirement with Ryan listening in on her through the wall. Ryan's mother had murdered all of her dogs, all four, and if Ryan were to come back, he'd certainly be the fifth.
Ryan wasPost too long. Click here to view the full text.