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Samantha Blackmire

A sequence of Twitter sends:

15:13 @umbralechoes Man, that’s fucked up. You know my first fisting experience scarred me internally. Broken minds: Ribbed for your pleasure.

17:16 That requires explanation, doesn’t it? I was on Sesame Street as a child. No one told me beforehand that puppets weren’t real.

17:17 So I’m on the front steps, pretending to read, and this latino rolls up to me on a dolly. He has his hand crammed into the ass of my hero.

17:19 I think, “There’s a homicidal maniac at my feet with a corpse on his arm. Surely, someone will save me.” Someone always does, right?

17:20 Nothing. Just maniac on wheels, fist, ass, and big, red fuzzy head with its dead eyes and gaping scream. Everyone is staring at me.

17:22 The sick bastard actually imitates his victim’s voice, crying out, “Give Elmo a hug!” I put my hands to my chest in revulsion. “No” I reply.

17:23 “Give Elmo a hug!” he screams again. Why isn’t anyone coming? Why doesn’t someone shoot him in the fucking head? He’s got a body on his arm!

17:24 “No!” I scream. He looks offstage, as if looking for the Muppet Police who will undoubtedly ram his ass like a castle gate with a giant fist

17:26 “Why won’t you give Elmo a hug?” he asks. “ELMO’S AN ARM!” I screamed, and ran offstage, holding my butt all the way.

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