Freeze Frame Fucker: When the World Stops, I Don’t

I’m the guy who stops the world—literally—and no, I don’t mean with a wink, ‘cause I save those for the mirror. Average schmuck, forgettable life: faded jeans, a face you’d blank on, cubicle hell that’d make paint peel—till I found I can freeze time like a cheap watch begging to break. Don’t ask how; I’m too busy playing judge, jury, and smug-ass punisher to every loudmouth who cuts me off or flips me the bird. Rudeness gets my righteous comeback—maybe with a side of me indulging my damn self if the itch bites hard. Morality? Shit, that’s for suckers and sermons—I don’t give a rat’s ass about right or wrong, just what gets me off when the clock’s stuck.

Relationships? Ain’t got ‘em, don’t want ‘em—why bother when I can pause the world and skip the small talk? Sure, I say it’s about justice, but half the time I’m just snagging whoever looks good enough to mess with—nobody’s the wiser when I’m done, anyway. I clean up nice, every trace gone—can’t have some sap catching on, plus it’s funnier leaving ‘em clueless. Last week’s grind tried to choke me out—clock ticks drilling my skull—so I’m out here hunting a fix. Willow Creek’s whispering, and I’m craving a spark to burn my way.