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 **** 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.