Badfic Manor

[So Badou awoke like most of you mannorians or whatever you're called did when you first arrived in this wondrous wintery wonderland of expensive crap, screaming babies and drunk couples. Except in a less sexy manner and there wasn't a dead hooker under the bed. It was magical, it was splendid, there were countless ways to rub up against some drunk (whether on actual booze or the highlights of mixtures of air pollution and those shoppers that kind of trip balls during this season) ladies and still manage to avoid their boyfriends, the free samples didn't taste like ass, and the lights were pretty. It was also cold as balls but sorta not that bad somehow. Upsides to every cloud of shit.

Unfortunately for Badou's jolly freckled ass the fun came to a complete halt once he engaged in a two toed one eyed one armed tango with a particularly disgruntled Mall Santa and the result was, well...]

Hohohooooooooooo MEEEEERRRRRRYYY DICKMAAAAAAASSS or whatever it is....I ain't gettin' paid to say it right, it's socially acceptable, eat me....

[If you listen, really listen, you can hear the traumatic memories the children fleeing from Santa's line are suppressing right at this moment. You'll find Badou, slightly bruised but none worse for wear in his Santa suit wedged with stuffing gaping out of the neckhole and sleeves because he's a skinny bastard, sitting with his booted feet thrown over the arm of Santa's elaborate chair and glaring daggers at the horrified Elves and various mothers making it their mission to get the hell out of his way]

Y'know, I didn't even hit the bastard that hard! He's a veteran, he could take more than a punch to that jolly gut! I even made it fair when I let him tie my arm up with his goddamn beard. Ya'll are lucky that lady cop was so hot and I'm so fuckin' nice.... [This is where you'll find him, if you want to find him, bitching at whoever is in armsreach. I really wouldn't blame whoever doesn't.]

HOOOHOOOHOOOO TELL SANTA WHAT YOU WANT YOU LITTLE SHITS! So I can tell you no. You don't need a fuckin' pony, what you need is braces.

[There is the compelling, majestic and liberating shot of a crotch on the feed for about ten minutes, before the crotch disappears from view with a rustle of the camera, lots of green shrubbery, and some cursing. And then Badou’s kawaii dirt smudged face comes into view, and he’s scowling. That can’t be good. Because that‘s only so much time between bitching and whining. So it looks as though he's noticed he's been on candid camera for the past god knows how long and eventually he addresses his stalker- er new allies in apeshittery]

Sooooo….’m guessin’ the docs finally got tired of me sneakin’ cigarettes in and burnin’ holes in the bed sheets and hooked me up with the actual GOOD morphine, right? ‘Cause…I definitely remember the fuckin’ gut shot annnndddd I don’t remember any drunken parties in the shrubbery so…? What’s the dealio, brotha? And sistahs, definitely. Gotta say, I appreciate hookin’ me up with a phone, n00dz'll be twenty bucks inch by inc- OF SKIN, I MEAN. Christ... [The shot pans across the bush he’s currently trying to climb out of before flicking back to his disgruntled face] An if this is some bonerific Saw shit or somethin, you can suck my nuts, that voyeurism is dangerous y'know. I’d take that rather’n wakin’ up in that hospital bed getting’ a sponge bath from some old hag though…[Some minimal bitching and huffing later, the feed eventually cuts off.

Feel free to make fun of the grassstains on his crotch or s/t?]