I am Racist.


…

I mean, my name is Racis T.

I was a stand-up comedian. The flop kind. The type who only got laughs when someone else was roasting him.

One night, I was doing a gig at a shady, run-down bar—the kind where tattooed bikers drink motor oil for breakfast. I went in with my usual dark humor, but my jokes were getting the same reaction as my dating profile: complete silence.

That didn’t sit right with my inner artist, who was already starving to death. So I did what any committed comedian would—I went darker.

Turns out, one of my jokes (or all of them?) triggered a guy so hard that he pulled a trigger. Headshot. Instant death.

But hey, look at this: A guy got triggered, so he pulled the trigger. That’s wordplay. But who cares? I’m dead anyway.

All I wanted was a successful show, people laughing, and maybe a few girls swooning over my wit. I never cared about money. The millions I’d have made would have gone to charity—specifically, 0.001% of it. See? I’m generous like that.

Anyway, death is death. My story should’ve ended there.

But… if there is an afterlife, I had a simple wish: become a successful comedian, find a loving wife, and have just enough money to afford three meals a day… and maybe a humble little private yacht. Or a jet. But that’s it. Because, like I said, I don’t care about money.

Unfortunately, wishes don’t work that way.

Because, well—there was an afterlife.

And it was absolutely not what I wished for.
——— ——— ———
Gib Money - ko-fi.com/khyaal
Join My Discord For Reference Arts and much more - https://discord.gg/zmUcswM2N5

Me and Jack were arguing and fed up with that, Johnson yelled Shut up to us.


And then, he stared at me like a blind panda and after a while, he scoffed:


"You guys made me remember the war I had seen three months ago. The Hero king acted just like you. In a serious situation, he argued with his friends just like this. And his voice was the same as well. And he then disappeared. Wait…" Johnson paused. "Are you… Could it be that you are…"


And fucking hell, I forgot about my voice. I covered my face but I should have changed my voice too.


Johnson squinted his eyes, he raised his head towards the ceiling as if thinking why women like to be spanked but file a complaint when they get one, and then his eyes lit up.


I came on the verge of pissing my pants as Johnson raised his finger at me.


"Are you trying to copy him to look cool?"


I forgot he was a soldier of Malthus' army. Of course he won't be able to do two plus two.


Chapter 130 - When You Bluff So Hard You Become a Writer Mid-Execution