Spitting Venom

At least my wife doesn't know wtf Hive is so I won't get knocks on my door in the middle of the night for spitting venom. I learned the other night when I was spitting venom in this old house. One I was in over a lot of years, maybe 10-20, my age, and the house still stands, and it's still in the family, so I still am there, in that house. But I was spitting some venom because I was under attack. I hissed, I spit, I made the vilest and most disgusting noises I could muster because all that venom is deep inside of me, keeping me alive. Way, wayway-down in my fucking DNA. My animal ancestors fighting to survive. There is nothing else. Survive.

So I spit.
I'm not afraid to unleash the venom that has been selected for my preservation and the preservation of my family and my peoples, whoever they are. My peoples aren't white people. They are nice people. They are accepting people. They are funny people. They like to get drunk and smoke dope. They like to have gardens and go on picnics and to love on their babies. If your people aren't my people, what fault is that of mine? You think I'll kick you from the table? You think I will invite you into my home, ask you to sup with me, and then knock food from your mouth because you dared eat it? I'm not Kendrick Llamar.

I don't know. This is freewrite territory, so expect undeveloped shit. But I'm working again.

Cheers mawfks,
illrut (36 to glory)
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Aolrandomnamewithaccgeneratorforfinding"sick and twisted" gifs(13-14)... yeah, thanks for that, internet. Thanks.