Lolzingaround
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Vincent won't stop coming home late from drinking, and what better way to teach a lesson than to punish the unseasoned chicken man!
this has pee, dont click if you dont like PISSSS!!!!!
mostly a free comm for my good buddy Lae smirks
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If there truly was a Hell on Earth, Vincent had firmly found himself there.
He couldn't wrap his head around how his life had gone ass up; how he'd fallen so far from grace that he went from scraping the heavens with greedy hands, to crashing down, down, down into the deepest pit. He had been a god. Worshiped by the masses, adored in every American home, families gathered around the altar, eyes locked onto their televisions. Unable to look away from him.
Vincent had clawed and fought and murdered up the entertainment ladder, rung by bloody rung. Proved every rich executive wrong who dared to laugh at him, doubt him. He was the phoenix: transformed and reborn from the ashes of the bumbling, stuttering, weak weatherman, grateful for scraps. He was the voice of the people, who, with a righteous baptism, would usher forth a bigger, better, brighter future of entertainment.
And then, right on the precipice of ascension, his dreams shattered around him.
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The year is 1952, and Vincent Whittman is sent to the Hazbin Lunatic Asylum for his safety and, more importantly, the safety of others. But Vincent will soon learn he's not the only monster stalking these halls...Bookmarked by Lolzingaround
20 May 2026