“Say it one more time,” she said while swinging the bike chain an inch from my face. “I fucking dare you–say it.” My jaw was already clamped shut with an iron and rubber balaclava, drool pooling with blood in its hems. “How many of you know my dozens of albums, my countless roles–no, all of you want to sing the fucking theme song. So I dare you, shitbag: say it. Make my motherfucking day.” She started the chainsaw. “Better sing ‘I’m a Survivor,’ because you sure a shit aren’t going to be one.”
Keegan Shepherd 