My brain refused to latch on to the images I had just seen. It did not process the limbs bent at broken angles. The viscera that used to be a girl with a teardrop tattoo. The smell of blood and cum and cocaine in the air. My mind went looking for logical explanations: This is Punk’d. This is Candid Camera. This is some kind of elaborate, high-budget prank somebody is pulling on me. I’m Michael Douglas in The Game. Somebody is The Game-ing me.
Why are we still doing this after watching broke neck Marco crabwalk up walls? Shouldn't Her disbelief be suspended already?
