Terror Firsthand #97: The World's Oldest Profession

 ©Terror Firsthand is a fictional blog series that was created in 2024. It is for entertainment purposes only, and I wrote it from the top of my head. Photos are reenactments and dramatization. The following story is for mature audiences only. Please, do not try anything dangerous at home.

Warning: extreme terror

Terror Firsthand: The World's Oldest Profession 👿

Frank DaVoucci's house

A few hours later, a flow of positive energy flew into my direction. I didn't even have to wait 7 days for the spell to be complete. The spell was complete in a few hours. I cut on a podcast and learned that Gayniqua Black had gotten blown up inside of Franks mansion. I thought the bit*h was in Virginia but she really was in Beverly Hills living with Frank. Someone dropped a bomb on Frank DaVoucci's house and blew it up. Everyone died in the deadly bombing, including Enyoazz and all of Franks other sexual partners and other porn stars. Even their housemaids and cooks died. 

The person that dropped the bomb on their house was flying over it with a helicopter. The person was never found. The whole city of Beverly Hills was shook, and rich millionaires started packing up their stuff right away. I cut off the reporter.

I went to the store. I brought a bottle of red wine, a filet mignon, shrimp, a fresh wine glass, a ceramic plate, and a bouquet of fresh flowers for myself. I was so happy, I even decided to leave the campsite and go check in at a hotel. Soon I got inside the hotel, the bullying started again. Someone texted my phone and said, 

Go away Ed. We don't want you in our city. 

I immediately took heed to the stinky, incestuous warning and started packing up all of my things. Then I drove to Gatesville, North Carolina and checked in at a state park. It couldn't have been Shaniqua Black that sent the message. She was already dead. Her and Frank DaVoucci died the same way Sexy Bluuee died down in Mexico. 

In Gatesville North Carolina hiding out

I was hoping I could go out on the town, grab some clean Italian pizza and go see something new while I was in Louisiana, but the gays ruined that before I could even get dressed to go out of my hotel room. I started looking at a podcast from my cellphone while in North Carolina. I watched Dustin Moore's The Devil's Universe podcast again and Khadija Green was on there.

"My ex husband and Frank DaVoucci did alot of immoral things to other men. They deserved that punishment. I hope they burn in hell for all of their sinful abominations. It's men like them that are the reason I'm suffering from a disease that I'll never recover from. There was no way that they could keep having all of those twisted orgies and get away with it. God was frowning down on them when he took their lives. They were very sickening people. Some of those boys in those porns that my ex husband was in weren't even 18 and were using fake ID's. I'm glad all of that is over. No more HIV will be spread and no more young boys turning into girls." Stated Khadija Green, while crying hysterically. 

"I'm sorry that it had to end that way Khadija. I really am." Said Dustin Moore. 

I wanted to know if Dustin Moore was married or not. I looked him up on Google and turns out that he was married to some wealthy Asian bi*ch that owned a luxury women's clothing boutique. I didn't even want to watch his podcast anymore. Sometimes married men get on my nerves. I don't get to have sex like they do, and I didn't want to be exposed to their marital impurities. I cut Dustin Moore's podcast off and sat in my tent all night, writing a story.

The next day, I started burning the same black candle from Louisiana on Daddy P's picture. I still hadn't heard from him. I threw the picture of Gayniqua Black into the campfire. Daddy P's picture was next. It was just a matter of time before I banished him out of my life completely.

What I imagined the shooters in the Carolina forest must've looked like 

I started getting scared. I didn't know who the creep was that sent me the hateful message in Baton Rouge. I started hearing loud gunshots nearby. I was really scared. The gunshots lasted for about 20 minutes. I was in the middle of a forest in the pitch black dark hearing gunshots. I closed my eyes and imagined what the shooters might look like. I became more and more fearful but I knew that the shots would end at some point in time, and that daylight was just around the corner.

I cooked three pancakes with maple syrup for breakfast with a glass of ice cold water and started packing up my things. I wanted to see if I could make some money by stripping like I did in Miami. I drove to Washington D.C. I went to a strip club called The Trapspot and was hired on the spot during the day shift. I went by the name Bleu Diamond- the same stage name that I had when I was dating GD6Star. 

The first song I heard when I walked in the strip club was Girl U Trife, by The Nasty Boyz. I didn't want to hear those young ass niggas for real. I felt uncomfortable dancing to them. I changed my outfits in the bathroom instead of the dressing room. Later that evening, a stripper that looked like she had a fishy Brazilian butt lift, came into the restroom with the manager and said, 

"You're not allowed in here." 

"What the hell do you mean I'm not allowed in here? Who the fu*k are you?" I asked. 

I knew it was time to go. She looked like a stinky ass rat. She looked like she would call the police if I kicked her ass.

"This is the manager and every stripper in this club has voted you out. You're not welcome here." Said the stripper while pointing to the manager.

"Are you really the manager?" I asked the other woman.

At The Trapspot in Washington D.C.

"Yes I am. And you need to pack up your stuff and leave this club. You're not even supposed to be changing in here. This is the restroom and people need to come in here. You can't be hogging it up. The dressing room is around the corner. Not in here." She said, sounding funky.

I knew why they didn't want me there. Those dykes didn't want any negative press. It's because they were gay as hell and they didn't want me to expose their dirtiness, greediness, human trafficking, and extreme lesbianism. 

"I know why y'all gay asses don't want me here. I'm out. I'm about to grab my stuff right now. Y'all stink. Y'all smell like fish up in here anyway. Everytime I think y'all stopped smelling, I find out that y'all still do." I replied, and stormed out of the bathroom.

I left the club immediately and went to my hotel room. I went to sleep and the next morning I went on The Trapspot Instagram page. The same dyke bully with the fishy Brazilian butt lift was on there. I was about to expose the club for mistreating me, but that stank ass dancer was on Instagram live exposing me first.

"Y'all do not tip Bleu Diamond. She is a fraud. She's mentally insane and is a dangerous convicted felon. She doesn't have it all and she's in here trying to scam these men out of their hard earned money. We're not crazy like she is. We're nothing like her here at The Trapspot. We don't want those coo coo chicks in here. She might try to hurt us. Besides, she just wants to bite our style anyway. Guys, that lady is a fraud, do not give her anything. Do not give her your hard earned money for any reason. Let that homeless b*tch live outside or wherever she's been living at. It's not y'all job to rescue that b*tch. Soon y'all try to help her, she is going to burn the bridge and turn on you. Do not trust that crazy ass lady for any reason guys. I'm warning you. Stay away from that crazy lame girl." Said the big, fishy stripper.

The fake stripper in D.C. with the smelly Brazilian butt lift on IG live throwing shade

I commented on her post and wrote,

Bi*ch I'm way more official than you. I don't wanna strip anyway b*tch! And y'all did the right thing by kicking me out, I might woulda kicked one of y'all nasty snitching asses! Thank you for knowing I don't play! Dyke! 

The stripper blocked me an hour later and deleted the comment. I knew that the funny looking girl had more protection in the streets than I did. She was with a bunch of people in all of her pictures and I felt intimidated. I started crying. I started missing GD6Star. I wanted to talk to someone, but I had no one to reach out to. I wanted to talk to Daddy P, but he went missing in action. I started to call Romeo, but I felt like a loser for having to buy his time. I just spent the rest of the day hiding in the hotel crying. I knew better than to go back into that human trafficking and dyke infested environment anyway. I should've just listened to my instinct the first time.

Around midnight, I went walking down Connecticut Ave to see if I could find a man that would spoil me. I had on a short spandex dress, a long 50 inch wig, and a pair of platform boots. I walked up and down the block and walked up and down 14th Street in the Northwest section of the city. A lot of men spoke to me, but none of them asked for my number. 

In Washington D.C. working the streets after midnight 

I walked back to my hotel feeling thirsty and embarrassed. I went to sleep and decided that I would run away like I do all the time, and leave the city in the morning. I've been a runaway all my life. Why stop now? 

The black candle finished burning and I left the candle on the corner and walked back inside of my room. I stayed there until 6 am. Then I ate waffles and sausage for breakfast, and checked out of the hotel and drove to Baltimore Maryland.