Post by The Main Man on Jul 23, 2006 3:51:49 GMT -5
A spazfrag 666 blasts through the city, hovering over the streets and shattering windows from buildings in its wake from the thunderous cacaphony of its hyperdrive engines sending an enormous amount of jet flame behind it.
He pulls up beside one of the seediest places in town, the bar is a real scum bucket that caters to all the wannabe bad asses and posers who bloody each other up waving their dicks in each others faces.
After arming the security device, he steps out of the saddle of his hog and walks across the way to the entrence. Everyone parts the way for the gruesome hulk dressed in black leather shreded and torn with chains and spikes adorning various stratigic places.
A chain wrapped around his arm leads to a wicked hook, the surface neglected dull and rusty.
The thick cigar clenched between his teeth glowed red as he peered through the throng of meatbags infront of him before he walked to the bullitin board. Smoke billowing from his nostrils.
He ran his fingers through sepulchre black hair and posted his message, scrawled and inked in his own caligraphy that would make any doctor cringe with envy over the barely decipherable style.
"Dead vega,
I killed you once you son of a bastich.
I will kill you again and again anytime I want and there is nothing your frag face can do to stop me from doing it.
You're my favorit cookaracha, so easy to smoke and punk down like the glamourus wussy you are. Don't ever push no one around again where i will find out about it or I will plant my boot up your ass and wiggle it around until none of your assbuds can butt love you anymore.
Signed,
Your dad and rolemodel.
The Main Man."
Along the way out of the door, another wannabe tried to intercept him with a punch and found a hook sticking in his belly before he could blink. Lobo didnt seem to notice or care as he continued walking, draging the squeeling carcus behind him while the man struggled with the hook lodged deep in his guts.
He climbed aboard his spazfrag and gunned the engine and shot off, letting the hapless victim ride the hook trailing behind in the plume of jet fire spitting from the exhaust of the hog, roasting flesh from bone and and charing what was left into ash and cleaning his hook off.
He pulls up beside one of the seediest places in town, the bar is a real scum bucket that caters to all the wannabe bad asses and posers who bloody each other up waving their dicks in each others faces.
After arming the security device, he steps out of the saddle of his hog and walks across the way to the entrence. Everyone parts the way for the gruesome hulk dressed in black leather shreded and torn with chains and spikes adorning various stratigic places.
A chain wrapped around his arm leads to a wicked hook, the surface neglected dull and rusty.
The thick cigar clenched between his teeth glowed red as he peered through the throng of meatbags infront of him before he walked to the bullitin board. Smoke billowing from his nostrils.
He ran his fingers through sepulchre black hair and posted his message, scrawled and inked in his own caligraphy that would make any doctor cringe with envy over the barely decipherable style.
"Dead vega,
I killed you once you son of a bastich.
I will kill you again and again anytime I want and there is nothing your frag face can do to stop me from doing it.
You're my favorit cookaracha, so easy to smoke and punk down like the glamourus wussy you are. Don't ever push no one around again where i will find out about it or I will plant my boot up your ass and wiggle it around until none of your assbuds can butt love you anymore.
Signed,
Your dad and rolemodel.
The Main Man."
Along the way out of the door, another wannabe tried to intercept him with a punch and found a hook sticking in his belly before he could blink. Lobo didnt seem to notice or care as he continued walking, draging the squeeling carcus behind him while the man struggled with the hook lodged deep in his guts.
He climbed aboard his spazfrag and gunned the engine and shot off, letting the hapless victim ride the hook trailing behind in the plume of jet fire spitting from the exhaust of the hog, roasting flesh from bone and and charing what was left into ash and cleaning his hook off.