Something Else
Predator Press
[Mr. Insanity]
Admiral Crunch, surly, cracked the whip on Lucky the Leprechaun with an animal ferocity.
From Admiral Crunch's brig, deep in the belly of the ship, Lucky's cries could be heard for a half a mile.
In defeated agony, Lucky hung limply, wrists tied overhead. His back was exposed --green jacket stripped open in the back-- revealing bloody, inflamed crisscrossing tears zig-zag the pale flesh. Salty sweat poured into the deep wounds, and Lucky's legendary Irish pride and defiance completely collapsed as he sobbed openly, begging for mercy.
"Feelin 'lucky' now, bitch?" growled the newly-promoted Admiral.
"Sir," Mr. Armani interrupted timidly. "We have evidence that Predator Press is on the verge of bankruptcy."
Admiral Crunch's eyes narrowed as he paused. He rolled up the whip and put it on the table, calmly measured, thinking quietly. "You have proof of this?" he asked in a barely-controlled voice.
"Oh yes!" says Mr. Armani. "They just posted about it earlier today." He turns his monitor so the enraged Admiral could see it better. Then he double-clicks his Explorer icon, prompting an AOL logon screen. "This might take a bit."
"Bankruptcy, eh?" asked the Admiral, twirling his singed mustache.
"Yes," says Mr. Armani. "And LOBO is right here in Vegas, even as we speak!"
"LOBO's an idiot," said the Admiral coolly. "What we have to do is put a stop to this nonsense forever."
Mr. Armani smiled. "I agree."
"Find me Mister and Misses Dash Cunning," commands Crunch.
"And have them dispatch of LOBO sir?"
"No you fool. We have to kill this beast right at the head." He draws his cutlass and holds it to Mr. Armani's throat.
"We're going to have to kill Ethan."
[Mr. Insanity]
Admiral Crunch, surly, cracked the whip on Lucky the Leprechaun with an animal ferocity.
From Admiral Crunch's brig, deep in the belly of the ship, Lucky's cries could be heard for a half a mile.
In defeated agony, Lucky hung limply, wrists tied overhead. His back was exposed --green jacket stripped open in the back-- revealing bloody, inflamed crisscrossing tears zig-zag the pale flesh. Salty sweat poured into the deep wounds, and Lucky's legendary Irish pride and defiance completely collapsed as he sobbed openly, begging for mercy.
"Feelin 'lucky' now, bitch?" growled the newly-promoted Admiral.
"Sir," Mr. Armani interrupted timidly. "We have evidence that Predator Press is on the verge of bankruptcy."
Admiral Crunch's eyes narrowed as he paused. He rolled up the whip and put it on the table, calmly measured, thinking quietly. "You have proof of this?" he asked in a barely-controlled voice.
"Oh yes!" says Mr. Armani. "They just posted about it earlier today." He turns his monitor so the enraged Admiral could see it better. Then he double-clicks his Explorer icon, prompting an AOL logon screen. "This might take a bit."
"Bankruptcy, eh?" asked the Admiral, twirling his singed mustache.
"Yes," says Mr. Armani. "And LOBO is right here in Vegas, even as we speak!"
"LOBO's an idiot," said the Admiral coolly. "What we have to do is put a stop to this nonsense forever."
Mr. Armani smiled. "I agree."
"Find me Mister and Misses Dash Cunning," commands Crunch.
"And have them dispatch of LOBO sir?"
"No you fool. We have to kill this beast right at the head." He draws his cutlass and holds it to Mr. Armani's throat.
"We're going to have to kill Ethan."
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