Missile Tow
Predator Press
[LOBO]
It’s a good bet that Santa will once again be skipping over my humble abode, despite my absolutely angelic behavior. So this year, I’ve decided to pounce the fuck from Cobe’s place.
Cobe will be at work anyways.
‘Ol Saint Nick' will never see this coming. Cobe’s place is already an incredible array of flashing electric Christmas crap, making it a buzzing sensory overload; it’s the perfect place for an ambush.
The roof is peppered with a deadly array of mines, spotlights, surface-to-air missiles, grenade launchers, motion detectors, you name it. And as a personal touch, I even put a remote laser in the nose of one of Cobe’s stuffed reindeer ... you know, the one with the nose already conveniently deformed?
Cobe’s place is a fortress bristling with more firepower than Faluja and Los Angeles combined.
And should the fat man somehow survive the roof, the inside is twice as lethal: The chimney is lined with poisoned spikes, the stockings are trapped, the cookies and milk are a specialized, exotic set of chemicals that will detonate when combined. And a small assortment of Hawley Enterprises' armored cars –cleverly disguised as “Meals on Wheels” vans-- are parked around back, to aid in carrying off all that Christmas loot.
You know, I had almost forgot what a joyous occasion the Holidays can be.
[LOBO]
It’s a good bet that Santa will once again be skipping over my humble abode, despite my absolutely angelic behavior. So this year, I’ve decided to pounce the fuck from Cobe’s place.
Cobe will be at work anyways.
‘Ol Saint Nick' will never see this coming. Cobe’s place is already an incredible array of flashing electric Christmas crap, making it a buzzing sensory overload; it’s the perfect place for an ambush.
The roof is peppered with a deadly array of mines, spotlights, surface-to-air missiles, grenade launchers, motion detectors, you name it. And as a personal touch, I even put a remote laser in the nose of one of Cobe’s stuffed reindeer ... you know, the one with the nose already conveniently deformed?
Cobe’s place is a fortress bristling with more firepower than Faluja and Los Angeles combined.
And should the fat man somehow survive the roof, the inside is twice as lethal: The chimney is lined with poisoned spikes, the stockings are trapped, the cookies and milk are a specialized, exotic set of chemicals that will detonate when combined. And a small assortment of Hawley Enterprises' armored cars –cleverly disguised as “Meals on Wheels” vans-- are parked around back, to aid in carrying off all that Christmas loot.
You know, I had almost forgot what a joyous occasion the Holidays can be.
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