Spamlet: Act I
Predator Press
[LOBO]
Okay, fine. I was supposed to relieve Max, Brighta and Vetter from guard duty at six in the morning.
Wednesday.
But when I showed up Friday night, those stinky fucks were all sleeping!
"Wake up you lazy bastards!" I says, kicking them.
"LOBO," exclaims Brighta. "Oh please God tell me you brought food--!"
"Yes Brighta," I says. "We will have many talks and committee meetings over your obviously deficient work ethic, your inability to score any action beyond 'Butter-Faces' in bars, and your overall bitchy attitude towards guard duty in the future. But enough about your passive-aggressiveness due to latent homosexuality!" I turn on my holographic belt buckle. "Predator Press is bring robbed."
They stare in amazement at the beamed images.
"Wow," says Max. "That's really cool."
"It was $11.99 at a Best Buy in Dallas," I says. "But I think I got the last one."
"Is it that guy behind Cobe?" asks Brighta, pointing at a holographic Cobe walking fast as a jogger overtakes him.
"No," says Max. "It is Cobe."
"No fuckin way!" says Brighta.
"Yes Brighta," Max says calmly. "Look behind his left ear."
"It's a pencil," says Brighta, squinting. "Is it some special 'Secret Project' pencil?"
"No," I interrupt. "It was a goddamned authentic Predator Press #2 pencil, and it came right out of this here box." I flip it open. "See? There's only four left."
Brighta stares.
"Four," I demand, "out of a box of ten?"
"Watch," says Max.
Cobe walks right past his own luxury car, and opens the twin doors of a 53' semi trailer.
Like 10,000 #2 pencils spill into the road.
"I ask you," I says, staring at Max. "How exactly am I supposed to get Nelson Mandela to testify for Paris's release with this going on?"
"Well," says Max, "Don't let him fucking shop at Best Buy, for one."
[LOBO]
Okay, fine. I was supposed to relieve Max, Brighta and Vetter from guard duty at six in the morning.
Wednesday.
But when I showed up Friday night, those stinky fucks were all sleeping!
"Wake up you lazy bastards!" I says, kicking them.
"LOBO," exclaims Brighta. "Oh please God tell me you brought food--!"
"Yes Brighta," I says. "We will have many talks and committee meetings over your obviously deficient work ethic, your inability to score any action beyond 'Butter-Faces' in bars, and your overall bitchy attitude towards guard duty in the future. But enough about your passive-aggressiveness due to latent homosexuality!" I turn on my holographic belt buckle. "Predator Press is bring robbed."
They stare in amazement at the beamed images.
"Wow," says Max. "That's really cool."
"It was $11.99 at a Best Buy in Dallas," I says. "But I think I got the last one."
"Is it that guy behind Cobe?" asks Brighta, pointing at a holographic Cobe walking fast as a jogger overtakes him.
"No," says Max. "It is Cobe."
"No fuckin way!" says Brighta.
"Yes Brighta," Max says calmly. "Look behind his left ear."
"It's a pencil," says Brighta, squinting. "Is it some special 'Secret Project' pencil?"
"No," I interrupt. "It was a goddamned authentic Predator Press #2 pencil, and it came right out of this here box." I flip it open. "See? There's only four left."
Brighta stares.
"Four," I demand, "out of a box of ten?"
"Watch," says Max.
Cobe walks right past his own luxury car, and opens the twin doors of a 53' semi trailer.
Like 10,000 #2 pencils spill into the road.
"I ask you," I says, staring at Max. "How exactly am I supposed to get Nelson Mandela to testify for Paris's release with this going on?"
"Well," says Max, "Don't let him fucking shop at Best Buy, for one."
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