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A Smart man; a Crazy man.
By Daniel | August 4, 2009
A Raging Bull
The restourant was fansy; his suit; all the fansyer. Bobby ReNiro was the name and tough stough was the name of the game he play’d and he play’d it well, like a Jonny Cage in Mortal Combat and its’ subsquint sequels, particulerly Mortal Combat 4. His goatee hanged tot like the shoe of a horse. His sunglass’es shimmer shine like a Mexcan pay-so in God’s trouser-pocket. His voice manly yet enduring as he ordered the most magnamimus stake on the manu, the Philly men-yawn. Rare-done.
“The choice stake of philosphers and mathmaticians stated the waiter’d in reference of the basking glory in his visage.” But befor you could blank your eyes the waiter’d layed flat-dead on Bobby Reniro’s table much similar to the fatted calf of yesteryore. Bloods tricked out his head like the river’s of Mack Twains’ bestselling novels ©.
The lights flutter’d like lights in a Spencer’s Gift Store but this time the poop was real and it was hitting the fan, Big Time. Bobby reNiro kerchiefed the splitter-splatterd blood from his sunglass’s; he stood tall like Mount Rushmor. “Whoa is me” he whoa’d. Things were getting quizling, and fast.
A man stood in the kichen holding a platter. A platter of what its’ a platter of heads is what. It was disguisting, it made even War War To veterens sick at there stomacks. Branes stack’d like flap-Jacks, livers sprinkle’d with icecream sprinkle’s making them even groser than normal, humane harts flatten’d like the harts of so many teenagered boys after there Girlfriend says on them “I’m just not N 2 U” like some kind of beleagured Prince-symbol song. Bobby Re Niro new whom this dastard of a villin was; and it wasnt pretty.
It was Handball Lecture. A Smart man; a Crazy man. He eight people for his own fun and games is how Crazy/Smart he was. Bobby re Niro new the time to enact was now so he jumped.
“So I see in are mist we hath a hero” villin-spoke the crazed yet cool Handball Lecture. “A man of wrath and diggity come no doubt to squelch my hazardings.” Handball Lecture laugh’d a laugh that only a mother could love.
Bobby RENiro look’d dead-squire into the crazy-eye’d eyes of Handball Lecture. It was early similar to looking into a spooky-alternat universe mirrer. He saw a man smart like his-self, yet a man at odds with the world like his-self. Bobby ReNiRo new he had to brake this mirrer-man so that he could be sit free. He stood toe-to-to with Handball Lecture and talked thusly “are you talking to me” he thusly spoke as if spoking to his-self as well as the villinus Handball Lecture. It was deja vu, and I don’t mean the musterd.
Before he new what was what he had won hand on his glistened gun point squire into the eye of Handball Lecture and won hand fermly enconched into his own mouth. Handball Lecture had reach’d into his mind and twist’d it two-afro like a child of mine-years-old playing a deadly game of life and dead. He was being mind-controled into eating his own hand. It was How Bizar like the OMC song he had danced to many moons in the bagatten passed.
Handball Lecture stood sniggring as if he was bearing witness to a new HBO comedy special staring Dane Cook. “Rememember you’re childhood and how the childs pick’d on you. Rememember how you pluck’d the sad piano like some sort of small Coldplay-esk monster that no-one liked not even Gus Tippleblurp and he was just so fatty, rememember how you’re daddy drank whine-coolers and used you much in the fashions of a television remoat, rememember how you’re sickly mother BLAMST” and that was that because Handball Lecture was dead as a door because you just don’t speek ill of a man’s ill-begatten mother. Handball Lecture was into a trillion smithereens from the bullet gun’d fourth by a man fully in-controll of his own destinies. He was breakin the law and the law one.
Bobby ReNiro took his hand from his mouth and spoke just three words “Astala vista baby.”
Topics: Bobby ReNiro, By: Daniel | 1 Comment »
August 4th, 2009 at 3:35 pm
Love this. Favorite parts:
” It was deja vu, and I don’t mean the musterd.”
“you pluck’d the sad piano like some sort of small Coldplay-esk monster that no-one liked”
lol Handball Lecture.