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 »
Part 2; WAR IS HELL
By Bill | April 17, 2009
NO!
Davey Crestington lept up of off his knee’s and reached for his knive. It was one of those knifes where it has a part that cover’s youre fingers in a fist. And that part? Had sharp spike’s allover it. He sprung into the frey and started hacking with it!
HACK HACK went he’s knife against the German Soldiers heads’!
This one time his knived fist socked right into the jaw of a German and he punched out threw the top of its’ head!
Soon Davey Crestingtons’ fists and face were covered in blood. His army suit, once so freshly clean and crisply polished, now was so stained with the reddish blood of his foes that you would have thought he’s was a member of the Russian’s Army. But no! It was Davey Crestington, member of the U.S.A.!
He kept hacking and stabbing throught the waves of German Briggadeer Genrals until finally he came to the end of World War 1: Germany! Only here at the border of this mystical foriegn land did Davey pause to wipe the thickish blood from off his face: it was Up Too Him now. He went back across the border into the country next to Germany and picked up a bunch of the machine guns that the German’s troops that he killed had dropped. Like 10 guns.
He strapped the guns to him and stuck some of the other gun’s in his Back Pack and then like the G.I.Joe toy Rock and Roll he picked up two of the biggest machine guns and held them up angrily in front of him as though to shoot!. He faced Germany again and, with bullets’ strapped all accross him, he gnarled his teeth and grumbled out aloud; this time “There is no escape”!
He trundled out unto the thick mud of Germany; the streets were paved with it. Not a ghost sound was heard thoughtout the township, and he stalked the streets mercilessly looking for the allusive Revenge. Finally he saw it: the German Nazi Leaders Castle!!!!!!!
He furloughed his eyebrows in a strict anger: Now They Would Pay…
TO BE CONTINUED??????
Topics: By: Bill | No Comments »
The Horrors off War
By Bill | February 2, 2009
Seargant First Class Davey Crestington huddeled in the damp, dank trench. The wind shivered threw his bones like a grandmother’s whisper. He klutzed his rifle to his body like a valuable stick, because thats what it was; the Only stick that could save his life.
He checked the ammyunission compartment on the rifle: Two Bullets Left. He checked the bay o’net. Dull, but sharpened to a glinting pointe. He checked his helmet: scufft and filthy but still as hard as a buffalo’s butt. It had written on it: “EAT IT” which made him smile: he cast his mind back, back to befoar the war: back to when his girl Sally and he (him) used to listen to their favirote Micheal Jacksun songs on the radio in their cool car.
But that was Before. This was Now. The “Big One” . World War One. He straightened his bowtie. He sharpuned his nerves. “ALL RIGHT MEN!!” hollered his captun, Loutennunt Stan. “This is the BIG ONE!!” “I know you have your family waiting at home, so let’s win it for Them!”
The genral’s orders went threw him like white on rice; Davey knew that these German Nazis had to be stopped regardless of the outcome: it was Now or Never.
The Loutenit opened the doors to the Trench: They were thrown Wide. He grizzled his face and champed on his cigar: his favorite: a Stogey. “Hear we go, boys!” he exclaimed like a huge newspaper head line.
Davey gripped his Rifle: he didn’t feel fear. He steeled himself and grumbled his teeth: “Working on our Night Moves.” he joked to his fat friend. It was night in the Trench.
Davey ran out of the Trench into the bleek German landscape: tumbleweeds and dessert, as far as the eye could sea. “So this is hell” he reflected, not stopping at all as he swang his gun from side to side, knocking in the heads of Germane’s soldiers.
SMASH: the but of his rifle smashed into a Nazi face: he needed to save bullets.
BLOOSH: his baye au nette sliced threw a Germans mouth like some butter. “Want some rolls with that butter” he smirked: now was not the time for jokes!
WHAP suddenly! He felt an icy dagger stab into his ribs like when you run to fast. He looked down and to what should his wandering eyes appear but a German holding a knife, his smile sickly smileling. The knife was in him.
Davey span around and stuck his rifle in the dude’s face. “I know you hafft onvly two bullvets” said the German guy in a Hogan’s Heros voice, only this time it was no laffing manner.
Davey screamed and thought of Sally. He pulled his Trigger. The German guy’s head exploded in a rain of color like a Skittles commershul, “TASTE THE RAIN BOW” Davey wept bitterly.
He screamed again and grittered his teeth. His fat freidn’s face exploded next to him. ONE BULLET LEFT
He put his hand to his ribs and pulled away Blood. He dropped to his knee’s and exclaimed a laud to the sky that no man can now: “The horrors off war!!!!” Was this the end of Davey the Soldier?
TO BE CONTINUED
Topics: By: Bill | No Comments »