manY mooN muraudeR

My father was the Tackiest of the ghetto gunslingers. Many hoodies from neighboring depressing-brick-boxes felt fearsoiled by his glint of fools gold and smell of old pennies. By the moon, the "glint" turned to a dull ugly, and the smell transmorged into thoughts of Raven. Simon. This tickled my father, for he fancied himself an animorph ever since like 5th grade. And so, he slang guns at twilight. Premiers. Syke, reader, i mean nighttime. ;-D

I have taken his place now. Ghetto's must die, and I have been forced through threat of tickling to kill them. To help my killtactics, i would blast "eminem" into the hoodies sad-places. Something about blonde hair and unbleached titanium skin makes hoodies get disobedient and detroit-y, aka grosssss and i guess sadder. My love of blasting Marshall has made some joke like "yea M&M like many-moon-murauder." and i'd be like "o you got jokes" then I'd most likely kill them. I mean that is my job idiot. Anyways, my mission tonight, write this journal, touch my gun like it was my dick, find and extinguish forced disobedience, and rejoice in the feces of the killings.

ACT 1:

Ok now i'm on top of the popeyes, i've got stink bombs, little snappers, pop rocks w/ jar of saliva to activate, and a monster. "Time to WORK BABY!!!!" im yelling as i get stuck in the airconditioning vent. I am dropping stinkies, snappers, and salivated poppy's, and they are all going off on me cuz i'm still stuck in the vent. "shit". I am way to wasted tonight to kill, i didn't even bring my Slim Shady LP.

ACT 2:

"OK, whatever i say, ya'll gotta do." says I, and I take out my swordblade. I am in a Wal-Mart, classic. So now everybody is looking at me all "Stan"ed up from blasters, and I'm pretty much a funky ass bastard about to go all noble on these bitch hoodies. Then boom, I fart, and I pilage the shit outta all their lives or souls. Flashes of my Bladewich reflect the dumb ketchup blood that hoods drop from maybe veins. "So tonight worked out right dad?" I mumble, my face in my dads ashes, that i keep in a ziplock with me. Then i sniff, FSSFFSFSFSSNNNFNNSFSNNHGHHGH! (sniff noise) and I feel free. And dead.

I forgot i switched the ashes out for fungus shavings and spider legs.