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06/12/203X
hey, guess what? i'm online. yeah, even metal blogs these days.
'specially if the psy-docs insist i do this to keep my full metal
ticket.
so what to talk about? how about what i did this week? well, monday
some fleshy suits contacted me about delivering some merchandise
to one of their "associates." so i took the job. hell, it's a
delivery right? i do deliveries. besides, it lets me kick it into
highspeed on the freeways, up past the 450kph lanes where only
the cops, couriers and crazies travel. well, i cruize up to the
pick-up spot, a little hole on the waterfront and i end up being
greeted by a buncha wanna-be metalheads trying to hijack my delivery.
i tried to offer some type of compromise, but one of those punks
took a shot at me from a nearby rooftop. bad idea. i'm no psycho,
but i don't take to being treated like a frackin' tin can in a
shooting gallery. bang.
an hour later i had the merchandise. it was a little messy. they
had scooped it from my contact, an edgerunner by the name of doza
and left him in a few pieces. i made sure to share the love and
gave those punks the same respect. they had this cheapass car
that looked like a decked out vee-dub beetle from the turn of
the century. it even had a cee-dee player and a tape deck. who
the frack uses a tape deck? i stole the car and headed away from
the mess i made with the merchandise in the trunk.
three pee-em was the drop off time. so while i was waiting at
the edge of the city, i thought about life. why? because there
was this beautiful gold and green frog hoppin around nearby. A
frackin' frog, man. where the hell did that came from? but it
looked at peace. it looked like it was valuable. someday it would
be right where i'd end up, in some museum as an attraction, some
freak of nature because people don't know any better. the little
thing hopped up near my foot. so i thought. i thought about humanity.
i thought about why i exist.
what was the point? thinking about life doesn't get you moving
any faster. i reached down and crunched mister frog under my metal
heel. dead frogs don't think.
i stopped when i heard the humming of a jet-fan. the suits were
here. now i don't know about you, but when you are forced to use
lethal force to retrieve the pickup because someone runnin' the
drop messed up, you still expect to get paid, right? well, these
buttonheads didn't want to pay. they told me i was supposed to
keep their merchandise alive, not blasted into pieces. it's not
my fault that in my blaze of glory i'd had to pump enough rounds
into the trunk of this germanic antique to kill a neogamma. so
when i opened the trunk and there was this mess that consisted
of a bag o' flesh whose hair was about the only thing that remotely
made it look human, the suits were upset. there were some nasty
words used and some slang like "you frackin' slagman." i didn't
need this cac. so i gave the head suit my own version of a .50
cal middle finger and the rest ran off like little girls. i pumped
a few caps into their backs from about 20 meters. bang. dead like
the frog.
yeah, the flesh is too slow. like the song says, it screwed my
baby and jammed the breech, but frack, what did i have to bitch
about? after all, the suits had left their jet-fan behind.
easy money. |
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