Post by TFP on Nov 8, 2008 23:08:59 GMT -4
Fog covers the city of San Diego, it's partially dark and mist blows through the city as it's extremely foggy and stuff. On top of an old building used to make underwear for men in the late 1800s and early 1900s, Bob Pocket and PJ Curtis stand at the top, looking around. PJ has two guns, one in each hand. Grinding his teeth and glaring his eyes at completely nothing, Bob is unimpressed.
Bob Pocket: "I've seen that crazy look in your eyes before, PJ, and it didn't lead to anything good. Infact, that exact look and facial expression led to the killing of a hundred black flies on your car windshield. Seeing that you've got two guns wielded in your hands, I'm going to assume that you're going to do something equally as awful. But hopefully those guns are only for show, 'cause why would anybody shoot one of those things?"
PJ Curtis: "What am I doing with these guns, you ask. I'm going to do the obvious, Bob. I'm going to kill FWA. They've crossed the line this time, my friend. They know I'm concerned with my appearance, my weight, my height and my physical shape. They have no right to put all that personal information up on their website for millions and millions of people to see. These guns have bullets in them, every barrell is filled with rounds. Each one has a name on them. Twelve bullets, my friend.
"FFFF
"WWWW
"AAAA.
"Yeah!"
Bob Pocket: "So even though every bullet has their own 'name' on it, all twelve are being fired at the same person, being FWA?"
PJ Curtis: "Yeah!"
Bob Pocket: "Sounds like a plan. But I have a question, what does FWA look like?"
PJ lowers his arms for awhile as he blacks out, thinking.
Bob Pocket: "Can you put a face on the name of FWA?"
PJ Curtis: "I can't? I can't! I can't."
Bob Pocket: "Too bad. I was really hoping you would go psycho for a moment. I want my wrestling breakthrough."
PJ Curtis: "Can you really handle wrestling by yourself?"
Bob Pocket: "Ah, fuck it. No, I can't. Stay sane, kid."
PJ Curtis: "Fine."
The two climb down off of the building by using that rusty old ladder bolted on the outside of the brick wall to get to the ground. As they're walking down the sidewalk, some young ghetto kids start to strut their stuff in their direction. Since PJ is normally nice to kids and has two useless 'toys' in his possession, he gives them to the kids.
PJ Curtis: "Merry Christmas!"
The two kids look at the guns and then nod their heads in unison, strutting on.
Bob Pocket: "I've seen that crazy look in your eyes before, PJ, and it didn't lead to anything good. Infact, that exact look and facial expression led to the killing of a hundred black flies on your car windshield. Seeing that you've got two guns wielded in your hands, I'm going to assume that you're going to do something equally as awful. But hopefully those guns are only for show, 'cause why would anybody shoot one of those things?"
PJ Curtis: "What am I doing with these guns, you ask. I'm going to do the obvious, Bob. I'm going to kill FWA. They've crossed the line this time, my friend. They know I'm concerned with my appearance, my weight, my height and my physical shape. They have no right to put all that personal information up on their website for millions and millions of people to see. These guns have bullets in them, every barrell is filled with rounds. Each one has a name on them. Twelve bullets, my friend.
"FFFF
"WWWW
"AAAA.
"Yeah!"
Bob Pocket: "So even though every bullet has their own 'name' on it, all twelve are being fired at the same person, being FWA?"
PJ Curtis: "Yeah!"
Bob Pocket: "Sounds like a plan. But I have a question, what does FWA look like?"
PJ lowers his arms for awhile as he blacks out, thinking.
Bob Pocket: "Can you put a face on the name of FWA?"
PJ Curtis: "I can't? I can't! I can't."
Bob Pocket: "Too bad. I was really hoping you would go psycho for a moment. I want my wrestling breakthrough."
PJ Curtis: "Can you really handle wrestling by yourself?"
Bob Pocket: "Ah, fuck it. No, I can't. Stay sane, kid."
PJ Curtis: "Fine."
The two climb down off of the building by using that rusty old ladder bolted on the outside of the brick wall to get to the ground. As they're walking down the sidewalk, some young ghetto kids start to strut their stuff in their direction. Since PJ is normally nice to kids and has two useless 'toys' in his possession, he gives them to the kids.
PJ Curtis: "Merry Christmas!"
The two kids look at the guns and then nod their heads in unison, strutting on.