Thursday, May 23, 2013

Peace Without A Sword Act II Part I

The crew’s journey to the center of Balboa Perla had begun and each one of them had been seething with bloodlust. Blyvy, Madler and David were especially seething as this would prove to be the end of their hardships. McRay, Charlie, Dolly and Catya were dead set on the score they never thought they would have. “To think it took my bastard spawn and the others’ bastard spawn to do this.” Catya thought.
Michelle and Goldie weren’t as grimly enthusiastic about the conquest against the Grammys. To them, this was an action movie that they wanted out of badly. “I shouldn’t have to feel like the fucking cast of ‘The Expendables’ or ‘Transformers’ right now.” Michelle thought. “Anytime you can sympathize with Sylvester Stallone is grounds to ask for a hug; around the neck; with a rope.”
As for Goldie, she had mainly become observant; speaking only when she wanted sustenance and sleep. “I’m worried about Goldie so much.” Dolly said. “You can worry about her all you want.” Catya began. “However, she’ll turn out how she will from this. Growing up that quick is something we’ve all done. She’ll get through this like we will.” Dolly reluctantly concurred, but she still took great pity on her. Goldie thought to herself, “I wonder if heaven has enough shopping for my mommy to do. Maybe she can get that funny bag with the ‘C’ all over it.”
Moments later, the crew had reached the center of Balboa Perla. Looking at the surroundings, they would see that the entire city would require destruction. “Oh look at this fucking place.” Blyvy said. “It looks like a hipster and a Las Vegas crime boss had a circle jerk with a box of crayons.” David added.
The crew had then located a parking garage where they could easily disguise the dune buggy as a regular street vehicle. After gathering their bearings, they knew better than to walk in a building like the Nomi Malone Event Planning Firm unprepared. “This is how much we know.” McRay began. “Somewhere on the 18th floor of this place is where the Firm and the Grammy Foundation are meeting. We need to infiltrate the building and find out every schematic of the event grounds.”
“Not if that giant bitch coming towards us has anything to do about it.” Madler noted. A woman in business wear with a permanent “Type A” disposition was setting her sights on them all. “What do you think you’re doing, consorting and contemplating on these grounds?” she roared. “What’s it to you bitch?” Michelle said. “That’s Ithaca Franc to you, little girl.” she replied. “I suggest you high tail the fuck out of here.” “Who the hell is going to make us leave?” Catya asked. Her answer came when Ithaca’s cronies made themselves known.
“Looking for trouble?” A Mohawk sporting crony asked.
Catya responded by throwing her ring blade at the crony’s head and successfully chopped her Mohawk down to less than four inches. “Nice haircut, don’t you think?” The crony had grown furious and without thinking had charged toward Catya. Before she even clenched her fist, she had been decapitated. “Looks like I got the rest of it didn’t I?” Ithaca was stunned, but not smart enough to call off the rest of her cronies. A burly street fighter, a black belt in Tae Kwon Do, a woman armed with a katana and a man revealed to be the last Zatoichi all came forward to do battle. The street fighter would end up being decapitated like the Mohawk sporting crony. The Tae Kwon Do black belt was merely thrown out of the parking garage and landed in a dumpster; dying from the impact. The woman armed with a katana had fared slightly better. However, that only applied to how long she had evaded death. She would end up being disemboweled.
Catya knew the Zatoichi would last longer than the rest. “Get any diatribe you have out of your system.”
The Zatoichi complied but decided to use psychological warfare against her whenever she went in for an attack. “Why must you satiate your cravings in life with the blood of others? Does it bring you relief?” “You tell me, you racial stereotype.” she replied. “What if I were to tell you that you only attack out of revenge?” he asked. “No shit Sherlock, but let me ask you something. Do you realize that I haven’t been attacking at all?” she asked. “Oh no. Is this one of those things where it turns out they somehow switched bodies in some form of convoluted plot development?” Blyvy queried. “No she’s just that psychotic and manipulative to even a Zatoichi.” Dolly replied. “Watch what she does next.” McRay added.
Catya beckoned the Zatoichi to feel out where he was. “I am at a light. Perhaps this is where the crosswalk is located.” She threw her voice to the other side of the street. “Come over here. I have to tell you a blind joke before I kick your ass!” He rushed not realizing that would be the last mistake he would ever make. An 18 wheeler had honked his horn, and by the time he realized his death was looming, it had come.
Ithaca was rendered speechless and livid. “Some of my best cronies have been killed in less time than I could ever imagine.” She then challenged Catya and the rest of the crew to a no holds barred fight. “Bring it on you motherfuckers. I no longer fear the chance of death.” Goldie sensed that this was not the time to be involved. Her instinct told her to carry on with the original mission. She did tell Dolly, “I’m going to get started for you guys. If you must, try to send her to hell. My mommy and daddy don’t need this bitch making noise in heaven.” Goldie grabbed the information and was on her way.
The crew was set on rendering Ithaca lifeless. Michelle started by using the katana left
behind by the woman much better than she had. She went in and ended up lacerating Ithaca’s arm. “You little bitch!” she shouted. She went in for a kick and landed a slight nick on her. Blyvy the proceeded to twist her ankle until it snapped. Her scream was melodic to Blyvy’s twisted mind.
Ithaca freed herself long enough to draw her handgun and began shooting at the crew. All of the members were able to evade her bullets. “This bitch is annoying me.” McRay thought. He whipped his Makarov pistol out and waited for Ithaca’s next clip to empty. As soon as he heard an empty set of clicks, he struck. He fired a bullet in her left shoulder; then her right shoulder; then her twisted ankle to add further pain. The last bullets he fired were enough to hit her chest and jettison her from the parking garage. Her body hit the ground with a “splat” sound. Her blood had served as a reminder that the crew was only on the surface of the hell Balboa Perla was bound to see.
Throughout this whole ordeal, Goldie had successfully infiltrated the meeting room. Posing as the daughter of a representative, she lied her ass off to ensure the plans would be explained to her in vivid detail. “My daddy said to help him take notes while he’s out trying to park the car.” The people present were stupid enough to buy the ruse hook, line and sinker. Goldie would learn that in light of the Valkyrie NightHaus and Sao Solstice du Antwerp Cabana incidents, security was being increased to proportions not seen before in Grammy Award history. The meeting was over soon thereafter and Goldie was worried about the other crew members. “Sorry your daddy couldn’t make it to the meeting.” an executive said. “Could you make sure your daddy gets this ASAP? He knows what that’s grownup code for.”
She eventually made it back to the parking garage and found the crew exhausted in the dune buggy. “Sending her to hell was that hard?” she queried. “Well I know what’s up.”
As she explained the newly ramped up security and additional setbacks, the crew had momentary doubts about the score. “We’ve never taken on actual security along with fans before.” McRay said. “20 guards per entrance? There’s only two so we’re taking on 40 guards?” Charlie noted. “When are you going to stop pretending like we have an actual problem on our hands?” Catya lackadaisically queried. “Well we actually have a problem.” Dolly began. “Our only shelter is our dune buggy.”
Blyvy turned to Goldie and asked, “Do you have any type of extended family in Balboa Perla?” She replied, “I think so...but I wouldn’t know where to start looking.” They decided to try and see if any of Goldie’s predecessors had settled in this city. After poor luck searching through phone books, asking townspeople and scourging through abandoned houses, they determined Goldie had no family here.
Eventually they decided to set up in the last abandoned building they had searched. “This is only a step in the right direction.” Michelle said. “Speaking of which, when we kill One Direction would it be considered a hate crime?” Dolly asked. “No it wouldn’t. None of them have confirmed or denied if they’re gay.” Catya began. “Besides, we’d be killing a boy band and there is no such thing as a proper English sentence with boy band and hate crime both in that sentence.” “You’re so eloquent when you want to be.” Charlie snided. “Stop being mean and go to bed please.” Goldie said. Blyvy looked at Dolly and said, “At least she’s speaking. Petulance is a bit better than just being mute.”
As the crew slept that night, they swear a force against them had been lurking in this building. A shriek had been enough to wake them in to ready position. They listened for another shriek to track it down. Instead, what made them speechless was the reanimated corpse of an old enemy within. Victory had returned to do battle with Madler. “The bitch is mad.”
Madler said. “You left me dead in a burning bookstore with a dagger in my pussy! Of course I’m pissed off at you!” she roared. “You wanted out of the group so I took care of you.” he replied. “That was no excuse to stab me in the pussy, you fucking asshole!” she roared back. “True, but you shouldn’t have had the gall to abandon us back before we even left the bookstore.” Madler replied. “Get to the part where one of you dies.” Blyvy began. “Preferably you Victory; you die, we move on to the next plot point.” “Fuck you Blyvy.” she replied.
Victory and Madler’s rematch would actually prove to be longer than expected. Her reanimated being had been enhanced with the spirit of a black belt in Kuk Sool Won. Madler was able to evade her strikes, but he had begun to run out of breath. “This bitch is insane even when dead.” he thought. “I have to locate the bitch’s weak point and fast.” As their bout continued, Madler studied the reanimated body up and down and saw nothing with the naked eye. He allotted time for himself every time his kicks landed. “Can anybody help me out in spotting her weakness so we can move on to the next goddamn plot point please?” he intensely queried. “What’s the vaguely Greek mythology based term for someone’s fatal flaw?” David hinted.
Madler realized the answer and shot Victory in the heel. Her scream indicated that the bout would be no more. He approached her and said, “Now don’t fuck with our plot development anymore you goddamn bitch!” The shot to her head only confirmed that Victory was once and for all gone from their sights. He asked David, “How did you figure out a shot to her heel was the weakest area on her?” David responded, “A haphazard villain that pops up at a seemingly justified point in history to guilt trip us over how we caused their demise?” Madler asked, “It isn’t supposed to have a sophisticated and beautifully thought out origin?” “No, goddamnit.” Catya replied. “Now shut the fuck up and go to sleep!”
The crew awoke to convene on how they would adjust their plans of the final score.
“We need to be able to save energy to kill off all of the overrated crap that will be present.” Charlie said. “Anybody have any ideas on how to do this?” “We can try to create a new mob to assist us with this.” Dolly said. “Sounds easy, but we’d have to convince a lot of people to side with us.” Catya noted. “Add to the fact we just fuck everybody up and leave behind blood soaked walls, buildings on the verge of ruin and enough bodies to aide every forensic science major in the U.S. twice...” “We get the point...” McRay began. “...but we need cohorts of our own. None of the Derby and Friedan Massacre cronies are alive so we might be fucked.”
“I think you’ll be ok.” Goldie said. “What do you mean?” Catya asked. “I remember seeing one of the other note-takers wearing a funny logo.” she replied. “I think I have a card where it appears next to Nomi Malone’s name.” After Goldie had given the notes, McRay examined the card and found a glimmer of chaotic hope. “A member of the Friedan Mob is alive! Now we need to track his ass down!”
They drove to the firm to see if he was by some chance working. They sent Goldie and McRay posing as father and daughter. He showed the receptionist the card of the employee; the receptionist responded, “He is in today. He’s based on the 18th floor, third office from the left.” They made it to the 18th floor to discover their intended person was about to leave for a break. As soon as he made eye contact with McRay, he was stunned.
“May I help you?” he tepidly asked.
“Depends. You remember what you had to do at the Friedan?” McRay replied. “Come with us. Clock out while you’re at it; some friends and I have questions for you.”
  He complied and met up with the crew who had been waiting in the same parking garage where Ithaca Franc had met death. “In case you forgot, my name is Matthew and I helped you with the Friedan Massacre.” “Matthew, the katana enthusiast or Matthew the reformed juggalo?”
Charlie asked. “Matthew, the katana enthusiast.” he began. “I didn’t think I’d be needed for anything else after the Friedan.” “Well you have our bastard children and their friends to thank for getting us back into this.” Dolly said. “I suppose I should be mad.” Matthew replied. “Well, you can’t entirely be mad. We did point out that once you’re in, death is the only way out.” Catya noted. McRay asked, “Aside from you, do you know of any other surviving Friedan or even some Derby Massacre assistants?” “I do indeed, but most of them did break a certain credo by having accounts on Facebook.” Matthew replied. “What?!” Catya shouted. “They sold out?!” “I have Twitter myself, but I learned Twitter doesn’t equate to selling out.” Matthew added. “Thanks for that bittersweet lesson.” Blyvy said. “Now where the hell are the surviving members?”
Matthew directed the crew to a hangout of Derby and Friedan Massacre assistant survivors; the quaint but edgy Morgendorffer Bar and Grille. Charlie asked, “Does Daria reluctantly manage this place where the special is the ‘Kitchen Sink’ soup?” A gentleman quipped, “I give you credit for the reference. Let that be the only credit an American doesn’t default on.” “Lestat...I mean Norman! How’ve you been?” Charlie replied. Slowly, the crew was reunited with every surviving assistant of the Derby and Friedan Massacres. Catya decided to set the mood for the rest of the evening.
“We all remember what we did to certain theatres harboring certain things we deemed cultural malefactors. It has come to my attention that apparently, a certain part of the credo made on those days has been broken. Our katana enthusiast Matthew tells us, that with the exception of himself...the rest of you motherfuckers have an account on Facebook.” The crowd was speechless. “Don’t lie to me now you motherfuckers! Ethically, I should have the rest of us wipe your lucky asses off the Earth.” The crowd pleaded forgiveness from Catya.
“However, we need your help with our fabled final score...” she continued. “You mean you and the crew need us to help you wipe out the Grammys?” a voice projected. “You bet your sweet ass we do!” Catya replied. “As I said, we need your help. You are the only people that can help us and you do serve as an asset. However, if you want to be taken seriously, you will delete your Facebook accounts here and now. I don’t give a fisherman’s fuck how many ‘likes’ you’ve gotten on a comment that is erudite but humorous in content. I don’t give a fisherman’s fuck how many of your photos and shit you think is on private mode. I don’t give a fisherman’s fuck how many of your exes you stalk, how many assholes you deny friend requests to or any other pointless activity you’ve done in the first four minutes on Facebook today. To side with us, you must delete your accounts here and now!”
“Now that the crazy lady is done, any questions besides the definition of a fisherman’s fuck?” Blyvy queried. “Well get to deleting your accounts on Facebook. For our sake and yours.” McRay ordered. The patrons complied and one by one, a renewed sense of purpose came over them when they had deleted their Facebook accounts. “Oh thank you for this you kind and peaceful souls you.” a kanabo wielding Derby assistant said. “Don’t fucking insult us like that.” Dolly replied. As Charlie began, “Now as far as a place to stay...” he and the crew were told that the Morgendorffer Bar and Grille was habitable after hours. “Holy shit, thank you so much...” “Smitty. I’d like you to call me Smitty.” he replied. “Hell all of you motherfuckers are welcome to stay here.” The crew now had their army of blood thirsty cohorts ready to make their final score a reality.
“Just do me one favor everybody.” Smitty began. “If you decide to get sexually active, use protection. I don’t care about the smell too much; even if it’s a weird smell like blood orange and sriracha.” “Or honey and ketchup.” Michelle added. “Holy shit.” Smitty said.
As the crew and their reunited cohorts were sleeping, Matthew was having an intense vision. He knew enough to where his dream was trying to tell him something. However, he could not tell if this was an omen or a warning. He had seen nothing more than screaming individuals over a presence with blond hair. As soon as the vision dissipated, Matthew woke up Dolly and explained what he had seen. “Blond hair with everyone screaming, right?” she queried. “Yes. A blond man whose very presence makes people scream.” Matthew replied.
They decided to use the LMFAO Horde Mission phone to look up any correlating images of the man. “Is this man famous?” she asked. “I want to say he is indeed famous.” he said. After typing in “famous blond men” into Google Images, one of the results had Matthew terrified. “The 3rd image from the left hand side down. That is the man who had people screaming.” he said. The man Matthew saw causing people to scream was the actor Ryan Gosling. “The man must die indeed.” Dolly began. “You have warned us of something far greater than our demise. The presence of this man potentially screwing things up for us.” As the rest of the patrons awoke, Dolly relayed the information to them as Matthew had told her.
“We now have new reason to believe the final score will be bigger for each and every last one of us.” she began. “The man known as Ryan Gosling appeared in Matthew’s dream as a man who during the final score caused people to scream in either panic or jubilation.” A voice from the crowd questioned, “Ryan Gosling? You’re telling us we need to fear the man who starred in ‘The Notebook’?” Another voice added, “What are you going to tell us next? We should be afraid of Care Bears?” Yet another voice chimed in, “Bitch you crazy! Ryan Gosling has nothing but overrated sex appeal and mediocre acting skills. That’s like telling us to be afraid of Channing Tatum.” Dolly understood them but then proceeded to say, “Oh he has people go nuts in ways no other overrated sex symbol has before.” She showed them images of protesters
outside of People Magazine. “Are they protesting body image issues the magazine perpetuates?” a reasonable but naïve voice queried. “Keep looking.” Dolly replied. “They’re in masks resembling his face. What the hell is going on?” another voice said. “This is baffling all of us, Dolly. What the hell is going on?” yet another voice asked. Dolly answered, “These people are outside protesting against People Magazine’s decision naming Channing Tatum the ‘Sexiest Man Alive’. They all feel Ryan was ‘ignored’ again; it is one of the dumbest gatherings of people I’ve heard in years.” “Even dumber than Coachella?” a voice wondered. “Even dumber than the Kids Choice Awards?”another asked. “Even dumber than any pop culture related gathering you can imagine.” Dolly responded.
“So what does this mean?” Blyvy asked.
“Our final score has a side mission; destroy Ryan Gosling.” Dolly said.
“It’s about 5 hours until the Grammys begin.” McRay said. “Everybody ready to roll out of this place?” The crowd concurred with a sound of mob enthusiasm not heard since the halcyon of the Roman Empire.
The crew, cohorts and even Smitty left the Morgendorffer Bar and Grille ready for battle. Each person was seeing their lives flash before their eyes. Many could see themselves as the relatively happy children they all used to be. Eras of their lives where they were given a cute sense of clemency for their outspokenness. Moments in their lives where crayons were only seen on drawings that were placed on refrigerators and not on any celebrity outfits. The moments in their “rebellious teenage years” where they were introduced to sex outside of a bedroom. “Here comes the good part.” one mob member thought. “Wow; I never knew his car was that crappy compared to the other ones I was inside of.” another mob member thought. “I always wondered if he ever came out to his parents.” yet another mob member thought.
Their march toward the grounds had some roadblocks along the way. A group of twisted individuals were lined up cheekily but very evilly saying “Red Rover, Red Rover; let any dissenters of the late Justin Bieber come over.” “We have Defcon 5 level of…what’s their tacky acknowledgement again?” Catya asked. Madler replied, “Those little bastards are known as ‘Beliebers’. Christ, I need a book and a cold shower for just uttering that phrase.” “You know what to do everybody.” McRay said. “If any of you die now, you’ll be remembered as heroes for trying to defend yourself against such vile creatures.” Charlie added.
The full force of the crew, cohorts and Smitty were enough to slaughter every last Belieber present as road block that day. Shrieks instead of screams proved that they were indeed ridding the world of truly vile organisms. “Gross! I’m covered in inferior genetics!” a voice said with disgust. “I paraphrase from Genghis Khan; get over yourself and get back in line!” Dolly commanded.
Their next potential roadblock came in the form of a more organized but still easy enemy to vanquish. “What are they?” a mob member asked. Blyvy enlightened, “These are jaded lovers of classic rock; KISS, Queen, Led Zeppelin, etc.” “What died up their asses?” he replied. “They think every piece of music after c. 1989 is utter trash and filth that depreciates the overrated crap they enjoy.” she answered. Blyvy motioned to Catya to carry out “Operation: Sonar” while commanding the mob to don their headphones. Catya unleashed a barrage of offensively trite pop music handed by one of the mob members (who at the time acquired it by taking it away from their younger sibling). The auto tune laced, erratic vocal patterns of Ke$ha had done its job of making the ears of the mob’s enemy bleed. The blood had started as mild drippings from their head, but by the time the second song played the blood had turned into a macabre Niagara Falls. “Oh God, stop it!” were the last words of all the jaded classic rock lovers.
Their next roadblock although boastful, proved to be even easier than defeating the Beliebers. “What are we dealing with now?” a mob member asked. “Internet trolls away from their computers.” Madler replied. “Why are they hacking up phlegm and snorting like pissed off warthogs?” they asked. “The oxygen of the outdoors is foreign to them and the natural sunlight is causing them to have negative and violent reactions.” Charlie replied. “What do we do to defeat them?” another mob member began. “I don’t want to use my weapon against those things.” “On the count of three, hide behind your shields.” Charlie said. “You mean ignore those damn things?” a mob member asked. “Exactly.” he said. When he counted to three, the mob hid behind their shields. The shields acted like a magnet to the sunlight. Charlie then commanded everyone to turn their shields in the direction of the trolls.
The sunlight burned the trolls to a crisp. Their speech patterns emitted sounded worse than Ke$ha having been blasted to kill the jaded classic rock lovers. “I heard…you ‘liek’ mudkipz.” was the last and most baffling phrase emitted from the trolls. “What the hell did those things say?” a mob member asked. “They were just being silly thinking we liked a Pokémon called ‘Mudkip’. Everybody knows Pikachu is the best one followed by Snorlax, Squirtle, Bulbasaur and Charizard.” Michelle replied. “Why is Charizard 5th best?” another mob member asked. Michelle firmly replied, “That’s because Charizard is a dick. Not as bad as a group of Zubats in a cave, but Charizard is a dick.”
The final roadblock involved a group of people not even the crew had done battle with before. “Are we battling the press?” Dolly wondered. “Oh no, princess. Much worse…much worse than the press.” The crew was facing down the subscribers and founder of and some mob members were horrified. “I thought they all died out years ago.” they collectively said. “The rest of you, kill their cohorts.” Catya began. “Perez is mine.”
The mob had very little issue vanquishing Perez Hilton’s minions. Catya knew he would be easy to rid of, but she decided to take her sweet time slaughtering him. “Listen here you slithering excuse for sperm and egg!” she began. “You and your cronies are not preventing us from settling our final score. You want to die quickly, give up now. You want to die quickly with a smile on my face? Be stupid enough to fight me.”
He replied, “I’ll play ball. Besides, I have more to say to Azealia Banks anyway.” His statement threw Catya into a rage. “What the hell have you been doing to her?” “She used the word faggot against me and I was trying to tell her she should know better than that.” he replied. That statement made Catya go apeshit. “You of all people shouldn’t be fucking lecturing anybody on using that horrible word!” “What do you mean?” he helplessly replied. “You called that terrible word ; he’s a pussy hound and you know it!” she roared. “Don’t you think Azealia bears any responsibility?” he inquired.
Catya’s response was chopping the head of Perez Hilton clean off. “Not to anybody like you, dickhead!” she roared. Her final move was a touching but tacky piece of symbolism. She stomped on his decapitated head, making sure she could hear the skull crunch. “Pretentious fucker! Lecturing people over a word you used against someone who is not even affected by it in its pejorative context. Go to hell!” Her last firm stomp only reaffirmed that he had died by her hands.
The mob had been watching her the whole time. “Goddamn, woman. You went all buckwild on his ass.” a mob member noted.
“Sorry about that.” she began. “Everybody ready to move on?”
The crowd concurred hoping they never pissed off Catya like Perez did. “I’ve had exes I want to piss off more than her.” a mob member said.
After hours of traveling and slaughter, the crew, cohorts and Smitty reached the outskirts that just beyond were holding the Grammy Awards. “You’ve finally made it haven’t you?” Smitty queried. “Indeed we have, Smitty. This is where everything is finally going to end.” McRay replied. “I’m glad at least you made it...” he began. “...because I can see the angels coming.” “Goddamnit Smitty, you are not going to die a tacky and clichéd death on our watch!” Blyvy began. “You want to live! Live! Don’t you decrease your heartbeat on me you motherfucker! Live! Live!” Smitty wouldn’t comply. “Let me die. I’m an old bastard who wasted his life chasing pussy left and right.” Goldie chimed in, “I don’t think you’re old.”
“You’re sweet for that one liner.” he began. “Take advice from me now, little girl; when you turn 18 never go on a car date with a fella. He’ll want to stick his piston in your engine at all costs.” “Thanks, Smitty.” she replied. “Oh and when you get to heaven, say hi to my mommy and daddy.” “I think he thinks he’s not going to heaven, Goldie.” Michelle said. “Though you are sweet for thinking wonderful things.” Smitty had wished everyone well on their final score and at his request, Blyvy cracked his neck ensuring his passing.
Catya took it on herself to deliver the last call to battle before storming the grounds. “Frivolity of watching a man plead for death aside, like Michael Jackson’s planned farewell tour that ended well...not as planned, this is it.” “Too soon, Catya. Too soon.” a voice said. “Want to end up like Smitty?” she replied. “That’s what I thought.” She continued to give the coronation that would lead to the grandest type of cacophony not even fathomed by the crew.
“Beyond these grounds lies the epicenter of cultural bitch slapping. You will be frightened by the types of people present. Acts like One Direction and really any crappy act nominated for a Grammy this year with the exceptions provided as ‘do not kill’ lists. Any artist not on the list, kill them. Any questions?”
A mob member asked, “Justin Timberlake isn’t on the list, but he is making music again. Does he really have to die?” Catya replied, “He is being killed not for ‘Suit and Tie’; although that doesn’t fucking help. What he will be slaughtered for are his SNL bits where he says ‘Come on down to __________ville!’ Even the one where Lady Gaga brought her own costume.” “The motherfucker must die for that!” the mob member replied. “Is it ok if I cry a little beforehand? I’m just happy he won’t die while in the middle of one of those SNL bits.” “I’ll allow you to cry.” she replied.
After settling that matter, the mob charged toward the Grammy Awards. Battle cries from the mob were said to have been heard in cities halfway around the world. Crowds present at the time of the red carpet were about to be in for a rude awakening. Displays of horror were all that were being seen as the first sets of security were trampled upon by the sheer force of the mob. Everyone only a few feet away from the first group began to warn the others. “For the love of God, everybody run!” they shouted. Gasps turned into screams that would be shortened by weapons entering them.
Hell was being unleashed as if the battle were to last 1,000 years. Instantaneously, the streets and venue of the Grammys had turned into the third world war. Jabs, stabs, kicks and slaughter were all that were seen even by members of the press unlucky enough to be present. “KRAP News live during what looks to be a disaster worse than not only the Valkyrie NightHaus and Sao Solstice du Antwerp Cabana; but even worse than the nefarious Derby and Friedan Massacres.” would be the last words uttered before an angry mob sect had beat him to death with the camera recording him.
Lacerations would be the most luxurious death doled out as many a group had tried fleeing. Mob size further reminded people that if they were present here, they would no longer be
on God’s Earth anymore. The color scheme for what was imposed was that of blood, decay, ruin and bedlam. “Keep going!” Blyvy shouted. “Ending this together benefits not only me and my comrades, but you as well!”
As the last units of security had vanquished, David had spotted One Direction trying to flee from the chaos. Motioning to Madler, they along with Matthew, Blyvy, Michelle, Goldie, Charlie, McRay, Dolly and Catya confronted the boy band. Trapping them using cargo net, they let the band know their lives would end. Despite their pleading, two of the crew each took a member of the band for their twisted disposal.
Madler and David forced the one who dated Taylor Swift to listen to the songs she had written about him. In due time, he had bled to death from his ears. Matthew and Blyvy subdued, beat and slashed the one known for his former hairdo across the belly. Michelle and Goldie cracked the neck and stomped on the one whose name sounded like “Nigel”. McRay and Charlie took runner-up in most fucked up by using a move only Vlad the Impaler had been known before. They took one of the remaining ones and positioned him to where a fractured street lamp would cause him to bleed to death from his anus. However, Dolly and Catya had to be number one.
They simply force fed the very last member of One Direction all the torn limbs from the bodies of those they slaughtered. “It tastes better than most English food, so shut the fuck up damn you!” Catya said. By the time his respiratory system finally gave out, the other mob members were disgusted. “Ew, you bitch.” a mob member said.
Before she could reply, they would be confronted by the one known as Ryan Gosling.

No comments:

Post a Comment