You stand up. You take out the book. You have, uh, nothing to write wi - oh yes, your pen. It was in your pocket. An American always needs his pen. You proceed to think for a moment and come to a conclusion. You've had a long day, and it's not even 12:30 yet. You've been shot at by Commies, chased by demons, tripped out of your mind, this book is some sort of Lovecraftian comhoopist monster book and now it's asking you questions? You take out your pen.
Fuck. You.
I'm going to the bank.
You proceed to draw a dick, and throw the book over your shoulder. That is fucking it. You have had far too much of this shit and you aren't taking questions or threats from some pissant piece of wood pulp. You turn around and fire a single shot into the book. The sound reverberates around the area.
That's who I am, motherfucker. An American. You leave and quickly arrive at the bank, which seems miraculously untouched.
Far from your current location, in several different dimensions simultaneously, the book begins to issue a thick, greasy smoke.
What do you do?
Wounded:
Left arm (deep scratch) (bandaged) (no longer a problem)
Wearing:
Mask of Sensibility
Even more stained but still sensible pants
Sensible shoes
Inventory:
Wallet ($90)
Wrist Watch (12:17)
Valium (too much)
Scum
Sock ($1000)
Colt 45 (0/0)
Babe Ruthless (PATRIOTIC) (proficient) (bayonet)
Backpack (5 clips - Thompson) (Rations - unAmerican (4))
Water bottle (full)
Wielding - Thompson (left hand - standing down) (average) (13/5)
Mental State:
Mess with me now, motherfuckers.
Author
Topic: America Prevails (Read 25811 times)