Irish fucka...waaaaay too easy
It'd take about two decades to pull this off, as I'd need a daughter to enroll in some program at school that does international travel.
I'd be a chaperone. I'd contact you via netcees.gov because that's where we're headed. I'd flatter you with lies. Talking about how funny and talented you were and that we should meet up at the pub for shots after My daughter and her classmates kiss the blarney stone and look at 84 potato fields.
You'd agree, cause I stroked your ego and told you the shots were on me.
We'd meet and as promised we'd slam shoots and talk about the good old .com days. You'd teach me turahlu or however you fucking guys spell it.
By that point its late and we're both drunk. And I convince you to come by the hostel and grab some american shit, you know...a few kool aid packets, à bag of pork rinds, and a Katy Perry CD. Its ok cause I'm a good guy and you knew that seeing how I was never really an netcees troll.
On the way o the hostel I stumble around and shit, no way can an American drink like you.
I literally fall into a gutter and bust out laughing. You're laughing too cause of how pathetic I am and I can't even lift myself. Calling me a faggot you reach out to help me up
Pop!
First shot thru your hand and into your collar bone
You fall back but don't feel it because your stupid Irish brain waves travel slower thru alcohol and you're trying to assess what happened.
I'm standing over you, as still as a blade of grass with no wind.
The pain is setting in at this point, cause you read about this happening years ago,didn't you faggot?
You start to say something, I surge forward jamming the gun in your mouth Not concerned about the teeth the gun may disturb, you don't need teeth where you're going.
In a very calm and satirical tone I say
"They're magically..."
POP POP POP POP!
"...delicious"
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Chill Phil
My rep hand is NOT WAY strong anymore.
Last edited by Badweather; 05-01-2015 at 05:30 PM.
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