“Boy,” I narrowly respirated, three striped shoes nasty and ill-advised, “this is a long walk. Huh guys! A long one. Isn’t it?”

“Richard Bachman,” said either Jayson or Tyler, “and that’s a warning soldier.”

“Strong reiterate!”

It was the other. Tyler. Who drew, and placed fire down at my feet, the deck kicking up dirty rocks.
“And that’s a warning, Soldier!”
Wow. Wow! A Soldier, this Marine thought.

“Dance,” now, one was doing Biff Tannen as we created the Congo mountain terrain.

“You can dance better than that!”
A Soldier, although offthecuff, made my dick hard enough to hunt Beaverton.

“That’s a ceasefire,” said Justin, “rember, no matter if you load to capacity, never discharge beyond your own means. Or rate!”

Jayson nodded. Hands from outside flak to a pocket, retrieving a granola bar.
“Go. It’s your birthday!”

Ears ringing, this was no club, Sergeant Major.
“I’ll be sure to schedule proper maintenance. For me and the Armory.”

His sketching sounds from an inkstickp which doubled as a utinzel was barely audible over Jayson’s reasoned interjection.
“I’d prefer to think of it as a single armory; as Tier-1 soldiers, a term I hate, I bring it. In less time, for equally important things.”

“Alright. Marlon! Beating.”

SIRI scheduled a man I feared and respected, Marlon Jackson, to Kato-me ala’ the Pink Panther at a well earned appearance rate or someone he designated within in inch of my life.

“When we get back,” Said tracker, “let’s consider a spree.”

“Chutney ain’t around!”


Sounds of revelry and quick to harmed camaraderie bordered with exclusivity echoed across the valley as I thought of someone’s knees, and how they’d care for a person in their life even sans appendages and advocate a bad marriage may not improve from trauma -or fame outside or no- I panicked. That was an assumption! And, when well in the nether far from judgement and relatives, Not realizing the offensive sacrillage stated thus, when you assume you make an ass out of one above legs which spread at the knee, thought barred from fathers, and three stacks of high society!

“Whoa,” I’d say, pushing a Marc, rounding, “you wanna roll with the big Mack, the man with the game?

“I got a big snake.”


“All you got to do is dance.”


“Your in the mud or salt flats!

Jayson faux yawned.

“Hey, you guys need a ride home? Or.”