I am Max Payne

“Listen, Markie,” my accent was the MTA of the turnpike, I truly liked Mr. Wahlberg, Boardwalk Empire and was also the owner of Brother, Older 1 (one) lummox, “I want my big sister to go on a date.”


We all sat at a round table.

“With your older brother! Donnie. Listen!”

The crack of Stephen King’s literary sword, teaching me the biggest hitters. They strikeout, the most!

“Strike. C’mon, Big Papi! It don’t have to be Tiger Beat, but he can talk about what he was doing at that time. When she was reading those magazines.”

MTA owned the Turnpike like ten Ike’s on a Tina, he loved you baby. You Bond girl! Let me show what Black Thunder is.

“We are both reasonable Max Paynes her, but by the fall? I want us right back here. Watching our World Champion Red Sox.”

Orange Fury. Thunder sweet, San Juan wide. Parade repeat, Bullhorn. You have problems Mike? What. They couldn’t take your swim buddy Kim. Not for 78000 per lbs.

My last smoke. Sorry Ms. Galore it’s bad for the baby.

“It’s a long way. Marc.”

Owen. And the bunch.

“Drop that steak seered. Wagons East.”

“John Candy’s radio weirrrrrrd.