Mountains, Mammoths and Bully

“10.” -Crispin Glover, Games Journalist

“Ten.” -C. Glover, Batman: Complete

“Burnie (Smith) is clearly sleeping, while the other one, Shock, (Black) does the dumbwork. Clearly, the former is an amalgamation of any number of elite Naval Commandos with a midrats pass & babysitting detail.” -h

“God Bless those boys. 78,000 dollars a pound? A side of unicorn. Or ISS.”


The Streetwise Danielson-Boy had made his SAG-AFTRA card early, after dropping a tail Tony Mendez had picked up from the ‘stans, a tail which had followed the Intelligence Star recipent from the AO into the great white north followed by geographical plinko and nearly Techincal.

After, that? It was passports. Stopping short as he felt violating the common morals which he thought bound all Americans he inherently knew counterfeiting, currency for certain, was an act of war. This astonished his back on the block who always said he never had an origanal thought under this Aztec sun, and what else did the lithe secret service agent whisper in your ear?


Our young man had a reputation among the courts for being a smartmouth violent thug, when the actual world knew of a man who knew the value and abhorred explosive physical violence and was indifferent to swabbing and coroners. An elected position!

After paying some guild his money, the teenaged Depp-ish traded being a clerk for a guard card, and honestly? Was more a percussionist than anything, if ever those in the front of the camera knew, he was a lad who matter eater was to pussy: him.

The recruitment office lingered as he then set to work as a studio lot security fallman detail for Metro-Goldyn-Mayor knew nothing of budgeting but everything about a pretty classmate to a show and how to take a hit.

In youth detention for breaking aboard an FBI hot range used for counter-terror, “Damn to hell,” were three pilfered words he contemplated while eating from Mr. Baldacci’s fridge, later aValedictorian Eagle Scout who went straight to space camp, after being convicted for a Black Panther murder he didn’t commit on Opus Dei, this Albino-Cherokee was a true Delaware native Caucasian, and Oscar “Two Dig” Kennedy-Johnson-Nader-Wallace Rateher, Special Warfare Operator, 2nd Class, rolled left at the last moment, avoided the trap set by a wily enemy as the elastic-canvas skyhook rig ripped him up through the canopy toward the real objective.

The PRC crackled.

“…he never broke, or ran! He was right there, on orders from El Supremo, bloodied with Wentz and Pickering and Hathcock and TRIV. He was the greatest fighting man I’ve ever known. You should be proud to call him you father.”

“Let’s get <a href=””>this done</a>,” he said, a respirator ditched while he was reaching for a surefire strike bezel. His breaching kit said, in engraved letters: “None shall stand in your way.” The attachment.

“Fucker! Stay out of my path. Hit him. Again! Moving.”

This was more than being a full patch mongol, a representative who was KBR when not pursuing his hobby: underboss gambino who had eyes for the big seat.

“Rateher! The mother of all terrain model. Wait one.”

He grit his jaw muscles, still wired and shut and reached deep within his own spirit, in need of true grit. He found it.

He was a knight in the Order of Chivalry, having accepted his membership in the British Royal Bath conditionally and behind this congress.

“I testify there is one God, Allah. And Mohammed is his prophet.”

Both Branch-Davidians.

“Jesus? Oscar,” said his swim buddy, “he died for us.”

digging deep for one-quarter when dead.

“Lay on your back, and think about San Juan hill.


Unincorporated Trumbly, a sprawling agricultural urban high-rise masquarding as a city was the ruby of Jefferson, and one slingshot train ride to New Versailles.

“Not only the State Capitol, NV, as this is the third most densely packed metropolis in ‘ The States, and with more teenage runaways than Portlad Oregon and Indonesia combined, this Bayou has a thriving adult based industry rivaling the valley. Founded and run. Founded by rogue free masons,

and bankrolled by Groening, it is all our row.”

A banner hung above a plaque, which was entered over the only townhall stand-in homeless shelter which doubled as a Wynn’s Private Vacation residence, an estate Mrs. Zuckerberg admitted the public eye rarely.

Known in the media as VMI West, the mummy ice mammoth equine in chains, the result of a Major Payne competitive event and was unoffcially called “R.A.H.’s Bain. Venom! When power kills,” and though festering in open-air tang powder covered dorm conditions, the porter house turned millitant delta house lambda lambda lambda clique was proud of its public ivy national lampoonists, thoseof Fratire, rose for the anthem.

“MC Ren respectfully let the creators of Run The Jewels 2 have 30 seconds. Then, after the game was done, Yellaboy kicked don’t copy that floppy.”

“on loan” yet in fact pilfered from Santa Cruz.

“Veritas. Sanctum. Vino Vedi Grappas, Spiritous. Parabellum.”

“Shoot that shall never wrap. Yet be full of reality rap, and premeir hip-hop. Ask nothing.”