Run! It's the filth!
Larry was stalking to and fro across the room, fondling his sheathed weapon, drawing the hammer back slightly before letting it click back into place.
"If you do that wrong, you're going to blow your fucking arm off, man." Said Moe, reading a copy of the new york times.
"What's it to you if i do? As long as im not facing away from you, you'll be fine."
"You'll get blood on my shoes. These shoes cost me nearly three hundred dollars. You get blood on my shoes and i'll fucking ventilate you myself."
Curly stood up, towering over the other two by at least four inches.
"Calm down guys. Either of you shoots the other, the Don will probably hold me responsible. Also, i'll have to tell your mothers. Do you see me going up to Mrs Capiani and Mrs Santiago with my hat in my hands and telling them their little boys killed each other? No? Neither do i. So i suggest you cool your heels until you can get back to your molls and let of some steam."
"Except Larry don't have no Moll, Curly. She left him for a book trader down on fifty seventh and madison."
"Hey, fuck-!"
There was a crash as the front door was smashed open, and police officers flooded in with drawn weapons, screaming for everyone to get down on the floor. Moe spun, ripping his gun from its holster in the small of his back, blazing away at the men running toward him. Two took hits in the body and another in the face, before several of them opened fire at once, stitching a line of blood across his chest, and covering his shoes in blood.
Larry and Curly ran for the boarded up windows, both men hitting them at the same time, crashing onto the lawn outside, only to see a line of policemen standing with weapons drawn and levelled at their heads.
"Drop the weapons." The lead man said.
Curly went to drop his gun, but Larry opened up, taking the lead man in the face with a bullet, before his gun jammed. Both men went down in a hail of bullets, Curly looking at a deep blue sky as his vision was eaten away at the sides by the encroaching darkness.
"I think their dead, Chief." Said a man above curly.
"Good riddance."
This story was actually inspired by me moving three fish into a new tank this evening. Dont ask me why. Maybe im just wierd.
Larry was stalking to and fro across the room, fondling his sheathed weapon, drawing the hammer back slightly before letting it click back into place.
"If you do that wrong, you're going to blow your fucking arm off, man." Said Moe, reading a copy of the new york times.
"What's it to you if i do? As long as im not facing away from you, you'll be fine."
"You'll get blood on my shoes. These shoes cost me nearly three hundred dollars. You get blood on my shoes and i'll fucking ventilate you myself."
Curly stood up, towering over the other two by at least four inches.
"Calm down guys. Either of you shoots the other, the Don will probably hold me responsible. Also, i'll have to tell your mothers. Do you see me going up to Mrs Capiani and Mrs Santiago with my hat in my hands and telling them their little boys killed each other? No? Neither do i. So i suggest you cool your heels until you can get back to your molls and let of some steam."
"Except Larry don't have no Moll, Curly. She left him for a book trader down on fifty seventh and madison."
"Hey, fuck-!"
There was a crash as the front door was smashed open, and police officers flooded in with drawn weapons, screaming for everyone to get down on the floor. Moe spun, ripping his gun from its holster in the small of his back, blazing away at the men running toward him. Two took hits in the body and another in the face, before several of them opened fire at once, stitching a line of blood across his chest, and covering his shoes in blood.
Larry and Curly ran for the boarded up windows, both men hitting them at the same time, crashing onto the lawn outside, only to see a line of policemen standing with weapons drawn and levelled at their heads.
"Drop the weapons." The lead man said.
Curly went to drop his gun, but Larry opened up, taking the lead man in the face with a bullet, before his gun jammed. Both men went down in a hail of bullets, Curly looking at a deep blue sky as his vision was eaten away at the sides by the encroaching darkness.
"I think their dead, Chief." Said a man above curly.
"Good riddance."
This story was actually inspired by me moving three fish into a new tank this evening. Dont ask me why. Maybe im just wierd.
posted by Jundal at 9:53 pm
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