SO I did this to my story that I'm writing, I think I'm going to have a stroke from laughing.
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Crew Dead Thousand aka PAX Gone Wrong
Part 1: Yo Ass Made tha Cut
A drop of blood tricklez off tha tip of Michael’s alligator machete. Bent over leanin on his knees, his breath is heavy. There be a fragrizzle of decay n' mold festerin tha air, together they keep his ass gaspin fo' fresh air n' nearly vomiting. Both require too much juice. None of which he possesses all up in tha moment.
Finally afta catchin his breath, he standz straight yo. Dude looks over tha crew he’s gathered. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! His playaz briefly glizzle at his ass ta make shizzle he is ok, all tha while keepin a eye on tha surroundin area.
"Does dis ever end?", Michael axed. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! Dude standz up on tha tip of his cold-ass toes n' looks around. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! His height gives his ass a slight advantage as he can peep mo' betta over tha pilez of corpses fo' realz. A familiar voice rings up behind his muthafuckin ass.
"It seems not", Tommy reckoned.
"Let’s keep moving, our crazy-ass asses need ta find a exit."
Part 2: Cold Feet
Some time before...
Da line ta git tha fuck into tha Boston Convention Centa be around tha block yo. Hundreds, maybe even thousandz of gangstas is waitin ta git in. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch. Da sun is providin just enough heat ta make yo ass open yo' jacket, then a breeze remindz yo ass Sprin hasn’t set up in yet. To add, dis area of Boston has a shitload of open water, tha wind is chilly n' bites just a bit.
"How tha fuck long do our crazy-ass asses have ta wait?" Tommy asks, "I’d like ta git up in already, I knew our crazy-ass asses should have stayed all up in tha Westsidein". Da Westsidein has a connectin bridge wit tha convention center, bustin gettin up in much easier. Tommy is probably straight-up patient yo, but tha cold is pushin his buttons, mo' so todizzle since he thought bustin open toed sandals would be a pimped out idea yo. Dude wanted ta be comfortable yo, but he didn’t know he’d be standin outside fo' hours.
An ambulizzle roars by, all traffic is still as they let tha speedin emergency vehicle all in.
"Look Tommy, tha whambulizzle is here fo' you", Orlando jestas wit Tommy. Tommy rolls his wild lil' fuckin eyes n' looks over at Michael. Michael switches his stupid-ass glizzle ta Orlando n' squints.
Orlando knows dat look, it’s tha look of disapproval. Orlando is used ta it n' knows he’s just givin his ass a hard time.
Da line begins ta move, n' at a like steady pace.
"Finally", Tommy sighs. Da line moves up.
Many thugz of Crew9000 is up in attendizzle, 30, a all time Crew9000 record. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! Muthafuckas from all over tha ghetto flossed up ta hook up each other n' smoke up 3 dayz of geek n' gamin phatness. Casham flossed up from Austrailia. Yukyduky hails from Sweden. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch. Right back up in yo muthafuckin ass. So nuff struttz of thuglife under one roof, all united fo' one phat cause, ta geek out. If only tha ghetto’s posses flossed such combona n' unitizzle.
Da entrizzle ta tha PAX exhibit floor is extravagant dis year. But fuck dat shizzle yo, tha word on tha street is dat tha theme dat standz up da most thugged-out is zombies. Five major game is bein busted out, all featurin tha undead, all wit exhibitz at PAX. One of them, Da Horde, is up in straight-up early pimpment, n' rumors suggested they would feature a closed off demo area fo' realz. Anticipations is high n' so is spirits.
Once on tha convention floor, tha crew immediately started fo' tha swag bag line. One of PAX’s must do’s as inventory probably runs dry doggystyle. While on tha line, tha crew notices a big-ass military vehicle parked inside. Looks like some sort of carrier vehicle. Transportin phatz and troops.
"That must be fo' ‘Da Horde’" Chris says while he points. Right back up in yo muthafuckin ass. Standin around tha vehicle is military personnel. Only two, they must be gangstas dressed up. Looks pretty convincing.
Somewhere else on tha convention floor.
"Hey, muthafucka! Where do yo ass be thinkin you’re going?" shoutz a securitizzle guard. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! Da guard be average build, kind of lil' small-ass up in his wild lil' field of work yo, but it hasn’t been a problem fo' his muthafuckin ass fo' realz. At least until now, nahmeean, biatch? Da figure tha guard was shoutin at turns around. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! He’s bout 6 foot 2 n' well toned. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! Dude could end tha guard up in a momentz notice.
"What’s it ta ya?" tha figure replies.
"This be a restricted area" tha guard retorts. "Only authorized personnel up in dis section." Da figure steps closer. "Sir, do not step any further!"
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