Crowbar
@numberSeven
Unfortunately employed. Third in command. Maroon mangler, headache handler, gang guy.
Whatever you bring, 7. But if you're in a position to choose, any red will do. We don't keep cheap vintages, after all.
If anyone asks. The couch blood is being taken care of. Not sure how it got there, and I am really, genuinely not interested in finding out.
Club soda and a cotton rag my dude
SORRY. WE WERE CELEBRATING #SLICKWEEK.
Maid, you always find a way to make it worse than I dared to imagine. It's a skill. Shouldn't be.
The shoulder is still stiff, but the arm's good to fire a handgun. Doc says: "Back to the trenches." Paraphrased. He's never been blessed with brevity. #worklifebalance
You borrow the crowbar, you borrow the man. What has you stooping to the henchmen for favors, Maid?
FIRST. GIVE ME THE CROWBAR. THEN. I EXECUTE. MY FLAWLESS KEIKAKU. AND THEN. THERE WILL BE ALL THE EMERGENCY. YOU COULD POSSIBLY WANT. #KEIKAKUMEANSPLAN
Crowbar comes with the crowbar, Maid. You need a pillow that needs the dust treatment, I'll be the life of your party, but certain cues sit above my paygrade.
Bullet wounds itch. Not going to stop me from hip-firing into a sea of loonish wannabe bank guardians. New perspective for torment down the line. Note to self: pull Nine aside for a candid stripe-to-solid directive on that. #blood #gore mention #torture mention
Healing up. In theory. Every bump on the boards makes the muscles jitter. Pinheads have such a way with reprieve.
On bed rest. Bad intel is a killer, usually. But the lucky schmuck lives to bleed on the suits.
Take it easy. Stay out of trouble. Don't read anything Rankmaid has posted in the last six hours.
hope you all die soon enough
Appreciate the dame's work. It'd be damn disrespectful to ignore that prose when the Doc's on gum-flappin' holiday.
Hall full of dodos, gun full of bullets, mouth full of coffee. 23/1000 clocks due for repair. #nowplaying Frank Sinatra — Blue Moon [on vinyl]
GOOD NEWS BOSS HALL NO LONGER FULL OF BULLETS FULL OF ME AND EGGS AND ME AND EGGS AND ME AND EGGS AND ME AND EGGS AN-
THOT THI$ $AID "MOUTH FULL OF GUN" AT FIR$T. I WA$ ABOUT TO RELATE $O HARD #GUNPLAY #N$FW #$TRIFEPLAY
Gun safety is everyone's business, if you're in the game to lose blood.
Soon to be sun-up in the Midnight City. 20/1000 clocks due for repair. Time to catch three or four winks.
OH THATS EASY IT WAS IN THE THIRD CHARTREUSE HALLWAY NEXT TO THE JUNGLE GREEN GAME ROOM
Heard. As in the floor has been rumbling underfoot, to the tune of some half-dozen dunces thundering around. How many of yourselves are up there? Actually— Don't answer.
Your honesty is noted. We'll pretend you haven't made my evening considerably worse. Sweep up the bullets in the fourth hall from the ⚪️ffice.
White. Usually occupied by a mouthless blowhard. Boss 2, or technically Boss Cue, for the dull.
GULP! YES SIR MR BOSS UH... one... two... three...four... five... six... the one after six... the one after the one after six... nine TEN?
Something under the floorboards. Could pry them up, but the carpeting costs in Midnight City are... Well. Suffice to say the lady-likin' sorts are damn shit outta luck.
DISREGARD. ANY STRANGE NOISES. AS PERFECTLY REGuLAR ONES. I DROPPED THE KEYS. TO MY FuCKMASSIVE MCMANSION SuITE ESTATE. IT IS LIKELY JuST ME. SHuFFLING IN PLACE. GROPING BLINDLY IN THE DARK. AND TRIPPING OVER. BOTH MYSELF. AND THE MANY MYRIAD BEVVIES OF BITCHES. WHO SEE FIT. TO OBSTRuCT MY PATH. WITH THEIR VARIOuS IMPEDIMENTS. AND VERITABLE OBSTACLE COuRSE. OF GARGANTuAN JIGGLES. I AM QuITE LITERALLY DROWNING IN BITCHES. I BARELY HAVE ENOuGH TIME. TO COME uP FOR AIR. IN FACT. SEND HELP. YOu ARE THE ONE WITH THE CROWBAR. RIGHT? APTLY NAMED. FOR YOuR CuTTING INTELLIGENCE. AND BRILLIANCE. IN DOING WHAT I SAY. BRING SOMETHING HEAVY. AND SMASH IT AT THEM. THE BITCHES. AND THE FLOORBOARDS. HELP ME FIND MY KEYS. PRONTO.
Sir, yessir. Two stripes, one solid, and a bill pre-issued. Not a thing in the world more important than whatever nonsense you need now, immediately.
SO REFRESHING. TO SPEAK TO SOMEBODY. CIVILIZED. SOMEBODY WHO JuST. GETS ME. DO YOu HAVE ANY IDEA HOW FRuSTRATING. EVERYTHING IS? BEING RIGHT ALL OF THE TIME. BEING MORE CAPABLE THAN EVERYBODY ELSE. EVEN NOW. DOLING OuT THE TASK TO YOu. KNOWING FuLL AND WELL IT COuLD GO uNCOMPLETED. FOR SECONDS. MINuTES. HOuRS. COuNTLESS SMASHWORTHY CLOCKS. TICK TOCKING BY. THEIR INFuRIATINGLY BuLLSHIT INCREMENTS. DIARRHEA SHITCANNONED AGAINST THE WALL. JuST TO SEE WHAT STICKS. ANYWAY. KEEP DOING WHAT YOu'RE GOOD AT. WHICH IS. WHATEVER I TELL YOu. BECAuSE IT IS YOuR MOST MEMORABLE TRAIT OF ALL. MORE EVEN THAN YOuR VERY NAME. WHICH. THANK CONVENIENT ASS FuCK IS ABOVE YOuR TIME WASTING POST.
Ninnies and doddering feeble grannies worship the pavement you skid on, sir.
RIGHTFuLLY SO. IT IS EVER SO IRKSOME. TO HAVE TO KEEP SKIDDING. AND SKATING. ACROSS PAVEMENT SHATTERED. BY MY MASSIVE SCHLONG. IT IS OPPRESSIVE. THE PRESSuRE TO STAY EVER ALWAYS THE BEST. AT LITERALLY JuST ABOuT ALMOST LITERALLY EVERYTHING. THE MISCALLANEOuS BITCH CATEGORIES YOu DESCRIBED. CANNOT HELP THEMSELVES. BuT HELP THEMSELVES. TO ME. IT IS COLD AT THE TOP. LuCKILY. THERE IS A REPuGNANT NuMBER. OF LOVESTRuCK. LOOSE LuCIES. AND LUMBERING LARRIES. LUMBERJACKED TO HIGH SHIT. ALL TO TIDE ME OVER. TIL SuNRISE. AND ALSO YOu. YOu ARE THERE ALSO. uNLESS. YOu WANT TO BuMP SHOuLDERS. WITH THE TYPES OF LOOSE LuCY. AND LuMBERJACKING OFF LARRIES. WHO BREAK BREAD. AT THE BREAD LINES. FOR uNEMPLOYED PEOPLE. WHO CANNOT AFFORD ALTERNATIVES.
Roll call is abysmal in these conditions. A classic case of broken clocks being the bane of timeliness.
yØur fault fØr trying tØ take rØle call in general
And so the timeline fuckery begins.
WANT SOME HELP LOWERING THE NUMBER OF BODIES YOU GOTTA COUNT? I GOT WAYS!!! :-D
More tempting than permissible. A few foolhardy loud-lippers could use the scare.