As if some magical myth known as Father Thyme gave him some magical promotion... The Brig'th'uh'Deere'th Generals Sunn of a NunnsDunce NonceyPoncePosh'Bee'Gahd'ayum'th if ee'didn't fookin' kill everythang that crossed 'eez'olez hammerstangz.

Case Closed en'on'omaho'bubbaz'ho'tekk9'z'cuzzinbeebuzzin'ee'zee nuttss all over big buttocks. Fer'a'shame'of'yee to gaze upon the sea and not recognize a private'ear'th'under the subwolf'er'tz oh'dea'ol'sea'oh'dea'a'uhSun. The red eye'th'under guide by his left mind left off in search of a queer'eye'th canal of query'en'wand'err'th'on'g'oh'eez song. The trail was blazed with the blue embers of an internalized affair with an enflated member of the night skies, but the knight'ed'ed oh'de'ol skies had set himmself'n'uh free, and now was a tim'buck'toe'tappin'as'any time to dig his heels into the recession of his congestion'n frontal lobe manifestin'uh'fear'oh'flight'zer'w0tz? Tots for a thought? Thoughts for tots? TottyTheNoddy? Mmmmm yeah

RedEye'th Newt'et'erd onn his own railway to fun'deez'yee'ol gunnz and let drumm the hammers of his handy'dandy'kannonz. Chrome'tuf'en'Blackk Peelin'Nuffin'Cap'zn'z'th'er'derd rightful places. Ambidextrously rattlin' with eez'ol critters of the hand connen'ist'ayyz. ChromeKannonzKonnected 4 of 4 shots, 2 durdens fall to the floor with 2 blunt'ly fierce'th trauma woundzz into the wind'errz oh'de'ol soul. A third duden'th'uhnda'eez'herd was takin'n'uh liftin' eez'ol feet ee'wuz, but the wuzzin'he'a'somethinz nonce'thang? Hammers klang'a2da roo'ter't the faulty router of the queer'eye'th canal of this here abandon'th ol'skreet. The thoroughfare sat ablazen'thunder'rollin by the mick'shucksta'fucksta'derdenz'burrdz with his blastyymcblasted kannonzohdeolkonn'ga. Row row, row your boot gently up the portrd'n'starberden laddz know'n'eez'madden'ed by the 'aid'en'oh'kind'red'bud. Street names meant nothing it was the geolocation in the earths rotation that was the imper'ed'er'tard part. This jalopy'jussa'drove'fruu'ee'z'own'er'thump tuh'da'stickayy'shtuff'in'eez'puff'th'uff'th chesticles. The 1911's clank'ett'oot 16 shots, thats 16 fo'fivezz hittin'n a dirt, lettin'n a squirt of the hurtin' 'eez'eere'y Durdens that just tasted the leadened handkon'kannon of the orthodox'eth'erd'crossed'southpaw'tuff'n'shtuff. 3 Durdens fell to the ground, 2 emptie 1911's hit the ground, and the 1921 with the 100en'err'big ass drum came out to rum'a'tumble'on a 'jypht'jawbone'off'tea'ol Durdy'th'Herd. The SicilianRapScallion MickShuck'thersterdivved'n'th'un'der'drive'tt all the feck way home, kickinn the door to an abandoned building the scared sons of bitches ran inside. The celebration of liberation for the GnomezSayinWickettSonn unleashed 21 in a fashion'ol'Mickey'Oh'De'Free'd'uh'toe gravez the bambino'st'oh'dee'ol'est gambinos. Chicago Typerwriter'd his way into the forefront of 6 Durden chests. 3 whizzed into the walls behind, thats 21 shells droppin'2'uh 6heart'ed'eah'oh'doodler'th with 18 holes put into 6 chests. ThePiratesAlcove open'th'uffn'ker'fluff'th'uh'nda the queer'eye't canal of his breakinn'n'4'errfive'wallz. The ACP of shells of ZMSG bounced and rolled, spliff smoke tumble'th'on'en2 da sky. The sun did shine on this moonlit night'stroller through yee'ast'oh'de'skreetz. 

This deranged SicilianoMickBastid really, really, like... Seriously. Wanted to fuck his mom. And'El'EE'na'Castrated wh0? Oh,plz'do3n't'ell'err'fell'err'now'kinfolk. Might just get poked with his girth.

Kunn'en'zee'only'kin'a'kinnst'eez'own'thorough'ly'red'warfed'bred'ren'th'under'de'ol eh'oh'dee'ahzazambo3, The peacock'th'erd'ly core'vet'teyy'derd protato3 of the es'silly'en'ett let fly 13 more bullets fly from his specialized Thomzunn. Jaunt'y'Jarg'Ged'on'wiff'ett whizzed 'bout lets say 13 more from the floor of the drummbarrel attached'er'eez gunn. The GeneralsSunnOhDeOlJennsSonohDeeOlToe? Some1 get the BestWelshedMan in here for this guy. Magic momentum behind heez whizzington'na bullets that ratat'rattler'th en'2 de skin of the durden'filth, the oh de green ol'gee lead his own oligarchy to the gunns of anarchy'street. Glyph'notezz jottered down on his Chicago Piano machine'n'em'th 'own for about lets say another 13 rounds. Total of 10 dead DurdenSwords laid around the emptied buildin'n 'eyy wuz'err standin'n'syde. Port'r'Syded hand extends to look inside the drum of the hammer'clackin'ka'snacker.  Y'ee'ol'ga'oh'dee'ol'gui'mariano let flow the toes and shipp'ted his weight into his madden'th'unda'roo step. His steppin'n stones had finally paid the way en2 his own feckin'n god damn way. Why did it take him so long to get through a feckin' back door and how many dead Burdz'Leigh'Ton'De Fleur'ay'ay'lad?? Eh?

Cousin of the ThomSunn lets 11 more rattle off 'eez'ol Piano'En'Finished'ett'yee'knot'so TypeWriterd. 3 Durdens are clipped in the bows of the sternsyded Stern'th'uh HydenPeltt. 1 whizzez past the body that fell first, thats 3 wing clipper shots to 2 Durdenz, with the remainder of 4 put into the Durden'z'what'wit'a'who lungs. 2 star'berd'syde, and 2'porter'titz'asyde. The orthodoc'th'uh'southpaw returned to his 1911s where he could scense'ay'me'la'fid'dood'eereh'loodlederd'oh'le'way2fook'm8. Who's m8'en wiff' who here? Whizzbang at centered stage in'eez'ol'en'junction sittin' technique oh'de'ol'Claw. The Cu'Kaw'of'de'liddle'laddle'plz'skerdaddle skerted'err'doodle and pegged a poodle after he reloaded two 1911s. Chromen'th'uh'black. Nothing but a vest over a chest, black business slacks, and his worn-en bid'nezz'wuz'good'ee'yuh laddy'caddyz. Cain'yee'sea dee MicksJussaFluentEnFlowinEnGaelicRhymery? What a fraudelent'theeve'rr'ee'bee. The RedEye't Swatter'd of the lawd have mercy on this'n'he'yuhz soul. The spliff smoke covered his en'dur'anced visionzZ as he leans for'werdz and balls of 'eez'ol'feetsy'toots'eez horn one more time for the onetimerhymeschemery of the arm'th'under'robbery.

What'd A'lure'duh'JennSon think of all this? And who the fuck is Vick'z'Cakezz? Son of nunn is checked by his own m8 son of gunn/whiff/n/gunnz/2/victoryyayyIDD

Passport'ed Jaloph'ii'onno'no'more. Was he in or on the shore? Found more Durden's hoard to return the un'kin'terdz to the kind'folk'oh'de'ol Er'th'uh. The backroom was crawlin'n, must've been some kind of secret caddyshack jerkback contest going on inside here. These clowns had the reaction times of some clunk't'uff'th skunk that didn't smoke the same way his port'ed'r'syde'berd'way'werdz spliffs did. The spliff smoke clears the air of freedumm 'en 'eez'fookin gunnz. 1921 on his back with roughly half a drum, and 2 fully read'n're'red'ed 1911z sat in their pocket'stockz. Starberd'ed kannon on the starberd'ed shoulder, port'r'syded fell in the suite. The enfolde'th'ed one fired 8 shots, 4 clickz of clack't hammers from each syde. 8 shells hit and bounce, 5 durden'z're'surface to the shore'oh'de'ol'sea and a gypt'tea'do'th'un'dn'th sea a god damn thing going on in'nerd'syde. The eSuite'rr'en'you ensued with a quick stride, as the small gatherin of Durden'z'Geezers gathered away from the dealer of death, breathing his own feckin breath into what he believed in. He clapp't 2 shots into ones star'berd'ed syde kneecap. The one'knuckler'puck'sterd gets the last werd on this piece of shitt'erd eh'laddy'doodlin'n'eez'ead'all'day'ay'eh? Cozz'EEz'MickBastid was layin'n down universal rhymeschemes on the eggnodders of the neighbor'whoswatch'but'4got'aboutwhenwhereandhow'alsowhy but why the fuck would a Generation Y y a wot that gen x mark'th'uh spot of? Maybe so GenZz could go sleepy'nuff to usher in the new generation that begins at 1? Who'feckin'knows anymore with this'fuckin'n'ea'dee'oh'de'eadz'ee'ez

He prompterdly and dastarded'ly'ded the ol' 1,2,smoke a spliff on a dumb'stiff'yn'em'up some. Counted to 21 as he rolled and proceeded to knock the guys skull en'coldblood. Coldest of the cold'ear'y'eye't'new'tonz'portz'ee'wuz'wheren'ee?