A city was being built 30 minutes North of Dallas, and the local politicians and law enforcement were really starting to get weary of these outside influences invading their state to carry out hits. The WyndField estate was built to protect the D.I.Y. or D.I.E. McGypsy family. Reckless sons of sons could now live out their wildest dreams, while still maintaining their dirty hands dipped in the black oil. Lucky for this en'tired'end'andro'dup fam03 of feminine hoes, the freshest i7 of the LT James Joyce USS DPST the Red Raider of the Raider Clann, the eye'oh'I'z, the fucker'oh'motherzz. Happened to be the newest and youngest resident of said estate. Legend has it if you close your eyes you can hear the quiet beat of Quailz with quillz invade the homes stillz. Quail Run estate a few blocks over belonged to the A1 sauce and B2 bomber, CGIJoe his gahd'dayumm self had rung them on the phone for some business that was to take place within Grand Prairie and it's horse track. 

Mee'maw had told i7 the gang runnin' the crossed wires of crossed information had been some of them Boyd'Ar'Deez Bronco3Zz. It looked like this war of at'row'sea2seaz was either about to end, or it was just the beginnin' of a soldiers tale with a nice tail at that. Don't sniff it though, it's probably caked in sweat, smokable flowers, and booze. Hottest and muggiest sun'ne'er'stawpzz shinin' on this fuckin' shithole of a sho3-0hh, the eState of Texas had given it's own nod to the o'dee'doo'datt'all'feckin'day'swell'good'on'em'den OF-w0t?!?!?! 3 bucks?!?!?! The fuck is his great grandma even talkin' bout at this point? The sound of a jalopy pullin' up to the new gifted mansion to the bloodline with the most fine hair Fowl-tickles any police'ossifer ever could sea, or test for receding waters? Slams'isself'ee'doez? Well good on the i7, for he set forth into the uncharted territorys of this queer'eye't canal of quandry'n queries. 

Heroes get remembered but legends never die, key of The Paddy Wacker clicks on in the USS DPST'zz ol'ead'o'dee'eadzz, his left foot begins swoonin' to the tune in his head. The right keeps time with the drum in his headdun'dee'shoulders sit stern against the passenger side chair. B2 was driving this time, a little less reckless behind the wheel due to astrutt'en'osservation'eery skeelz. The A1 sat in the back with a kicker stick lit, just jivin' on in time with the chit chat goin'n back'en'forth 'twixt the three in the jalopy'oh'dee'ol'peazqwakz. The stolen vehicle was green with a black interior, bit on the shit lookin' syde but the engine underneath was made for bootleggin'. And the bootscootboogy'en'rootenest'tootenest CowBoii let out a toot of his own butthorn, with a bend of the port'rsyde knee and lift of the cheek. 

45 minutes of randomness had passed and the 3'eedz'o'durdy'deedz were at the track in the Gee'Prairie. FatGypsyRoyalty1 pulls his cap back, and a black bandana up. The spliff'oh'seagullz tucked under, upper lip rolls topsyde as the bandana fits snug under the nose. No bags needed this time as each of the DemonSemenSpawnt had their 1921s already at the ready. The B2 and A1 sat with no suppressor on, and the FGKiddTryin2BeeKing had no intent of putting on on in the first place. It was confirmed by non Durden sources that the Chicago men had nothing to do with the call, they just executed the play. Can't blame them with courtvision though, now can you?

POW

1 round fired at the teller behind the window, he was a cute lad but he had weird eyebrows. He also was protecting the core business to the Broncos that needed to be cleansed. The roll of thunder'ed hammers erupted through the corridor past the entryway. A total of 50 shots had been fired, the 36 people layed to waste on the floor could have been innocent or connected to buckin'whorezz. The important part was that mee'maw made sure to know the exact time and place the lead commission team would be meeting. The key to taking over a business was leaving the infrastructure intact. AltArtOfWarAnyone? No? Fine, fuck you too then rang out as a total of 30 shots from 3 guns fired, 10 men with sunglasses on and arms drawn had tried to run in from the entryway to the stadium, i7 twitches to the left where you could go out and scope the horses before the race, he fired off 20 rattlesnakes of metal'pelt'errz. 10 more men'at'arms'wiff'shadez'drawn'on were drawn to their Lord and savior. The sweet release of death. The B2 had cut to the other side around the same time, possibly a millisecond or two before or after there really was no way of telling the exact time. She had unleashed 13 shots, 3 whizzed past where the head would be of the 10 men that came from that doorway. The A1 trained his 1921 to the door that sat to their 3oClock, and put down ten more broncos with 14 shotzz. 

Entrance corridor was clear, and the last doorway gaveway to stairs. This was clearly where the VIPS would be. The whole giant area was just a place where people took bets after all, kind of a design flaw if it was meant to be used as a place for dirtywerkz. Hopefully the i7 could get that taken care of later. The 3 HorsePeopleOfDooM set sails for the final act. The cacophony of emptying 3 drumms into the heart brain and lungs of filthy skum.BekummethuhJank. (IfYKYK)

Multiple empty shells hit ground, bounced and rolled. 6 feet shuffled around the scene. The Wickett1 sat on top of one of the chunkier dead 'ead'oh'notin'now'KUNT. Where he promptly rolled a spliff. The Lone Star park had been absconded by The Red Raider, Texan technology really did work apparently. This one didn't seem as dumb as the one's with paid'ett'tried'to'playett namezz. The three let the terrified innocents and Broncos with no heads of their own state to save them now leave. The A1 couldn't help but take potshots and the clearly armed ones though, and the i7 smiled on. 

They proceeded to take over the VIP room and waited for the next race, maybe someone from a main city would come and have a chit-chat with this chiff'tuff'err'en'durtt chap about acquiring the elbow grease that oozed from within. Spoken only in the numbers that he could put up when given the time. Smoke of spliff dissipates into the air as peace settles and the gaffers of Grand Prairie begin to hold up their end of the bargain.

Hopefully there was a grey horse with a cool name in one of the races, rumor has it 

once made his grandma a buncha money for just liking the name of the horse. Rumor had it Grandpa had him killed so his son could learn the reigns of the proper technique. And the story of his bloodline continues, in a messy fucked up VIP room in The Lone Star Park, a betting horsetrack. Wonder if he could maybe use this, maybe someone could help him with ideas. Hm who knew anymore.