Walking in there's a strong must of marijuana smoke filling the record shop. Looking around you see stacks of records filing the shop. Above the stacks are signs that label the records according to genre.

Welcome to my record shop here in Detroit! We carry all kinds of records and are always willing to order in more. We also offer record players and speaker systems. From blues, R&B, to blue grass and country. You want, we get it.

Pointing towards the back of the shop the man in the wheelchair turns towards the counters.

Over there you can find a few kinds of liquor and interesting smokes to make your time more appealing. Pricing is determined on weight/amount. When you decide what you what you'll be billed when you ring out. We also have a lounge back there so make yourself at home!

Snip walks into the store and is quickly engulfed by smoke, Snip breaths in deeply

"Oh yeaaa"

Still breathing deeply Snip starts to walk around the record store for some new music that might interest him. Not so long after, Snip realises he doesn't even like music and only came here for some drink and smokes.

"Tell me Jake, which alochol you got that can get me drunk fast and make me forget about everything? You also might as well get what ever new record is popular with the kids these days, might aswell get a record while I'm here. I will use it as a present for someone."

Hey Jake.. Any rap music?

I feel like chilling out and listening to someone spit out a rhyme. Preferably Eminem.

Standing behind the man and listening to him ask for rap. GG said to himself. "What the fuck is rap?" As he shook his head and walked out the door.

A strong smell of giggle smoke hits the room of some abandoned record shop, mee'maw dunn rumored there would be a pig not under the right blanket here. Stacks of records became waste as an entire drum from an Annihilator1921whiffUhSuppressorOnn is emptied into the unfilled room. At one point in the middle of the spray, the wickett1 raises his gun to take out some dumb signs labeling subjective shit that need'nt a label. The fuck is 3m0MathRock? Midwestern3m0R3V1V4LDeeZNuTtzZz!!!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!!!!!!!

Some retarded record shop just took the blunt force of 100 shells, all kinds of RekTerdZ got wack'th'uh'fluff'uh'p and were begging for no more. Record players, speaker systems, and a buncha shitty records all laid to waste. RecklessSun wanted the DerdHerd erased from the face of the Earth, so he chased it to go and get it.

Towards the back of the shop, a DurdyCawP clawp't'eez'fookin mouff on and on about why did both of his legs feel like they were there, but he could see below the kneezz was nuff'n butt thin air?

Over where the dumb piece of shit laid, a spliff was lit as the kidd took a sit on the dumbasses chest. The smoking barrel of a 1921 was forcibly shoved into the guys chin a'pea'sinn the maddest of KUNTz, the price of information was one thing the MaddestLad did know a thing or two about. But he only paid for quality, and this retard was missing two legs. So he grabbed both 1911's and started shaving weight off the downed mans head. First he shot 3 into the star'berd ear, then 3 into the porterd one. Surely dumb KUNTz ears'ee'rr ringin'n eezOwnFookinead. The Paddy Wacker LTOLT the dumbass to relaxxx by bringin'em'back home. He emptied the 2 clips with 10 shotzz sprayed throughout random spots over the mans face.

Bloodsplattered all over the IU7DD5U91. A fucked up shit eatin' grin came over him. He rolled a spliff and lit it as he sat in the middle of the room just lookin'at'wut'ee'd'fookin'dunn