Tuesday, November 29, 2011

Trigger Glad at a Crime Scene

The pointed gun, to analytically put it, could be the extension of his vendetta, that which he shakes times few a day and tucks in his undies, alright, and when I – T Glad, a she – point it what could it be: Dentata? I don’t know. I speculate it takes an acutely educated guess, not acquired from schools big and small, and for my money you’re not equipped to make it.

An educated mobster isn’t an educated mobster y'know…

And you’re thinking she isn’t finishing what she’s starting and you’re guessing: Gangbanger, no?, not entirely missing the point, and then I finish it by saying an educated mobster isn’t a mobster, isn’t a monster, rather a gangbuster, just when your skin starts to leak head to toe, and I tell you I’m aiming for your fingernail and not the hand you guess I’m aiming at, if it were to blast your finger off that’s but the blind gun’s fault, not mine, and once I pepper spray your wound for purely antiseptic reasons, if you’re still not telling me whatever it is that I want to know about, just to shine my skills, not to make a point, I will aim for the next nail, the next, and so on till you tell it all short and tall.


Which one of those freezers in the city did you, Rattle Teeth, stuff your brother in and why? I’m aiming…fret not…for your fingernail…!



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