Post by James Edwards on Feb 17, 2019 1:16:37 GMT -5
I promised the translator a funeral. I lied. Two wins ain't going to put the past six-feet deep, but its a damn start. They're the wake before the actual burial goes down.
The thought makes me smile, just for a second, but it's been pouring ass the rain the last couple of days in Hong Kong. I hate the fucking rain. I really fucking hate the Asian rain. It pelts you like a repeated flick to the head. A kid used to do that to me in the 3rd Grade. Still pisses me off thinkin' about it.
I duck under a canopy from the latest downpour that parts the crowded city streets like Moses did in the picture that used to hang in the Sunday School room at the church my mom dragged me until I was old enough to say "Fuck no."
The rain drenched my clothes, black jeans and a black button-down dress shirt, and now they cling to me. I fuckin' hope my pants don't chafe my nuts. Hell, it might be good if they do. I need all the irritation I can get.
Two fights run on being as pissed off as you can drain a man. It worked. I went huntin' for heads and collected two. The fact that one or both of them were Musket's little disciples made it all better. I'll keep buzzsawin' them until I bring the old bastard out of retirement so I can get my fuckin' win over him.
I know another one of them is waiting on me in Manilla. He'll be a good sub for Musket. I can already picture that crazy asshole's head on his student's body. I see my foot colliding with his head and making it snap back when he falls to the canvas. It's a beautiful thought. I'd smile again, but that defeats the purpose of being a grumpy bastard, and I'll need every ounce of malice once I get past Musket's protege.
Irvine or Nakama. I'd like to knee GI Wolf down for the third time. Maybe he'll finally get the message he can't touch me. Nakma, I just want to beat him for the sake of beating him. Putting down big bastards like that is a secret joy of mine.
More and more people crowd under the canvas and push me in 40 different directions. I welcome the rage that bubbles up from my gut. It'll keep me going through the next two rounds, and then I'll finally be able to keep my promise to the translator.
It'll be a hell of a funeral.
The thought makes me smile, just for a second, but it's been pouring ass the rain the last couple of days in Hong Kong. I hate the fucking rain. I really fucking hate the Asian rain. It pelts you like a repeated flick to the head. A kid used to do that to me in the 3rd Grade. Still pisses me off thinkin' about it.
I duck under a canopy from the latest downpour that parts the crowded city streets like Moses did in the picture that used to hang in the Sunday School room at the church my mom dragged me until I was old enough to say "Fuck no."
The rain drenched my clothes, black jeans and a black button-down dress shirt, and now they cling to me. I fuckin' hope my pants don't chafe my nuts. Hell, it might be good if they do. I need all the irritation I can get.
Two fights run on being as pissed off as you can drain a man. It worked. I went huntin' for heads and collected two. The fact that one or both of them were Musket's little disciples made it all better. I'll keep buzzsawin' them until I bring the old bastard out of retirement so I can get my fuckin' win over him.
I know another one of them is waiting on me in Manilla. He'll be a good sub for Musket. I can already picture that crazy asshole's head on his student's body. I see my foot colliding with his head and making it snap back when he falls to the canvas. It's a beautiful thought. I'd smile again, but that defeats the purpose of being a grumpy bastard, and I'll need every ounce of malice once I get past Musket's protege.
Irvine or Nakama. I'd like to knee GI Wolf down for the third time. Maybe he'll finally get the message he can't touch me. Nakma, I just want to beat him for the sake of beating him. Putting down big bastards like that is a secret joy of mine.
More and more people crowd under the canvas and push me in 40 different directions. I welcome the rage that bubbles up from my gut. It'll keep me going through the next two rounds, and then I'll finally be able to keep my promise to the translator.
It'll be a hell of a funeral.