There I was, an ass kicking super hero in a city filled of asses. Tonight was a busy night.
I sat down and slid my foot into my ass kicking boot--it was the only foot I had, and the only boot as well. I had the other lodged deep in the colen of some life long scum bag, who had just robbed an old vietnamese lady at knife point and took a bowel movement on her pomeranian. I was forced to amputate on the spot. Now the hooligan is pooping out my shoe laces.
Out into the night I sprang like a fine tuned pogo stick, hopping in the name of justice. It was like someone flicked on the light switch, because when I was out on the street the crooks hid like cockroaches. But there was one little cockroach begging to get stepped on.
His name was Rocky, or atleast that's what they called him. He had an unhealthy obsession with the Sylvester Stallone movie. He was a weird one. He wore boxing gloves all the time and he'd go around challenging people to a boxing match. If they refused, they'd be rabbit punched. He'd even yell out, "Yo Adrian!" at then end of his bouts.
When I came across him he had just knocked out this young college kid with glasses on, who was innocently walking to his dorm after a study session. "Rocky" was jumping around with his arms in the air celebrating his victory. When he saw who was hopping around the corner he stopped celebrating, because I was known throughout the city for teaching young punks a lesson or two.
I hopped over to him and he put up his gloves, but I refused to touch them. He pushed me and walked away a short distance. Then he stood there for a while as if he was waiting for something--must've been an imaginary bell. As soon as it went off in his head he came at me.
He danced around me a little and I hopped around a little. To his delight we would be playing out a scene from his favorite movie; however, I would be playing the role of Rocky and he would be playing Mr. T. I improvised a little and had my boot hanging out of his anus before the end of round one. He layed around there in the fetal postition crying to himself, "But Rocky can't lose."
Poor sap.. but that's what you get when you step up to this.. you get knocked the F down.
The night was still young and I had plenty of beatdown to go around..even enough for second's if they wanted some.
I sat down and slid my foot into my ass kicking boot--it was the only foot I had, and the only boot as well. I had the other lodged deep in the colen of some life long scum bag, who had just robbed an old vietnamese lady at knife point and took a bowel movement on her pomeranian. I was forced to amputate on the spot. Now the hooligan is pooping out my shoe laces.
Out into the night I sprang like a fine tuned pogo stick, hopping in the name of justice. It was like someone flicked on the light switch, because when I was out on the street the crooks hid like cockroaches. But there was one little cockroach begging to get stepped on.
His name was Rocky, or atleast that's what they called him. He had an unhealthy obsession with the Sylvester Stallone movie. He was a weird one. He wore boxing gloves all the time and he'd go around challenging people to a boxing match. If they refused, they'd be rabbit punched. He'd even yell out, "Yo Adrian!" at then end of his bouts.
When I came across him he had just knocked out this young college kid with glasses on, who was innocently walking to his dorm after a study session. "Rocky" was jumping around with his arms in the air celebrating his victory. When he saw who was hopping around the corner he stopped celebrating, because I was known throughout the city for teaching young punks a lesson or two.
I hopped over to him and he put up his gloves, but I refused to touch them. He pushed me and walked away a short distance. Then he stood there for a while as if he was waiting for something--must've been an imaginary bell. As soon as it went off in his head he came at me.
He danced around me a little and I hopped around a little. To his delight we would be playing out a scene from his favorite movie; however, I would be playing the role of Rocky and he would be playing Mr. T. I improvised a little and had my boot hanging out of his anus before the end of round one. He layed around there in the fetal postition crying to himself, "But Rocky can't lose."
Poor sap.. but that's what you get when you step up to this.. you get knocked the F down.
The night was still young and I had plenty of beatdown to go around..even enough for second's if they wanted some.