“Get buried alive!”
The noise of the crowd was more bloodthirsty this time, unmasked and unashamed in their savagery.
I haven’t missed them.
“Hope you rancid pukes have friends to dig you up! Put up with that shit while you’re on the trip of your life, and you get yourselves a green fucking armband! For the rest of the night, everything is as free as your mother’s pussy!
But I do like Skidmark’s way of talking. It’s awful and raunchy, yes, but it’s also really distinctive and good. There’s a reason I quickly identified who was saying the first line in spite of my previous track record.
…also is that a yo mama joke or is he calling them motherfuckers? Either way, it works coming from Skidmark.
For as long as you hold on to that baby, anything you buy direct from one of us head honchos is ten percent off! So which-”
Huh, that’s neat.
I wonder if it stacks. Up to a limit, I guess – I doubt Skidmark and co. give out completely free drugs to anyone with ten green armbands.
He stopped. There was a thump as the microphone hit the surface near Skidmark’s feet and then a violent but all too brief noise as it struck one of the propellers at the side of the aircraft and was promptly annihilated.
…uh, alright? Something take you by surprise?
I hope it’s Siberian, just so I can make a certain joke about cats and tongues.
Krixwell Liveblogs 