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*Insert obscure Rex Cleevej reference*
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Topic Started: May 4 2010, 11:38 PM (300 Views)
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Thomas Valiant
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May 4 2010, 11:38 PM
Post #1
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Unregistered
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Two kinds of people associate with fancy dressing, baby raping, gun toting clowns. One kind being clingy, mentally unstable strippers and the other being former mercenaries forced into exile because they happen to be totally and utterly off their fucking wagons. Funnily enough, both of those people happen to have crossed paths with the gun toting children's entertainer in question. Suzanne Spencer and Jack Crowley. Crowley was a Canadian born Special Forces Operative, who after failing a psychological evaluation was taken on board by S.H.A.D.O.W. a high security branch of the United States defence network. Somewhere talent's like his could be utilized by operating under the cloak of the government to commit heinous acts of violence, feats of espionage and assassinations with the backing of the United States hidden in darkness behind him. In short, Jack was a few cans short of a six pack. Six cans, to be totally honest. Un-phased by planting a set of semtex explosives on the foundations of a children's hospital, Jack was the kind of mind Chuckles attracted and it was after an operation went horribly wrong, Crowley found his way into the path of our clown. In 2001, Jack was ordered by his superiors to infiltrate and systematically tear down a child prostitution ring based in New York City and led by a high ranking senate member, something the government of course, needed to keep under wraps. However, a leak within S.H.A.D.O.W. caused Jack's cover to be blown and he was found out by the smuggling ring and it's enforcers, resulting him being brutally beaten, shot and left for dead. S.H.A.D.O.W. covered their tracks, wiping Jack from the face of the earth, all records of his birth, his parents and even his military career vanished at the touch of a button and so, did his family. Murdered by a S.H.A.D.O.W. operative to maintain this lie. When Crowley recovered and attempted to find his family, he discovered the truth about the betrayal of his superiors. Deciding he had nothing to lose, his only option was to take his talents, abilities and insane collection of high powered weaponry to private parties. One of which, was our murderous Tommy Chuckles. Last year, after escaping from police custody for the fourteen millionth time, Crowley approached Chuckles and the two briefly became partners once again. This was of course until Chuckles left Crowley in the path of a police detective on his tail and Jack was surrounded, taken into police custody and committed to a mental asylum, for obvious reasons. One of which being, he attempted to concoct a bomb from a collection of dust, cement sandings and acid whilst being held for interrogation. The clincher for this whole situation being the acid, was the stomach acid from one of his cells night guards. Through some confusing and convoluted twist of fate, Tommy ambushed the Wellview State Asylum and busted his old friend out of the grounds and back into the world, despite the details and advanced technical planning that went behind the bust, it's difficult to describe what actually took place. Suffice to say, there are now lots of dead people and lots of stuff got blown up and Crowley, is now back on the street, alongside his equally unstable counterpart, our clown. Both men are now in a police cruiser, hurtling towards Las Vegas where they plan on ambushing the CALDERA WOMEN'S PENITENTIARY to aid another one of they're fellow psychopaths, former lover and current supposed cripple, Suzanne Spencer. Otherwise known to both Jack, Tommy and on some occasions, us, as Suzy Sunshine for some, god awful reason. To kill/maim/rape and/or blow something up, I guess. Unsurprisingly we are now going to follow this giddy trip of debauchery and bollocks. So please, pick up your popcorn and a fizzy beverage of some kind, sit back and enjoy the show. Or turn off the television, go out and spend time petting kitties in a park, surrounded by rainbows, laughing children and chocolate rivers. Whatever you do choose to do, turn off your cellphone whilst you do it. Because I swear to god, I'll tear your fucking throat out and shit down your neck if I hear it ringing..
HONK! HONK!
As in, the sound a car makes when someone fiercely smashes his fist into the horn, not the sound boobs make when you squeeze them. Jack Crowley is sat in the drivers seat of a marked, Wellview State police cruiser, masked but wearing a full police costume, complete with badge, gun holster and frosted doughnut stains. Sat beside him in his usual garb, is Tommy Chuckles. His head hung out the window a pair of dark black, hangover hider shades covering the thick black marks around his sunken in eyes. They are on a desert road, hurtling towards what we can assume is Las Vegas, sirens blaring as Jack weaves in and out of traffic, constantly hitting his first against the centre of the wheel, frightening old ladies into moving their Cadillac’s off the road and into a cactus or a parked school bus, anything really.
"I thought the idea behind the police outfit was so it could serve as a disguise, to smuggle me into Caldera? In order to get out Suzy without causing a fucking riot?"
Chuckles attempts to question Crowley as he continues to drive like a maniac. Jack seems to ignore him but slowly turns his head, still holding both hands on the wheel, his foot buried firmly into the floor.
"What I'm trying to say, retard, is that if you keep that mask on UNDER the costume, your not going to fool anyone. The police don't wear masks, do they?"
"No, but, I do. It's my trademark. Like, Wolverines claws or Roman Polanski's statutory child rape charge. It's my thing. I never take it off, then I'll reveal my secret identity."
Crowley narrowly avoids a vulture as it skulks across the road, swerving and slamming the car into an elderly lady selling lemons at the side of the road. Chuckles giggles and watches as she rolls over the roof, sticking on the lights slightly before wind resistance forces her over the trunk and to the floor behind them. Leaving a satisfying wrinkly splat on the concrete.
"You don't have a secret identity. The mask hides NOTHING. For god sake, you even use your real name. I remember three years ago, you blew up a private hospital and left a note with your drivers licence number, your social security number and copy of your address if anyone wanted to leave you feedback. The mask does nothing, except retain germs and make your face look fatter than it actually is."
"The mask stays. Run me through the plan again?"
The two continue to hurtle down the road as Vegas nears in the distance, dust flies off the wheels and the blood smears are forced up the wind-shield in deep, clotted streaks.
"You smuggle me into Caldera, claiming to be an officer from Wellview State, using those documents I forged for you. Once we are inside, you guard the car whilst I gain access to the infirmary, drug or quietly kill anyone that gets in my way. Get Suzy to the car and we speed out of here. Unharmed and unnoticed."
"Okay.. and, Plan B?"
"You slam the car through the outer gates, I plant semtex charges on the perimeter wall, storm the wards with a 40mm grenade launcher, maiming and blowing up anyone that gets in my way, find Suzy, get her out and blow the place up before they can even consider calling for back up."
Jack swerves yet another car, hitting a bump in the road and causing Chuckles to smash his head into the roof of the cruiser, his shades knocked ajar.
"Ohhh, I like that one better. Can't we just make that Plan A?"
Chuckles slaps Jack, it making a dull thud as opposed to the erection inducing sound of leather on skin, due to the mask. Crowley's attention doesn't break however, as he continues on the fairly straight and narrow road into Vegas, the sun setting in the background, the bright lights of the city of sin coming into view, a spectrum of bright colours and whores, of all colours too.
"No. We stick to the plan, if anything goes wrong, we deal with it as it happens. Drive through town, Caldera is just past the strip. It's just west of Vegas, where the city ends and the Mojave Desert starts."
"Who the fuck builds a prison in a desert?"
Probably the idea of an inbred Scottish architect, who knows. Chuckles shrugs off the question as they enter the Las Vegas strip, admiring the lights, the women and of course the people walking the streets. Not looking out of place with the rest of the freaks. Women in short skirts and men in shorter shorts wave and blow kisses at the car as Crowley throws hundred dollar bills from the window, Tommy attempting to keep himself contained, knowing he has to stick to plan if he wants this to work without a hitch.
"Put the cash away, Jack. We don't have time for fun, we need to get to Caldera."
Crowley puts his foot down as he tears through traffic, narrowly avoiding several more cars, an SUV and a bus, clipping an old man in a wheelchair, sending him reeling head on into oncoming traffic. Causing Tommy to chuckle to himself, watching as he's pancaked between a pick up and a pizza delivery van. I know, I never get fed up of old people being killed either. Strange, huh? I pay my taxes to keep these old bastards medicated, if Jack and Tommy knock off a few, whose to question them? The traffic dissipates a little as they move further through the strip, nearing the end of the strip, starting to leave the lights, prostitutes, casinos and dead OAP's behind. As the sun begins to set over the mountains, we see the distinct shape of a building forms in the distance. Large and foreboding, displaying what seems to be an archaic and gothic style. The car continues to speed past any other oncoming vehicles and passes a sigh, crudely jammed into the dust beside the road labelled 'POINT OF NO RETURN'. The building is grand in scale, appearing to be only one actual structure but with many a branching wing attached to the original penitentiary. Surrounding it's towering shape are several high, notably electrified fences and a large perimeter wall outside of those. Crowley pulls slowly up to the guard house outside of the main gates, as Chuckles looks out the window in the opposite direction and whistles into the wind. Through tinted glass, Jack sits silently before whispering gently..
"Plan A.. okay?"
Chuckles nods and continues to whistle as Jack rolls down the window, holding a revolver, cocked and loaded.
"I'm officer Jackson Bartholomew Armadeus Crowley of the Wellview State Police. I'm here to uh.. shoot you in the face?"
Crowley pulls the trigger, blasting the guard in the head. Spreading the unfortunate fat bastards face pretty much everywhere, painting the inside of the guard post a beautiful shade of brain. Alarms start ringing, the sound of shouting, sirens and guns loading can be heard in the background. Chuckles looks at Jack who blows the smoke off the end of the revolver, giggling to himself like a school girl.
"That wasn't Plan A, was it Jack? That was Plan B."
"It was my Plan A, yours sucked. Where's the grenade launcher?"
Chuckles sighs and looks above the two men towards the gate, a dozen or so armed guards with their rifles aimed directly at the two men sat in the car.
"In the trunk, Jack."
Crowley jumps from the driver seat and throws the police hat to the ground, opening up the trunk and lifting out a fully loaded six shot cylinder twisting grenade launcher. Looking towards the doors and the guards. Tommy steps out of the car and puts his fingers in his ears, for.. well.
"SAY HELLO TO MY LITTLE FRIEND!"
That.
BOOM!
That was the door exploding after Jack shot it with the fuck off massive gun, I'll be right back. Really need to run to the bathroom. Damn irritable bowel syndrome.
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Thomas Valiant
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May 6 2010, 09:42 PM
Post #2
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Unregistered
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Wow, that was horrifying. I knew the breakfast burrito I had this morning from that shady looking van wasn't going to do anything good for my bowels. Anyway, last time we left our two, uh 'heroes' they we're storming Caldera Women's Prison just outside Las Vegas, Nevada where Jack Crowley and Tommy Chuckles are planning to aid the escape of Tommy's former mistress, lover and general stress relief tool, Suzy Sunshine. Both Jack and Tommy agreed the best plan of action was for the two men to sneak their way into the compound and have Jack protect the vehicle, whilst Chuckles infiltrated the grounds and helped Suzy escape state custody. Let's dive back in shall we, where we find Chuckles and Crowley busting their way into the prisons front gates, shortly after Jack has turned the inside of the exterior security booth into glass tank of brains and gore.. "Wrong, bucko." Uh, what? "You heard, you fuckbucket." We see Crowley, sat upon a blood sodden pile of guts, bodies and torn apart limbs, his police uniform completely ripped from his body, leaving only the badge, which one can assume he has pinned to the skin underneath his costume. Behind him, is sat Chuckles, upon an office chair, with a 40mm grenade launcher resting over his blood soaked shoulder, his face splattered with blood and his shirt and tie drowning in brain matter and mucus. He's smiling, of course. "You spent like nineteen hours dumping man, we couldn't wait around for that long. This isn't Cable + you can't pause, rewind and record live happenings. Shit had to go down. Bitches had to be killed.. and.. stuffs."
I'm not entirely sure what just happened, regardless.. "And seriously, next time you take a shit, spray something. I'm sitting here, attempting to savour the smell of gunpowder in fresh wounds, in a totally different plane of existence and all I can smell is like, death, like ass death. Like something actually crawled inside your butthole, was raped by a skunk and then.. died. It's vile. I mean, some fucking Channel No5 would take the edge off that. God." "You do know whoever this douche is, he could write you out of this entire thing, with just a few words, right?" Yes, yes I could, but he's marginally amusing. So, I'll keep him, for now. With that, Crowley shuts his mouth, I know, amazing right? As both men get to their feet and move from the room they are currently stood in and down a hallway leading from the room, to, if the signs are to be believed, the infirmary. Where Suzy has been forced to stay, since a year ago, Chuckles kicked her out of an eighteenth story window and send her plummeting hundreds of feet to the concrete below. Turning her into a human pudding cup, of sorts. Hard on the outside but soft and wobbly on the inside. Definitely not how bones should be. As they move down the hallway, Crowley unclips grenade upon grenade from his utility belt, pulling the pins and throwing them through the various screen doors of the offices that line the hallway, some resulting in mere small explosions, some are much more interesting. Various parts of electrical equipment slam through the glass, followed by fingers, toes, the odd ear and a glass eyeball, which Jack picks up, polishes on his shoulder and pops into his pocket. Chuckles continues to skip in front of his, I'd say partner, but that sounds homoerotic and clowns kinda scare me. So I'll say associate, that's less gay and more.. businesslike and formal. Chuckles continues to skip down the plush hallway in front of his associate before stopping dead in front of a large set of bolted black doors, iron clad in appearance with the words INMATE INFIRMARY written above in a large black gothic font.
"This must be the inmate infirmary." "Your genius is unrivalled, you know that, right?" "I do, yes. Ya know, I once had an idea, that, you could put like, wheels on chairs to help old people get around easiers. I always had trouble coming up a good, sorta, catchy name. Lazyvehicles. Sofabikes.. nothing sounds right."
"What about, oh, I don't know. Wheelchairs?" "Well, bend me over and fuck me sideways. That's perfect. How did you think of that?" Chuckles sighs as he loads a grenade into the launcher that's resting over his shoulder, preparing to blow the door. "Sometimes Jack, these things just come to me. Now, stand back.." Crowley moves forward, placing one hand on his crotch, the other on his face, framing his chin with his forefinger and thumb, pouting through his mask, his legs spread. "I said stand BACK not stand bla... oh, nevermind." Ignoring both his safety and of his business associate. Chuckles pulls the trigger of the grenade launcher, firing a single shell into the huge iron doors. Blasting them clean open and firing them both across the open flooring of the infirmary, smouldering rubble and flames surrounding the hole where they used to be. "Suzy sweetheart, daddies here to rescue you..!" A muffled scream is heard in the distance..
""And Uncle Jack! Friendly Uncle Jack that brings you presents and buys you ice creams and takes you on trips to the zoo! Not Uncle Jack who takes you to a special dark cave and touches your boy parts!" Chuckles slowly rears his head towards Jack and slips his revolver out of his holster, raising it slightly and shooting Jack in the foot. Crowley hangs his head and begins to sob quietly. Hobbling after Tommy as he moves over the rubble and through the smoke into the infirmary.
"That hurt, your a dick." "Do you want to be confined to a sofabike for the rest of your miserable, irritating, piss and beer sodden life? No? Then shut the fuck up before I cut off your legs and beat you into a fucking coma with them. Whereby their only use will serve as a pair of sticks for visitors to poke you with whilst you sleep. Shut your trap."
Crowley hangs his head and continues to follow after Tommy, dragging his bullet hole ridden foot behind him. The only noise in the room a wet, irritating screeching coming from Jack's boot as it's pulled across the linoleum. Moving through the room, a brief sound of a struggle is head in the background, shadows obscured by a privacy curtain around one of the bed bays. Two shapes, one large and portly, the other slim and slender but curvy. Chuckles gently moved towards the curtain, raising a single finger, telling Jack to stay where he is. Pulling back the curtain to see Suzy, in half of her regular.. should we call it.. costume? A single high heel black leather boot, the white make up, the purple eye mask.. one red leather glove and a slightly unbuttoned white blouse and red and black leather underwear, matching of course. She's being held up against the wall, by, one can only assume, an orderly. A large, fat, gelatinous turd of a man. Much like Rex Cleevej. How's that for match relevance? Bastards. The unnamed orderly, who for now, we shall refer to as Tex Gleevej has one of his greasy, sausage fingered hands over Suzy's beautiful lips and has slipped the other firmly inside Suzy's panties, rummaging, fondling and playing. Groaning and growling away like a hippo that’s just finishing wanking.
Suzy's hands are gripped tightly into his back, her nails digging into his immense back fat. Looks like the pink Himalayas. Having torn through his scrubs. It's then, that Tommy realizes, the sound is not of a struggle, but of pleasure. Chuckles slowly raises a gloved fist to his mouth and coughs, loudly, gaining both Tex and Suzy's attention. Tex's head snaps towards Tommy who smiles sweetly, raising his revolver and firing a single shot into the gigantic man's gut, dropping him to the floor, Suzy gasping for air as his hand slips out of her panties. Which are now, soaking wet, even going to far as to leak down her thigh. Suzy breathes slow, heavy and pants, her knees shaking. Her hands now tightly gripped on the walls beside her.
"So sorry, did I happen to interrupt? I do apologize for risking my life by breaking INTO a fucking prison, storming the halls risking MY life whilst you we're here all along, pinned up against the wall by Mr Sweat N' Stink on the floor, being FUCKING MOLESTED!"
Chuckles is then so rudely interrupted by the sound of a lardass gurgling blood. As he looks down, to see Tex, crawling towards him on his hands and knees, dripping blood and stomach acid all over the infirmary's beautiful flooring.
".. and what exactly do you want? You fat leaky bastard."
"FF-F--FFF-UCKKK... YO-UU--UU CLOWN!"
Tommy wastes no time in pulling the trigger on one of his revolvers, sending a single shot hurtling through Tex's skull, resonating around the room. Proving how simple it is to end the struggles of an overweight loser with no potential, skills or discernible talent. During this whole farce, Jack has sat down in, oh the irony. A wheelchair, whilst he holds his foot up next to his face, looking through the fucking great hole Chuckles made by shooting him. He blows through it and even pokes his finger through it a couple of times, at no point wincing or flinching in the slightest. Chuckles tries not to pay any notice, but can't help but chuckle to himself as he looks Suzy up and down, she's still panting, waving her hand in front of her face, trying to cool down.
"Miissttaa... C.. I.. uh.. urm.. ah.. I, heard you coming."
"Same to you sweetheart, same to you. Who's the fatass?"
"An orderly pumpkin.. he was ya know, touchin' my boy.. uh, lady parts. I was waitin' for ya.. I could hear your laughin'.. you know how it get me..""
"Suzy, get dressed. Jack, load that rifle and get off your ass. I don't care if you have to mould a cast on your foot yourself. We're getting outta here."
Chuckles loads his twin revolvers and watches as Suzy bends over to pick up her other boot admiring the curvature of her hips before grinning, his yellow stained teeth contrasting against the deep, infected red of his lips.
"Let's get the fuck out of this place, hospitals give me the creeps."
"They give me erections.."
Tommy fires a single shot over his shoulder, without looking, of course as Suzy zips up the back of her corset and reaches under her bed, pulling out a pair of 9mm hand guns. Jack sits, slumped in the wheelchair, his hands wrapped firmly around his testicles.
"Not anymore Jacky boy, not anymore. Let's get going boys and girls, daddy has to pay an old friend a visit and on the way, I may just have to pop into NEW. There's this new guy there now, called Timothy Chucklington. I've never seen his work before, but I've heard very good things. Very good things indeed."
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