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MK Kilmarnock
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Hate, hate, HATE!!!
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"Bartman, look," Jerry peppered the sentiment with an eye roll, his glance coming to a rest on the well-meaning but, as far as he was concerned, incredibly stupid kid getting between them. "You can either move that hand or I can cut off your fingers, capiche?" To make his point, Jerry's hand was already sliding into his pocket. His eyes hadn't come off of that gun. The way Matt was holding that... that wasn't how you held a gun to shoot somebody. Besides, Jerry knew the thing wasn't loaded. He was willing, but only barely, to give Matt enough credit and assume that he knew that he knew that he knew that he knew the damn thing wasn't loaded.

Jerry finished tallying the 'he knows that I know' count while drawing the switchblade. No time to savor the little 'FWIP' of the blade popping out; he had to cut straight to the good part, sneering at Matt. "Don't do this to yourself, dude. You're letting your alligator mouth run away with your hummingbird ass and if you keep fucking PUSHING me..."

It was louder than Jerry wanted to be, but his barely-constrained-frustration had pushed through the curtain to become outward rage at that one word, that one instance of 'pushing'. He held the knife up threateningly.

"You know how they like to make jokes about bringing a knife to a gun fight or lame, unoriginal shit like that?" Jerry asked. He couldn't see his own face, but he imagined his eyes were bugging out about the same way that one of his favorite wrestlers, Edge, would when getting particularly worked up. "How about when the gun doesn't have any bullets? But I'M never out of ammo!"
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You thought it was Kimiko but it was me, Jerry! · The Gym