Cody Christano: The Life of an American Scum Bucket
You go insane and start throwing things all over the record store, picking up the cash register and throwing it against the wall, stomping cds in half as Uncle Soda rips apart band posters on the walls.
"MIDNIGHT TERROR CREW FOR LIFE MUTHAFUCKAAAAASSS! BEOFRE NIGHT FALLS THERE IS ONLY DUSK BITCHES!" You scream as you kick the record store owner in the gut.
Customers scream, running out of the store in fear, some even cowering before your rage.
"Im gonna be famous you posers! Midnight Terror Crew is gonna be famous!" You unzip your pants and begin to piss on the carpeted floor of the record store. You wave your cock at little children as they screech in horror; your piss covering everything in it's path. You hear the owner sobbing like a little bitch.
Silence grips the store. You look around at the mayhem you have caused and smile like a boy on his birthday. Uncle Soda and you exit the store, satisfied.
Eventually word gets round of the atrocious destruction caused by the Midnight Terror Crew. Fear grips the moral citizens of the city, yet the rebellious youth are intrigued. They want Midnight Terror Crew albums. You have gained yourself street cred, now people want to hear the music that inspires your real life rage.
Midnight Terror Crew is unable to keep up with the demand of their first album, which goes gold in 6 months. You are signed by a record company and become a millionaire. Uncle Soda and yourself now live the good life. Sitting in your gold hot tub eating fish eggs (which is fancy food for rich people you gather), with skanky ho's at your disposal; you ponder your next move.
"MIDNIGHT TERROR CREW FOR LIFE MUTHAFUCKAAAAASSS! BEOFRE NIGHT FALLS THERE IS ONLY DUSK BITCHES!" You scream as you kick the record store owner in the gut.
Customers scream, running out of the store in fear, some even cowering before your rage.
"Im gonna be famous you posers! Midnight Terror Crew is gonna be famous!" You unzip your pants and begin to piss on the carpeted floor of the record store. You wave your cock at little children as they screech in horror; your piss covering everything in it's path. You hear the owner sobbing like a little bitch.
Silence grips the store. You look around at the mayhem you have caused and smile like a boy on his birthday. Uncle Soda and you exit the store, satisfied.
Eventually word gets round of the atrocious destruction caused by the Midnight Terror Crew. Fear grips the moral citizens of the city, yet the rebellious youth are intrigued. They want Midnight Terror Crew albums. You have gained yourself street cred, now people want to hear the music that inspires your real life rage.
Midnight Terror Crew is unable to keep up with the demand of their first album, which goes gold in 6 months. You are signed by a record company and become a millionaire. Uncle Soda and yourself now live the good life. Sitting in your gold hot tub eating fish eggs (which is fancy food for rich people you gather), with skanky ho's at your disposal; you ponder your next move.