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Simon watched, satisfied as his phlegm leapt a good kilometre through the air and demolished an orphanage.
That'll learn him
Content to just kick abck and relax now that his enemy was clearly defeated, something Simon assumed to be so definitely true it wasn't even worth taking a few steps to cross the town and investigate, that he sat back, stretched out over some train tracks and a bowling alley, ripped out another beer and cracked it open.
"Carlsberg Export. Is there anything better?"
He said to himself, NONCHALANTLY.
BAM!
"Ahhhh!"
Tears welled in Simon's eyes and he had to bite at his lip to stop from crying or spilling his beer. SOMETHING HAD ATTACKED HIS LEG!
It had torn through his ****ing jeans! And upon closer inspection, Simon spotted a raise lump on the inside of his thigh, sore and pussy...like an insect bite...or..
"ohhhhh, you little bastard, in my blood stream eh?"
Well I know how to counter that!
Simon eyed up his ammo belt of lagers and ales. It would be a shame to down some of them, Special Brew was something to be savoured. But desperate times call for desperate measures.
And so an alcoholic bing had begun. |
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Bastard
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