Wedding Carnage
I would like to thank Evan Belgium, the white whale, Brant Emerson, Tshimanga Bradley, and everyone else who helped facilitate large amounts of carnage and bloodshed in St. Louis Missouri this weekend. Although Otis Carson escaped, I think enough people were killed that I was able to make my point. Here's my log from the weekend's festivities...
Friday 1800 hours- Bradley, Emerson and I parachute into the St Louis suburbs and take refuge in the home of fellow mercenary Evan Belgium, and set up a 50 caliber, PIAT and sandbags in the upstairs bedrooms. This will be our temporary HQ for the operation.
Friday 2100 hours- As we are planning our attack on Carson from a local watering hole, a buxom female bar patron unwittingly catches my eye, and I do the standard thing and threaten her with a butter-knife. The management is displeased, some idiot starts shooting, and we run out the back.
Saturday 0300 hours -Bradley, Belgium and I interrupt a drug transaction involving several enterprising St Louis youths outside a local bar. Belgium and one of the drug-dealing children begin to reach for their guns. But suddenly Ricky Beltran (left for dead by me several times in the last two months) appears out of nowhere in a pick-up truck and begins to yell at everyone and inexplicably flashes thousands of dollars of American currency. I reach for my panzerschreck but realize I left it in Tunis. Rats! More gun-shots erupt and everyone scatters. We look back in the direction of Ricky Beltran, but "poof," he's gone.
Saturday 1600 hours (H-hour)- As the wedding goers gather inside the chapel for Otis' wedding, I ready the explosive charges. After much preparation, I flick the detonator switches, but nothing happens. I flick them again. Still nothing. Something went terribly wrong, and the charges do not go off. My god now I know how those poor Krauts on Nijmegan bridge felt. Our back-up plan is for McGelboim to strafe the wedding party with the McStallen Attack Helicopter, but the helicopter remains grounded all weekend due to nasty St Louis fog patterns, and the back-up plan never comes into fruition.
Saturday 2200 hours- We flee to another bar to drink away our sorrows, vowing to locate and destroy at least one enemy village before we leave St Louis as a sort of consolation to the botched wedding massacre.
Sunday 0300 hours- Unable to locate such a village, Emerson, me, Bradley and Belgium return dejected to Belgium's house and begin to cap off our night with a few rounds of Russian Roulette. Our fun is interrupted when Bradley hallucinates and begins seeing visions of an imagery accountant. He pulls his handgun from his waste and attempts to leave the house, clutching Emerson as his hostage.
Bradley states, "I'm taking the bookkeeper and I'm walking, Belgium. Me and the bookkeeper are walking out of here, getting into a car, and driving away. Or else he dies... and you got nothing!
Evan shakes his head in disapproval and asks me, "You got him, McStallen?"
I say, "Yeah, I got him."
Emerson yells, "I'll talk Belgium- I'll tell you everything you want to know!"
Bradley mumbles something about his friend Charlie and tries to count to three.
Evan interrupts him and says, "Take him!"
I shoot Bradley in the head and blood and guts spill all over Belgium's terrifyingly underfurnished home. Bradley stumbles over a bean-bag chair and then tumbles to the ground dead. We molest his corpse with fresh fruit, which I guess is a St Louis thing.
Sunday 0800 hours- A few of Carson's underlings track me down and try to break into Belgium's house and kill me. We capture them, urinate on them, and then execute them in the bathroom. And then urinate on them again. And then
we mop up the mess.
God what a weekend
Friday 1800 hours- Bradley, Emerson and I parachute into the St Louis suburbs and take refuge in the home of fellow mercenary Evan Belgium, and set up a 50 caliber, PIAT and sandbags in the upstairs bedrooms. This will be our temporary HQ for the operation.
Friday 2100 hours- As we are planning our attack on Carson from a local watering hole, a buxom female bar patron unwittingly catches my eye, and I do the standard thing and threaten her with a butter-knife. The management is displeased, some idiot starts shooting, and we run out the back.
Saturday 0300 hours -Bradley, Belgium and I interrupt a drug transaction involving several enterprising St Louis youths outside a local bar. Belgium and one of the drug-dealing children begin to reach for their guns. But suddenly Ricky Beltran (left for dead by me several times in the last two months) appears out of nowhere in a pick-up truck and begins to yell at everyone and inexplicably flashes thousands of dollars of American currency. I reach for my panzerschreck but realize I left it in Tunis. Rats! More gun-shots erupt and everyone scatters. We look back in the direction of Ricky Beltran, but "poof," he's gone.
Saturday 1600 hours (H-hour)- As the wedding goers gather inside the chapel for Otis' wedding, I ready the explosive charges. After much preparation, I flick the detonator switches, but nothing happens. I flick them again. Still nothing. Something went terribly wrong, and the charges do not go off. My god now I know how those poor Krauts on Nijmegan bridge felt. Our back-up plan is for McGelboim to strafe the wedding party with the McStallen Attack Helicopter, but the helicopter remains grounded all weekend due to nasty St Louis fog patterns, and the back-up plan never comes into fruition.
Saturday 2200 hours- We flee to another bar to drink away our sorrows, vowing to locate and destroy at least one enemy village before we leave St Louis as a sort of consolation to the botched wedding massacre.
Sunday 0300 hours- Unable to locate such a village, Emerson, me, Bradley and Belgium return dejected to Belgium's house and begin to cap off our night with a few rounds of Russian Roulette. Our fun is interrupted when Bradley hallucinates and begins seeing visions of an imagery accountant. He pulls his handgun from his waste and attempts to leave the house, clutching Emerson as his hostage.
Bradley states, "I'm taking the bookkeeper and I'm walking, Belgium. Me and the bookkeeper are walking out of here, getting into a car, and driving away. Or else he dies... and you got nothing!
Evan shakes his head in disapproval and asks me, "You got him, McStallen?"
I say, "Yeah, I got him."
Emerson yells, "I'll talk Belgium- I'll tell you everything you want to know!"
Bradley mumbles something about his friend Charlie and tries to count to three.
Evan interrupts him and says, "Take him!"
I shoot Bradley in the head and blood and guts spill all over Belgium's terrifyingly underfurnished home. Bradley stumbles over a bean-bag chair and then tumbles to the ground dead. We molest his corpse with fresh fruit, which I guess is a St Louis thing.
Sunday 0800 hours- A few of Carson's underlings track me down and try to break into Belgium's house and kill me. We capture them, urinate on them, and then execute them in the bathroom. And then urinate on them again. And then
we mop up the mess.God what a weekend
posted by McStallen at
3:22 PM
9 Comments:
You delete my comments McStallen? You fool- I'll just leave another one! HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!!!!! You can never defeat me McStallen, NEVER!!!! And I let you win in Honduras- it was all part of my bigger plan to defeat you! And you are walking right into it !!!HAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!!
McStallen, do you know any Mennonites?
Actually I had an encounter with a herd of them in '88. I was working with the US government at the time, doing some black ops, and we raided a Menonite village in Ohio (USA) that was allegedly supplying food and munitions to white-supremacist "hate" groups. My god we found enough grain in there to feed every bigot and racist in Ohio. And plenty of hatchets, knives etc. So we took them into the woods and shot them all- and then burned the village to the ground. My only regret was that we forgot to interrogate them before we killed them.
McStallen, have you ever been to an In-N-Out Burger?
I own "Log-Jammin'" on DVD (director's cut), if that's what you mean
Are Brimley and Bradley the same person? It's hard to follow your story.
Apparently he keeps changing his name- odd, since he is dead, and dead men don't usually change their name or wear plaid- anyway I think I got the right one now
some people contend that touchdown tim was a bust in the NFL. to that justin milson says: "ahh, I nuzzled your wife's bust last night sonny."
While the debate will rage on, I'm here to say that I've watched a lot of this country's finest athletes descend into the belly of Michigan Stadium for a steamy shower and I have never watched a man lather up finer then touchdown tim.
Jesus Christ Bo, who cares what you think. I contend I could have beaten your Wolverine underlings with a bogus division I team like Iowa or Penn State nine times out of ten. Run on first down. Run on second down. Pass on third down. Not too hard to stop when you see it coming.
And Mercury Hayes used to have sex with sea otters.
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