Aight you bigass muthatruckas
anonymous
January 9 2008, 03:36:43 UTC
(( Yo. Dis be Case. Checkit one two onetwo. ))
1. Name: Bruce McMasterson. 2. Personality: Cynical and mistrusting, Bruce is never one to take something at face value. He also has a bad tendency of resorting to violence or thinking without acting. There is a more thoughtful side to him as well, and he ocassionally stops to sit and ponder the meaning of life. However, it is usually about how the conspiring government is ruining it. 3. Age: 54 4. physical description: Bruce is in definitive physical condition, and keep pace with amateur athletes in their prime. One might say he looks like an advertisor for bowflex. His hair is kept very short, in a crew cut, and he keeps his facial hair neatly trimmed, holding a small, but full soulpatch. 5. Background: Bruce used to be an average person, until the government f**cked him up the ass. He was running a small pirating business, and, in exchange for his roomate not saying anything, Bruce wouldn't say anything about his roomates underground bomb-selling business. But then, one day, three FBI men, two CIA men, and one Marine arrested him, and awarded his roomate, Osams Bin Laden, a medal of honor. Bruce has since never liked the government. He then kept to himself, fortelling the end of the world monthly, and working out maniacally. 6. Strengths: Pretty damn brolic. Knows alot about zombies and other conspiracy theories. Has some CQC training, mostly DIY and from books, but has tested its effectiveness on hippies. 7. Weaknesses: Not everything you read in books is true. Tends to not trust anything. At all. Ever. 8. WEAPONS XD: A two by four named Eduardo, and a pair of gigantic hedge clippers. He also has a nailgun. But it has to be charged up by a socket.
Bruce stared up at the sky, absentmindedly stroking his beard. He blinked, and peeked at the slowly approaching makka from the corner of his eye. He stayed perfectly still, waiting until the undead being was almost upon him, and then BAM. He lashed out with the pair of hedge clippers, cleanly shearing one of the mutant's arms off. Bruce ducked low, replacing the hedge clippers in the belt on his back, and dived away from the zombie. He was breathing heavily now, and set off at a quick pace down the street. He looked up at his apartment, and breathed an inward sigh of relief.
In it, he had stashed an armament of illegal weapons that any gun-crazed redneck would've envied. As he walked into his building, however, the sigh of relief turned into a squeak of terror. He swiveled on his heels and took off at a full run down the block. Minutes later, by the piers and sweating heavily, Bruce lay his equipment down. He pulled the straps holding his hedge clippers and two by four off his back, and looked longingly at the nailgun at his side.
" I need electricity," he managed to gasp, collapsing against a wooden post, checking his surroundings. He thought back to his apartment.
" I told them government bastards to make kevlar piercing bullets legal for purchase dammit. I told 'em, say we get invaded by zombies one day, and some punk kids decide to strap the zombies with gatz and kevlar vests. Whaddya got? Invincible zombies." Bruce growled, and drummed his fingers on his knee nervously. It was by chance then, that he heard the dieing fm radio, only barely managing to catch the last sentences of what appeared to be a cry for help.
"Washington Square Park eh?" Bruce said to himself, standing up, and grabbing his two by four, then immediately swinging it into the head of a flopping zombie dolphin.
"OH that was witty," he crooned, "Do it again!"
"Thank you," he responded, "I think I will!"
Bruce than proceede to pound the dolphin zombie into pudding. The next morning, he made his way stealthily to Washington Park, being sure to cover any trails, and sticking mainly to rooftops and fire escapes, being careful to avoid windows where he could get pulled in.
1. Name: Bruce McMasterson.
2. Personality: Cynical and mistrusting, Bruce is never one to take something at face value. He also has a bad tendency of resorting to violence or thinking without acting. There is a more thoughtful side to him as well, and he ocassionally stops to sit and ponder the meaning of life. However, it is usually about how the conspiring government is ruining it.
3. Age: 54
4. physical description: Bruce is in definitive physical condition, and keep pace with amateur athletes in their prime. One might say he looks like an advertisor for bowflex. His hair is kept very short, in a crew cut, and he keeps his facial hair neatly trimmed, holding a small, but full soulpatch.
5. Background: Bruce used to be an average person, until the government f**cked him up the ass. He was running a small pirating business, and, in exchange for his roomate not saying anything, Bruce wouldn't say anything about his roomates underground bomb-selling business. But then, one day, three FBI men, two CIA men, and one Marine arrested him, and awarded his roomate, Osams Bin Laden, a medal of honor. Bruce has since never liked the government. He then kept to himself, fortelling the end of the world monthly, and working out maniacally.
6. Strengths: Pretty damn brolic. Knows alot about zombies and other conspiracy theories. Has some CQC training, mostly DIY and from books, but has tested its effectiveness on hippies.
7. Weaknesses: Not everything you read in books is true. Tends to not trust anything. At all. Ever.
8. WEAPONS XD: A two by four named Eduardo, and a pair of gigantic hedge clippers. He also has a nailgun. But it has to be charged up by a socket.
Bruce stared up at the sky, absentmindedly stroking his beard. He blinked, and peeked at the slowly approaching makka from the corner of his eye. He stayed perfectly still, waiting until the undead being was almost upon him, and then BAM. He lashed out with the pair of hedge clippers, cleanly shearing one of the mutant's arms off. Bruce ducked low, replacing the hedge clippers in the belt on his back, and dived away from the zombie. He was breathing heavily now, and set off at a quick pace down the street. He looked up at his apartment, and breathed an inward sigh of relief.
In it, he had stashed an armament of illegal weapons that any gun-crazed redneck would've envied. As he walked into his building, however, the sigh of relief turned into a squeak of terror. He swiveled on his heels and took off at a full run down the block. Minutes later, by the piers and sweating heavily, Bruce lay his equipment down. He pulled the straps holding his hedge clippers and two by four off his back, and looked longingly at the nailgun at his side.
" I need electricity," he managed to gasp, collapsing against a wooden post, checking his surroundings. He thought back to his apartment.
" I told them government bastards to make kevlar piercing bullets legal for purchase dammit. I told 'em, say we get invaded by zombies one day, and some punk kids decide to strap the zombies with gatz and kevlar vests. Whaddya got? Invincible zombies." Bruce growled, and drummed his fingers on his knee nervously. It was by chance then, that he heard the dieing fm radio, only barely managing to catch the last sentences of what appeared to be a cry for help.
"Washington Square Park eh?" Bruce said to himself, standing up, and grabbing his two by four, then immediately swinging it into the head of a flopping zombie dolphin.
"OH that was witty," he crooned, "Do it again!"
"Thank you," he responded, "I think I will!"
Bruce than proceede to pound the dolphin zombie into pudding. The next morning, he made his way stealthily to Washington Park, being sure to cover any trails, and sticking mainly to rooftops and fire escapes, being careful to avoid windows where he could get pulled in.
"Let's see how things turn out.."
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