Recon.
Kirk was lyin' in wait. A predator. A stone-cold motherfuckin' bonafide war dawg, one with the land, one with the prey, one with the snow tricklin' down his ass crack. He was buried in the shit - only thing visible his eyes, watchin' the boardwalk he was concealed next to, waitin' for his chance to pounce.
It wasn't that Kirk was bored, hell nah. He was just keepin' up his disguise. Far as he saw it, he was still Sergeant Lincoln Osiris, and Osiris'd wanna keep up his trainin', right? Hidin' in bushes and ambushing enemy soldiers and shit.
Okay, so there weren't no enemy soldiers here, but he'd make do with the first motherfucker came walking along unsuspectin' past his little pile o' hidey-snow.
He wasn't carryin' no rifle or no knife or nothin' so hopefully they wouldn't shit they pants.
There. Someone was comin'. He could hear 'em, coming in his direction. He waited until he could see the feet, though. Wasn't that the saying? Wait til you can see the soles o' your enemy's feet 'fore you attacked?
Anyhow, he could see 'em. It was time.
And so, with a mighty war yodel, Kirk Lazarus leapt up outta the snow, sendin' it flyin' every which way, and hurled himself towards his prey.
"HANDS UP, MUDDAFUCKA! GET YO' ASS ON THE GROUND!" His voice was muffled some from the snow in his mouth, in his beard - hell, it was in his jacket, but he didn't care none. This was war. No, this was worse.
This was gin-yoo-wine actin', bitch.
It wasn't that Kirk was bored, hell nah. He was just keepin' up his disguise. Far as he saw it, he was still Sergeant Lincoln Osiris, and Osiris'd wanna keep up his trainin', right? Hidin' in bushes and ambushing enemy soldiers and shit.
Okay, so there weren't no enemy soldiers here, but he'd make do with the first motherfucker came walking along unsuspectin' past his little pile o' hidey-snow.
He wasn't carryin' no rifle or no knife or nothin' so hopefully they wouldn't shit they pants.
There. Someone was comin'. He could hear 'em, coming in his direction. He waited until he could see the feet, though. Wasn't that the saying? Wait til you can see the soles o' your enemy's feet 'fore you attacked?
Anyhow, he could see 'em. It was time.
And so, with a mighty war yodel, Kirk Lazarus leapt up outta the snow, sendin' it flyin' every which way, and hurled himself towards his prey.
"HANDS UP, MUDDAFUCKA! GET YO' ASS ON THE GROUND!" His voice was muffled some from the snow in his mouth, in his beard - hell, it was in his jacket, but he didn't care none. This was war. No, this was worse.
This was gin-yoo-wine actin', bitch.