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Help, Nitrous problem!


TurboLancer

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My boss says he's gotta get you guys racing again so he can make some money off your asses, there's an event down in the desert called 'racewars' and that's where you'll do it. Hit up TurboLancer for directions, i'm heading there now, there's a fool runnin' an S2000 there, I know who it is and that he has unlimited funds to build up his car, but my dad's Jetta will decimate all!! When I win i'll buy more med's for my Attention......Atte.......A.D.D...YES that sscrap.

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So, you are obviously the big weiner. The men on the side of ya are your balls. There are two types of balls. There are big brave balls, and there are little mincey ###### balls.

 

Now, dicks have drive and clarity of vision, but they are not clever. They smell pootie and they want a piece of the action. And you thought you smelled some good old pootie, and have brought your two small mincey ###### balls along for a good old time. But you've got your parties mangled up. There's no pootie here, just a dose that'll make you wish you were born a woman. Like a prick, you are having second thoughts. You are shrinking, and your two little balls are shrinking with ya. The fact that you've got "Replica" written down the side of your gun. (withdraws his gun) And the fact that I've got "Desert Eagle point five O" written on the side of mine, should precipitate your balls into shrinking, along with your presence. Now... fawk off.

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Who said that? Who the fawk said that? Who's the slimy little communist crap, twinkle-toed cocksucker down here who just signed his own death warrant? Nobody, huh? The fairy f*cking godmother said it. Out-f*cking-standing. I will PT you all until you f*cking die. I'll PT you until your buttheads are sucking buttermilk.

[Gunnery Sgt. Hartman grabs Pvt. Cowboy by the shirt]

Gunnery Sergeant Hartman: Was it you, you scroungy little fawk, huh?

Private Cowboy: Sir, no Sir!

Gunnery Sergeant Hartman: You little piece of crap you look like a f*cking worm, I bet it was you.

Private Cowboy: Sir, no Sir!

Private Joker: Sir, I said it, Sir!

Gunnery Sergeant Hartman: Well, no crap. What do we have here, a f*cking comedian! Private, Joker! I admire your honesty. Hell, I like you, you can come over to my house and fawk my sister!

[Gunnery Sgt. Hartman punches Pvt. Joker in the stomach]

Gunnery Sergeant Hartman: You little scumbag! I got your name, I got your ass! You will not laugh, you will not cry, you will learn by the numbers, I will teach you! Now get up off your face! Pvt. Joker you better unfrack yourself before I unscrew your head and crap down your neck!

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