Post by SEAMAC on Jun 29, 2017 18:00:34 GMT -6
~ Petrov-thethic 1.lolz.exe ~
~ Petrov-thethic 2.lolz.exe ~
Yah, P, I get it. You’z a joke. A straight up walking punchline that ol’ Z about to punch out like a NES k-k-k-klassik. You been what you been for a long time, nearly as long as ol’ Z been a horrorcore killah up in the DUB but we here in the U now and now I got two belts around my waist a fancy pussy ass cyborg to smash on to pass the mother fucking time. I’mma make this quick on you – real fucking quick. I ain’t here to play games or deal with slovic retards from the great white – wherever the fuck it is you’re from. It don’t matter because Ol’ Z about to send you back there in a pine fuckin box with that new Petrov air in the breeze kinda smell. Send your robo head along from the ride that way you can see what the fuck is going on because right – I don’t think you can. Duder cant even see the forest in the trees -> he don’t even know that hes in danger. He don’t even know that this shits already over.
Funny thing is P, I might got an ounce of respect for you -> If’n I could. I mean, you show up, you say ‘fuck you buddy’ and you leave. I mean, I got that too.
LOL
FGT.
Dude, you really need to learn to streamline your hate. Hate is baggage, so you might as well make it carry on.
One mans Hate leads to another fate -> Or sum faggot azz shit like that. I think I saw that in a life time special movie where some fifty year old goes all Woody Allen and adopts a hawt piece of Asian poon for the soul purpose of training her up to make a decent sandwich after a drunken night of “CSI: PTSD pedophile.”
But cha boi, ol’ Z, he aint about shitty tag lines. All my tag lines are gold. Like the gold I got around my waist and the gold that I’m going to retain on Monday night when Petrov gets his shit pushed in and his wrektum wrekt.
Truth be told, fuck your career, buddy. Truth be told, fuck your tag lines buddy -> You gone need more than that to come at this Honey Badger strong style. N’ you -> You don’t even got the style. You got two left feet cut off and glued to your hands.
Your hands, P, they glued to your cheeks. They glued there to keep em’ spread so ol’ Z can walk up behind your punk ass and bust on them like the day is long.
L
O
N
G
son.
This shit gone feel like fo’evah with ZMAC behind jew, busting the cheese whiz steroid out cha glutes then slap that shit on some steak and make a decent sandwich out cha rotten carcass.
Fuck yo grave site, buddy -> ZMAC be runnin that shit. ZMAC be ownin that shit. ZMAC be owning you because you -> just like everyone else are just another victim.
~ The Elvis ~
The congo.
Set up at a different base camp and still on the hunt for Dave Chapelle, ZMAC is off in the woods, trying to find a pot to squat in. ZMAC is far from base camp, too far and too hidden behind dense flora that hasn’t seen a human since fo’evah. Once ol’ Z is done taking the deuce he reaches out for what he thinks is a tree branch but ends up being a green and brown colored viper that coils around and strikes ZMAC multiple times in the meat of his hand, wrist and thumb; injecting him with a venom unknown to science. ZMAC winces and bats the snake away before stumbling into more familiar territory away from such things. ZMAC takes visual stock of his hand and counts the puncture wounds with venom dripping from them. Quickly his breathing becomes labored and his vision disoriented. He tries to run back towards camp but his muscles cramp with searing pain. His stomach knots as it begins to take on blood. ZMAC manages to push through and make it to camp before collapsing just beyond its edge. Ruby Red sees him and rushes to his side in a panic.
“Z!? Z this isn’t funny! Stop it! Stop it!” She screams as she pounds on his chest which only manages to get ZMAC to cough up coagulated blood. Blood starts to leak from his nose, mouth and tear ducts. His breathing stops as his lungs fill with blood. His bright yellow eyes fade as Ruby holds his hands in an attempt to comfort him in his final moments. “I love you,” she whimpers with tears in her eyes. Ruby held on for as long as ZMAC could until his grip loosened and fell limp..
….
~ Good Day Ma’am ~
Aboard the Ellie-Frey, 1668.
ZMAC wakes up in a hemp hammock below deck of the Ellie-Frey, It was in the realm of the Spanish Nao class of ships. It was large and held cargo for merchants, that is until some poor sod gets his wig split. Now the vessel belongs to ZMACS old pirate crew. ZMAC slides out of the hammock and cracks his neck and rolls his joints, lie putting on a suit that been in the closet too long and have stiffened with time. He is bare chested and his solid black tattoos on his chest are still somewhat fresh; maybe a few weeks ago if that. He is tanner than normal with a more muscular tone. He over the underside of his right arm to see a series of years inked into his skin.
“ > 1 ST”
“??”
“$$”
“1200’s”
“1400’s”
“1600’s “
The 1600’s was the freshest, clearest and least weathered. That, combined with his new chest tattoos can tell him enough about where he is in one of his past lives. The smell of the sea air drove him up on deck where the wide blue ocean was there to greet him. He smiles wide, looking around and remember faces that used to be so very distant.
The crew slept in the shifts, some would work double and others would rotate. If you rotate on stretch, you worked a double on the next. It just so happens that this is ZMACs rotation. He walks towards the mast and starts to climb some cargo netting up towards the crow’s nest. That was always ZMACs job as his yellow eyes gave him better vision than everyone else. ZMAC makes it to the crow’s nest and relives his ship mate who begins the climb down. ZMAC settles into a familiar setting and yet longs for the one that he left behind. Ruby is some four hundred years into the future but ZMAC knows that in two days time he’ll be back at the Sip N’ Go gas station. However, this among his most enjoyable lifetimes. ZMAC continued to smile and nodded towards the sea, paying respect to an old mistress.
“mah’ lady. Nice to be with you again.”
Down below The crew began to sing “Drunken Sailor” to mock the changing of the shifts.
“Nice to be with you, indeed.”
The ol’ Z climbed up into the very top of the mast and sat up to watch the rolling sea.
“I’m going to enjoy these few days with you” ZMAC looks down at the crew then back towards the sea. “ – And with them.” ZMAC sat comfortably without a care in the world. Right now it is was just him, the ocean and his shipmates. Some of the best times he’s ever had.
~ Petrov-thethic 3.lolz.exe ~
