WOLFMANS 15: RETURN TO RAJADA ~DAY 2 ENDS 7PMEST~

There are worse ways to spend the time, but not many.

Postby grammatron » Sun Feb 21, 2016 7:47 pm

You know what, pal? I'd issued a standing invite to any members of our community to come out to the ranch and stand with me against the tyrannical government if and when they attempt to oust me from the land I call home, but you can consider your invitation revoked. I'm so mad I could spit.
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Postby Luke » Sun Feb 21, 2016 7:47 pm

MY KIA!!
Catullus wrote:I'm not the arbitrator of nudes I just pointed out what made me sad inside.
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Postby werd » Sun Feb 21, 2016 7:48 pm

That's for Alice
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Postby grammatron » Sun Feb 21, 2016 7:48 pm

Well that was unfortunately timed, but still.
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Postby can't » Sun Feb 21, 2016 7:53 pm

I'd have the police raid your crazy radical fort if I weren't convinced you'd shoot them all to death
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Postby grammatron » Sun Feb 21, 2016 7:57 pm

I am a friend to all law enforcement (#PoliceLivesMatter), but you are right to assume they would not raid my ranch without some resistance from me, my loyal dog Jemp, and my goats.
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Postby palmer eldritch » Sun Feb 21, 2016 7:57 pm

if you're good you should probably like send some feelers out to this dude right here
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Postby lordofdiapers » Sun Feb 21, 2016 7:57 pm

Apologies accepted
Stuntman wrote:Does anyone remember Late Night Cheeseburger? That was my jam. Tasted like BO.
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Postby palmer eldritch » Sun Feb 21, 2016 7:57 pm

especially someone from the book club cause are you really going to let a fucking tanner do your job for you???
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Postby lordofdiapers » Sun Feb 21, 2016 8:05 pm

So here's the plan, we keep killing wolves, sound cool?
Stuntman wrote:Does anyone remember Late Night Cheeseburger? That was my jam. Tasted like BO.
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Postby sevenarts » Sun Feb 21, 2016 8:07 pm

Hey guys I'm just a guest in town so sorry to keep pointing out the obvious but any good specials should probably contact the self professed tanner anonymously, even after his role in this today.

I'm more than happy to follow the lead of the non-tanner people who were involved in this from now on though.
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Postby palmer eldritch » Sun Feb 21, 2016 8:09 pm

no one contact me anonymously please
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Postby iambic » Sun Feb 21, 2016 8:15 pm

wouldn't it be better to contact lod, who's claiming an actual good role and not a wacky neutral one?

no offense, floyd..
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Postby lordofdiapers » Sun Feb 21, 2016 8:20 pm

Yeah hit me up
Stuntman wrote:Does anyone remember Late Night Cheeseburger? That was my jam. Tasted like BO.
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Postby inspectorhound » Sun Feb 21, 2016 8:57 pm

whats up guys

how we lookin
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Postby palmer eldritch » Sun Feb 21, 2016 9:02 pm

hey steve
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Postby inspectorhound » Sun Feb 21, 2016 9:03 pm

boy today sure was an ... experience
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Postby palmer eldritch » Sun Feb 21, 2016 9:04 pm

totally
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Postby lordofdiapers » Sun Feb 21, 2016 9:05 pm

Lookin good bud
Stuntman wrote:Does anyone remember Late Night Cheeseburger? That was my jam. Tasted like BO.
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Postby lordofdiapers » Sun Feb 21, 2016 9:10 pm

You guys arent going to kill me I bet

Super smart
Stuntman wrote:Does anyone remember Late Night Cheeseburger? That was my jam. Tasted like BO.
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Postby can't » Sun Feb 21, 2016 9:13 pm

don't taunt the radicals Kip. They don't know what they are doing. It's not nice.
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Postby Kaputt » Mon Feb 22, 2016 6:27 am

Don looks in the mirror and smiles. Today feels like a full Windsor day. As he loops the softest red tie available on the market around his fingers, Don winks at the mirror. "Today I am going to make some money".
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Postby wendy » Mon Feb 22, 2016 8:22 am

The shakes rouse Wendy out of a fitful sleep. She checks the clock and groans. It's too early for this shit.

She rolls out of bed and heads down to the kitchen where she breaks her no drinking before 5pm rule to take a few swigs of Pappy (23 year), then turns on the news. The newscaster's voice cuts through morning quiet.

Elliot Salevyn of the Whatever It's Called pub on Dust Hill Road was lynched by a mob of angry Rajada View residents last night, and when his body stopped grossly twitching and shit it was revealed that he was, in fact, moonlighting as a Cable Guy, a faction of radicals set on preventing the great people of this town from enjoying the mystical adventures of the amazing Theresa Caputo.

Don't touch that dial! After this? Nine consecutive commercials about the next episode of Long Island Medium. After that? Nine more, and then the weather. See you soon, Rajada View!

Wendy stares, slack jawed, at the picture on the screen. Sure enough it's Salevyn, the person she resented least in all of Rajada View. That wasn't saying a lot but it was something, and his knack for pouring bourbon was unparalleled. And he, a radical?

She looks nervously out the window.

Are more out there? Can they see her now? Do they know she's scared? Would she have to drink at Applebee's from now on or would someone else take over whatever his dumb bar was called?

One thing's for sure, she decides. She'll never skip a day of drinking again. And when her shipment of colored pencils comes in she'll shift her focus from old, cold cases to current ones.

The radicals are the ones who should be afraid. Oh, yes yes yes.
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Postby mudd » Mon Feb 22, 2016 9:24 am

Just after the parking lamps shut off outside sam's, a small team of couriers has coalesced in the sam's club parking lot. There seem to be two little clusters of grey-uniformed activity, circling slowly around the are where the shooting took place an hour or so earlier. Each team features a pair of couriers stumbling around with a portable flood light, another waving a long green rod with a flying saucer bottom that might be an army surplus mine detector, and then a final courier on what looks like a stationary bicycle pedaling furiously behind them. There are long, tangled cables extending from the bike to the lamp that seem to supplying the power necessary to keep the lamp burning. Every few minutes the lampholders and the mine sweep set down their gear, circle around the biker, and physically move both biker and bike closer to their own gear so the power cable can reach as they expand their search further.

One the one team, the biking courier is pedaling quite powerfully, with a look of concentration that doesn't break even when the movers stumble and drop him abruptly halfway through their journey. The biker on the other squad is getting sleepier and sleepier, and one of the light carriers keeps having to double back and snap him awake. It's on one of these trips back that the minesweeper on his team give a shout and the sweeper itself a sharp beep, surprising the now-solo light bearer and causing him to lose control of his lamp. The bulb smashes against pavement with a pop like gunfire, shocking the light bearers on the other team who drop their lamp as well. The parking lot plummets into complete darkness.

After a few minutes one of the couriers produces a weak pen light, and starts hunting for the minesweeper who found the prize. They play a bizarre game of marco polo, but the other couriers are confused and keep answering as well causing their flashlight-wielding colleague to scurry around back and forth until finally locating his target. at that point, he puts the flashlight between his teeth and he and the sweeper get down on hands and knees and search the ground thoroughly. After maybe 15 minutes of crawling about, with his exposed knees all pockmarked and raw from the asphalt, the flashlight wielder shouts happily and stands suddenly. This causes the flashlight to drop from his mouth and go out, so it takes another couple of minutes for him to recover the flashlight and confirm that he has, in fact, found the shell casing from the bullet that killed Elliot Salevyn. At this point the other couriers, who were variously standing about respectfully or napping in place, gather around and pat him on the back. The casing goes into a prepared envelope and into a pocket, and both search crews head back towards the bike rack where their bicycles are waiting patiently. With the light of their bike lamps, they release the stationary bikes, load the generator cables mine sweepers and lamps into bike-pulled carts, and prepare to head out.

Just before mounting, one of the shorter couriers bends to pick up what appears to be a cable crimping tool still sitting on the pavement from the event earlier. Another courier slaps his wrist back and shakes his head severely. The shorter fellow shrugs apologetically and both mount up and follow the crowd out of the parking lot and back towards the Estates.

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Postby adamtrask » Mon Feb 22, 2016 11:14 am

Maxwell Titcomb sat straight up out of a restless sleep, yesterday's sherry and then whatever else-- Absinthe? Fernet Branca? he wasn't even certain-- rattled in his head. He stared for a moment at the flat, beige wall of his so-called master suite-- a monstrosity to be certain, but with a certain very contemporary sterile charm. He walked into his bathroom-- brown granite and brass fixtures-- and slowly brushed his teeth as his tried to clear his mind and ascertain the events of yesterday. The evening was celebratory, to be sure, but not his usual evening of sherry and loud opera. He blinked at his reflection in the mirror. He had been with the townspeople of Rajada; they had drank and listened to loud music-- not unusual all told-- but the musician, terrible, loud, thumping... what had the young man told him his name was? A dog of some sort... Pitbull? Yes. That was it. They had drank and listened to Pitbull, whatever that was. He smiled at his own memory of the event. It wasn't the sort of revelry to which he was accustomed, but it was something celebratory at least.

"Selwyn," he mouthed out loud through the toothpaste. The man at whose pub Maxwell kept an imported case of amontillado sherry so he could drink in the company of his fellow Rajadans, he had been a radical hiding in plain site, moonlighting as a cable repair man in order to try to pervert Rajadan television broadcasts. So it was true what they were saying, there was a terrorist cell here in Rajada-- poor, left-wing terrorists at that-- and they were trying to bring everything in this town to a halt. "For the love of Ezra Pound!" he said as he spat his toothpaste into the sink.

At least they had lynched the son-of-a-bitch. The display was a tad gauche, to be sure, but it certainly was memorable, as it had penetrated the dark, heavy velvet vale that drunkenness had dropped over his head. Perhaps from now going forward he would stick to the sherry he knew and loved. With so much danger in town, he needed his head to be clear.
Stuntman wrote:The party's over and we're just the people who are too drunk to drive home and everyone is fighting over who gets to sleep on the couch.
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Postby bongo » Mon Feb 22, 2016 11:19 am

busted.. axe in the door?? didnt we talk about the mercedes logo lastnight??
yeaaaaaaaaaaaa american nostalgia love it suburban living civilized families this could be my life
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Postby bigcat » Mon Feb 22, 2016 11:47 am

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Postby surly » Mon Feb 22, 2016 12:01 pm

universe wrote:A professor once told me that the medium is the message.

BOO THIS MAN.
lordofdiapers wrote:damn it Greedo will forever fuck that word for me
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Postby Catullus » Mon Feb 22, 2016 12:03 pm

Mediums sound like a lot of hippie bullshit.

I thought we were past that.
opi wrote:like i don't think it's possible for catullus to be duplicitous, whereas pretty much every other poster at the time struck me as having one foot in shinra
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Postby surly » Mon Feb 22, 2016 12:05 pm

No, Rajada Views Estate loves TLC's Hit Program The Long Island Medium.
lordofdiapers wrote:damn it Greedo will forever fuck that word for me
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