Dazzle Dan strode into Fibbers with a gun. The double door banged shut behind him with a thunderclap and everyone fell silent. It was not just Dan’s gun (a modified Nerf capable of firing napalm molotov’s and shrapnel grenades) which attracted attention. His spandex catsuit, covered head to toe in silver glitter caught the light most fetchingly.
‘Alright bitches !’, he yelled.
‘Your times up !’.
Without a pause Dan leapt to a table and began firing. Hot gouts of Napalm erupted everywhere and Fibbers started dying. Someone tried the door; James, a noted pedophile and manic-depressive, but Dan had it covered and James fell screaming, shrapnel coating his face with the sickly glint of blood on bone. Dan stepped close and gave him a blast of Napalm to the groin.
‘Christ, Uglahmuhagggghhh !’, groaned James, a twisted burning wreak before the door.
Gee was next, her bloated acned pigface careening into view, intent on British bulldogging Dazzle Dan into the grave of glitter. Dan span and pistol whipped her to her elephantine knees.
‘Take that’, he yelled, forcing the nerf through her flimsy tights and buckwheating the pigdog with round after round of desiccating steel.
Gee’s belly ruptured with a satisfying Glurp, sending strings of boiling rancid gut, and dried used rubbers over the faces of the Goth’s; the next to die. Like drunken children in a brutal casualty ward of slaughter, they puked their meals of milk and andrews antacid over their henna tattooed bare skinnybellys.
Dan grinned, ‘Here’s a little of what you love, Death !’, and set their Robert Smith
quiffs aflame with careful molitovs. Goths heads boiled like rancid eggs and popped, launching mashed, pulped, burning droplets of cheesy brain over stick thin his and hers androgybods.
‘Fuck yeah !’, Dan roared, and turned to face the rest.
‘One at a time bitches, one at a time’.