- last post: 01.01.0001 12:00 AM PDT
And so another uneventful day passes in the city. The diminishing lynch mob still huddles around the latest mafia victim. Even the presense of maggots crawling about the fetid and decaying husk that used to be Sigma, the loveable purple hippo, is not enough to stir this mob into any form of action. No, they are content to stand around, thumbs firmly entrenched in their entrails. Only a couple of these cityfolk have maintained their wits and are trying to rile the mob into motion. But it may all be in vain. Even now the effects of thirst, starvation, and sleep depravation are beginning to take their toll. Madness is slowly creeping into the minds of the mob. Logic and rationale are fleeting. BadKarma begins eyeing everyone hungrily. "Why are these people taking so damn long?" he wonders to himself. The sudden realization that these meat bags, in their sloth, are preventing him from eating fried chicken, drinking a Mt. Dew, and playing Halo hits him. "We must get back to the precious!" BadKarma explodes into a flurry of movement as he performs a series of Hong Kong style action moves. Within moments, the mob of slack-jawed gawkers lie in pools of their own blood, urine, and feces. Satisfied that the whole mafia situation has been dealt with, BadKarma retires to his home to gorge himself on his long awaited reward. All he hears, as he reaches out to open the door, is a whizz. A single word escapes his dead lips, "bastards..." And the world goes black as the inside of BadKarma's head decorates the door.
In the distance, a sinister laugh can be heard. Reiginko jumps in his car and drives off to the next town, looking to sew the seeds of chaos anew.
The (unofficial) End.
[Edited on 8/3/2004 9:27:23 AM]