“Hey, hey, that’s friggin’ tight, Jagannath. I thought I told you to trim your chest hair, you fuckin’ terrorist.”
“Bitch, did I say look at me like I owe you money or some shit? Stupid motherfucker.”
“Bitch, I wouldn’t be wrong to punch you in the Adam’s apple, now would I? Say yes.”
“Good 29. We wanna be stupid, huh? Shit’s about to get crazy in here!”
“HANDS ON YOUR KNEES! BIG PACKS! FUCK YOUR VOLUME!”
“Your mom goes to college.”
“Bitch motherfucker. You’re always keeping your mouth open, and uh, that could mean…any number of things. Like shit goin’ in there that you just might not want to have in there. Or maybe you do, you dumb bitch.”
“Carlos Hathcock was a badass motherfucker, you understand? He crawled two thousand meters over two nights. Most of you motherfuckers can’t even make it to the back hatch in time. The enemy put a price of $30,000 on his head. $30,000 was a lot of money back then. IT STILL IS!”
Here’s a little ditty we sang in cadence:
A little yellow birdy with a little yellow bill
Landed on my window sill
Lured him in with a piece of bread
Then I crushed his little fucking head
Blood and guts.
Everywhere.
Drink the blood.
Eat the guts.
You should have seen the interpretive dance version.
