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|The Tale Of 1832: Part 2|
After raven had decided to blow the hell out of England, he watched from over the ledge with a .50 cal sniper rifle, which were popular in the 1800?s back then. He scanned the area, his scope flying left and right, hoping to find the ashes of KILL ? raven would know what the ashes of KILL looked like, because they always looked like pepto-bismal shards and had a completely visible brandy stench. Unfortunately, there was no line of brandy and raven was pissed; he and that band had gotten away, and were sure gonna tell the po-po. ?MARSHMALLOW RAPE BEATS,? raven screamed in utter pain. KILL had caused him so much pain and after forty years he would have had his chance to get revenge on KILL, ever since hard jams inc. had made raven?s band, Snippy the clown, go out of business, because apparently making heavy metal covers out of Disney songs wasn?t cool.
Even when raven pioneered the technical progressive techno reggae death mariachi genre, hard jams inc. had destroyed him, and in its wake, raven had destroyed tens of thousands just to get to KILL. Furious, raven began walking in the general area of paris. Dark and cruel, raven slowly navigated his way, disguised, through paris, where a bunch of French revolution outcasts were smoking authentic lsd from the shores of Haiti, where snobbish highbrow bitches were busy whining about how their wig had gotten out of place while having demons from wales shove tridents up their arses, and where the middlebrow folk stayed in the slums and talked about stupid crap like politics and the meaning of life and art. Raven made it to a graveyard and opened up a tomb, to the disgust of a bunch of derelicts, and then descended into the tomb and found a door, knocked on it. The guy at the end, who sounded like he?d drank a fifth of whiskey, said ?password?. Raven said ?neeeeck? and the guy said ?come in?. raven went into the court of miracles and found himself surrounded by the second-rates and the out of dates.
Eventually, he reached the king of the court of miracles, whos name was deviant. The guy turned off his dubstep meets ambient meets post rock meets death mariachi and faced him with a snobbish face. The guy was living proof that dinosaurs walked the earth ? he had a low-hanging nose, sharp and opiate eyes like jafar, thick ass lips, and a beard that was stained from the last happy meal he had. He had an ill-fitting wig on, blonde, and a permanent scowl with a faint moustache: narrow, skinny, and emaciated, he was like raven in many ways, just with a wig and those lips and beard. Deviant said ?welcome back raven what is it you djent need?. Raven said ?KILL escaped unfortunately? Deviant then got up and threw up all of his mountain dew and pus. ?UNACCEPTABLE!? the lack of muscle in deviant?s arm made it impossible to slap raven. ?YOU WERE SUPPOSED TO GET HIM!? ?DON?T YOU RAISE YOUR VOICE AT ME, I AM THE QUASI LEADER OF THE COURT OF MIRACLES?
Deviant calmed down and sat back down, smoking a long cigarette topped with pico de gallo. ?fine then. Do you know where they went to?? ?to around the 80?s, I think 1987? Deviant?s wrinkled cheeks shrunk inside of his face and his loose eyelids seemed to fill with tears. Deviant grabbed his beard, effectively shaking off a bunch of chicken mcnugget remnants everywhere, and sighed. ?fine then. I?m sure you already know what to do ? find them, kill them, burn them, I don?t give a shit, I need to return to my hip hop if you don?t mind.? Raven nodded. ?do you have anybody who can join me??
Deviant thought for a minute. ?yes, my greatest soldiers: satellite and jom.? Raven bristled at the mentioning of those bipolar ghosts. ?they are impulsive, ugly fags? deviant nodded: he hated their guts too and would of wanted nothing more than to make an organ kabob out of them, but unfortunately they proved a lot of skill in the field of hunting. ?I understand, but we need them for now. Maybe after this we can kill them, but I need those two queefs alive? raven nodded and loaded his ACR, his AUG HBAR, his P90, his fourteen pistols, his 5.56 sniper rifle, and, of couse, supplied himself with two miniguns. ?Just in case.? Raven then set off into the bowels of the court of miracles and found jom and satellite sucking eachother off.
?FIST!? jom and satellite then stumbled off the bed and hastily got in their rancid clothes. Jom was a terror ? wearing anachronistic glasses, sandy skin, bleeding nose all the time, fag-esque ears and nostrils, and he had a haircut like somebody from the wonder years. ?WE HAVE A MISSION. COME WITH ME, NOW.? ?YEAH SIR.? ?KILL?S NOT GONNA KNOW WHAT? KILLED HIM! AHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA7TURUEGHYERG4YRBHYSU? Satellite attempted to make a joke before choking on his own cum.