Post by bateman on Jan 26, 2010 13:53:17 GMT -5
Last week, we witnessed something very surprising, and on Patrick Bateman’s part; disturbing. He did not succeed in winning the gauntlet, and that is something he will regret for the rest of his life. But for this week, he must focus on one thing: Ryan Black. Out of pure rage, last week, in the gauntlet, Bateman, once eliminated, re-entered the ring, and attacked him. Grinning from ear to ear, Bateman left the arena, and ever since the even, he has been thinking about the name “Ryan Black”. What he wants to do with Ryan Black. What’s he’s going to do with Ryan Black.
As he sits in bed, thinking about all this, the alarm clock finally goes off. Hitting it with the palm of his right hand, he sits up, and carries on with his thoughts. Rubbing his hands over his face, he stands to his feet, and trails out of the room. Finding his way into the washroom, he takes a quick piss, and then hops into the shower. As he lets the water trickle down his neck, he goes through all the activities he must complete today, in his mind. Letting out a sigh, he hops out, and wraps a towel around his waist. Peering into the mirror, he smiles, noticing just how sexy he truly is. Reaching into the cupboard, which is confined behind the mirror, he pulls out one of his lotions. Applying it to his face, he waits about ten minutes, and then peels it away, like snake skin. Watching the mask roll off, he takes another look at himself, and raises his hand. Feeling around his smooth, and beautiful skin, it makes him feel brand new. In his mind, he realizes that he is truly better than each, and everyone of you.
Strolling out of the washroom, he heads down the hall, and into his workout area. Hopping on the treadmill, he turns it to max speed, and begins to run. Running as if he was in some kind of marathon. Running for his life. He knows that this match with Ryan Black could be his huge breakout. For a quick moment, he shuts it off, and grabs the TV remote off of his expensive, black, leather sofa. Bringing the television to life, he s over towards his DVD case. Opening up one of his brand new porno’s, he throws it in, and laughs. Hopping back onto the treadmill, he again, turns it to maximum speed, and begins to run, watching every single moment of the video as he does so. Finally, it wears on him.
Not paying attention, he slips off the treadmill, and smashes his face on the floor. Luckily it’s carpeted. Grabbing his face, he lets out a sigh of pain, and hops back to his feet. Why does that shit always happen to him? What has he ever done to anyone? Strolling into the kitchen, he reaches into the fridge, and pulls out some hash browns. It’s alright to have a little cheat every now and then. Throwing them into the pan, he again, grabs a hold of his head, feeling out a large goose-egg. Sitting down at the table, he begins to rub his temples. So much to think about. So much turning in the demented mind of Patrick Bateman. Not even bothering to look pack, flames shoot out from under the pan, and begin to blaze everything. In an act of panic, Bateman, runs underneath the sink, and grabs a bucket. Speeding down the hall, and into the washroom again, he gathers some ice water, and runs back, throwing it onto the inferno. Letting out some relief, he grabs his cranium, and rubs it furiously. This is too much. He needs to get out. Shutting off the burnt pan, he grabs some of his winter gear (coat, boots), and heads out of the house. As he walks down the street, a smoke in hand, he raises it to his mouth, and blows out a huge cloud of smoke. Now, usually, he would never do this, considering it’s bad for your health, and he’s a very fit guy, but nonetheless, he is. Stopping at a local bench, he sits, with no one around, but as you all know, this is New York City. Home of the ignorant, who like to piss people off.
So anyway, out of nowhere, this old bitch comes, and seats herself right beside him. Focusing her gaze on his very being, he turns to look, and passes her a nasty glare.
“You are a psycho”, says the woman.
“Excuse me?”, Bateman replies.
“You heard me”
Bateman is confused. Who is this old whore?
“Whoah, whoah, whoah… First of all lady, who the fuck are you?”
“That is none of your concern, Patrick”
“How do you know my name?”, he asks.
“I am a psychic”, she replies.
“Yeah, right”
Bateman laughs.
“You don’t have to believe me”, she says.
“But I know everything about you”
“Oh really? Well then list something”, Bateman replies.
“Well, for starters”, she says.
“You are a serial killer. You strive on murdering others, for reasons beyond belief… Just because they are obese, or homeless. In your mind, you are superior to all others”
Bateman just smirks.
“Okay, I believe you now… But since you’re psychic, why don’t you predict my future? You know, my match with Ryan Black?”
“I see a win in your future, but only if you apply yourself”
Smiling, Bateman replies:
“Well, you don’t have to worry about that one. I’m always one hundred percent going into my matches. I always make sure that I’m on my A game. Because as you probably already know; losing is not in my person agenda.”
The psychic doesn’t even crack a smile. Instead, she replies with:
“You do seem to be on quite a roll, but don’t let that get to your head. You’re also very narcissistic.”
Bateman’s smile doesn’t leave. In fact, it grows.
“Well, within reasoning. You see, I-”
“You’re truly better than everyone else?”, she replies.
“Yes, I know the drill. You say the same thing every time. “I’m better than you”. “I’m this, I’m that”, when in reality, you’re just a poor excuse for a human being. You pray on the weak.”
Bateman frowns.
“Listen, lady. I’m not just gonna sit here, and let you tell me shit like that. I am not, I repeat, NOT, a poor excuse for a human being. In fact, I’m one of, if not THE, best of my kind. So I suggest you take that into your warped little mind, and get the fuck out of my face”
“As you wish”, she replies.
“Just remember.. I’m watching you”
As she walks off, Bateman thinks of something, and chases after her. As she disappears behind a crowd of people, Bateman can no longer spot her. Nodding his head, as if to say “Yeah, creep”, he turns, and heads into the Malibu restaurant. Noticing a lone table in the distance, he sits down, and orders a Guiness. Not his usual, fancy beverage, but change can always be for the better. As the waitress brings it to him, he smiles.
“Hey there”
Smiling back, she replies with:
“Hey, how are you?”
“I’m alright”, says Bateman.
“A little nervous and stuff, but aside from that… Hey, are you seeing anyone?”
She just rolls her eyes.
“Enjoy your beverage”
Walking off, a few guys behind the table laugh. Bateman, frowning, takes a sip of the Guiness, and turns around to look at the four losers.
“Well, hey… At least I have the guts to actually advance”
Smiling, Bateman takes another sip. The biggest guy stands to his feet, and trails over, right beside him.
“You wanna try saying that to my face?”
“Well, I would”, replies Bateman.
“But here’s the thing… I can’t stand the way you look. I just want to throw up. Haha, when I first turned around, I thought I was staring right at Mick Jagger.
As Bateman goes to take another sip, the glass is ripped out of his hand, and tossed to the floor; glass shattering everywhere. Following these events, Bateman is greeted with a hard, right slugger to the face. As he rolls around in agony, the entire place grows silent, with the odd little “Ooh”, and “Ahh”. After this, Bateman completely blacks out. During that time period, he has nearly killed the mother fucker. Blood splattered everywhere, he wakes, ready to drive one of the shards into his throat. Begging for mercy, Bateman lets him go, and continues to stare at the floor. Almost as if he was mesmerized. Finally, he looks up at all the terrified faces.
“What the fuck are you laughing at?”
They all go back to what they were originally doing, as Bateman takes one final look at the waitress, who is in complete shock. He then leaves the store, blood all over his outfit.
“Ah great”, he says.
“I guess it’s time for the dry cleaners.”
Up the street, he makes his way into the store. Taking off his jacket, and pants, he tosses them to the lone Chinese woman.
“Wha da fook?”, she says.
“What’s the matter?”, replies Bateman.
“Is dat da bloo?”
Bateman can’t help but chuckle at her pathetic accent.
“No, you moron, it’s cranberry juice… Now how long will it take?”
The woman takes another look.
“Aboot a owa”
In his underwear, Bateman goes to sit down, but just as she turns her back, he charges for the counter, hops it, and wraps his right arm around her throat.
“LISTEN BITCH!”, he says.
“YOU’RE GONNA DO EVERYTHING I FUCKING TELL YOU! UNDERSTOOD!?”
She nods her head, as Bateman throws her face first into the door. Opening it, he drags her in by the hair. Locking it behind him, he rips off his underwear, and tosses them onto her face. Shoving them down her throat, she begins to cough, and gag. A sinister, evil, smile forms on Bateman’s face.
“Right now, you’re Ryan Black!”
Bateman runs up, and kicks her hard in the stomach. He then begins to rain down punches, until she’s a bloody, broken, piece of oriental shit. To finish her off, he grabs an axe, located to the right of the door. Raising it high above his head, Bateman brings it down, right on her face, and in the process, splits it right down the middle. Brains, and pieces of skull all over the floor. Following this, he unloads on her face… Well, what was formally her face. Laughing, he picks up his underwear and throws them back on. Grabbing a garbage bag nearby, he picks up all the pieces, and throws them in. Back into the main room, he begins to wash his clothes himself. Something to keep him occupied. An hour later, he pulls out the clothes, and throws them on. Carrying out the garbage bag, he turns down an alley, and throws it in the dumpster.
Rubbing his hands, as if he just accomplished something worth a medal of merit, he turns, and strolls away. As if it was some huge joke. Back at his place, he plops down on his bed, and thinks about what has transpired during the day, and what is still to come. Just at that, the doorbell rings.
“Who the fuck could that be?”
Hopping up out of bed, he trails over to the door, and peeks through the whole. Noticing some faggot, he’s reluctant, but opens anyway. With an entire crew behind him, the faggot appears to be a cameraman.
“Hello Mr. Bateman, we were wondering if you’d like to get a few words in, regarding your match with Ryan Black this week?”
Bateman thinks, and then smiles.
“Yeah, sure… I need to get a few things off my chest. Come on in.”
If only they knew this would be their last day… Inside, Bateman instructs them to setup the equipment in front of his big screen. It takes about ten minutes, but at that point; everything is ready.
“And… Now”, says the cameraman.
“Hello, fans of PWN. I wish I could say that you all PWN, but I’d be lying. And who wants to be known as a liar, right? Right, so don’t take it personal. Now, last week, I guaranteed you all something. I guaranteed that I would walk away from the show as the first, PWN World Heavyweight Champion. Now, as much as I’d like to be sitting here, that belt draped around my shoulder, it just isn’t possible. But don’t count me out of the picture just yet. For come the show, I will defeat Ryan Black. And after I accomplish that, Nathan Harter is next on my hit list. I am ready for this. I’ve always been ready for this. My opportunity. Last week, I failed, but this is like a new beginning for me. I’m cleansed, and ready to fight again. Only this time, I will persevere. Mark my words. Mark my words in a fine layer of black, because the promise is at a higher rate. If I fail, that could be the last chance for me. Sent right down to the bottom of the food chain again, and I can’t have that. I will not accept it as even a possibility. Too much for a human being of my great fortitude, and dignity to imagine.”
Shaking his head, Bateman reaches up, and strokes his nose.
“This will indeed be a complicated task. I have never, had to face a man with the caliber of Ryan Black, so it’s a huge increase for me. A huge change. But I’m all for change. Like I said; I am ready. I am more ready than ever. My veins are pulsing. My eagerness to step in that ring, and destroy Ryan Black is rising. You see, I’m a very impatient person.”
Standing to his feet, Bateman wipes the sweat away from his brow. A hand on each hip, he bends over, catching his breath.
“This is too much for me! I need to take out my frustrations! I just want someone to die! Watch on, as their blood leaks out all over me.”
“I… think that’s a wrap”, says the cameraman, as he hurries to pack everything up.
“You’re not going anywhere!”, replies Bateman.
Reaching under the sofa, he pulls out a hand-gun. One bullet at a time, he shoots them all down. Blood everywhere. Grabbing his head, Bateman stumbles around, and then… BANG! He falls with a thud, passed out on the floor. He’s nearly reached the point of mental insanity.
A while later, he awakes to the same scene as earlier. Members of the camera crew are laying everywhere… All except for one. He also notices that his door is wide open. Charging out, he peers down he steps, and notices a blood trail. Over the railing, he appears. At the very bottom. Almost out the door. Bateman races, slipping in blood, but not hesitating at all. He can’t let this asshole escape, or he’s fucked. Finally, he reaches him, and begins to drag him back up the stairs. The man tries to fight, but to no avail. Back at the apartment, Bateman finishes the job, with a knife to the throat. Afterwards, he chops them all up, and sends them into a large, garbage bag, reminiscent of earlier in the day. Tossing it into the local dumpster, Bateman again, makes his way into the apartment. So many trips. But there’s going to be even more in his future, for in just a short while, he must travel across seas, over to London, England; the destination of the next PWN event. Who will emerge victorious? Bateman, or Black? Well, definitely Bateman, but hey… Gotta add a little spice with the whole “him, or him?” thing, ya’ know? Whatever… Fact is, Bateman is fucking mental, and they say guys like that have the power of ten men. So it really is an easy picking. Anyway, I will see you all at the show… Well, I won’t be there, but I’ll be watching on, as ma’ boy Bateman fulfils his gaol. Yeaaaaaaaaaaaah son!
END RP
As he sits in bed, thinking about all this, the alarm clock finally goes off. Hitting it with the palm of his right hand, he sits up, and carries on with his thoughts. Rubbing his hands over his face, he stands to his feet, and trails out of the room. Finding his way into the washroom, he takes a quick piss, and then hops into the shower. As he lets the water trickle down his neck, he goes through all the activities he must complete today, in his mind. Letting out a sigh, he hops out, and wraps a towel around his waist. Peering into the mirror, he smiles, noticing just how sexy he truly is. Reaching into the cupboard, which is confined behind the mirror, he pulls out one of his lotions. Applying it to his face, he waits about ten minutes, and then peels it away, like snake skin. Watching the mask roll off, he takes another look at himself, and raises his hand. Feeling around his smooth, and beautiful skin, it makes him feel brand new. In his mind, he realizes that he is truly better than each, and everyone of you.
Strolling out of the washroom, he heads down the hall, and into his workout area. Hopping on the treadmill, he turns it to max speed, and begins to run. Running as if he was in some kind of marathon. Running for his life. He knows that this match with Ryan Black could be his huge breakout. For a quick moment, he shuts it off, and grabs the TV remote off of his expensive, black, leather sofa. Bringing the television to life, he s over towards his DVD case. Opening up one of his brand new porno’s, he throws it in, and laughs. Hopping back onto the treadmill, he again, turns it to maximum speed, and begins to run, watching every single moment of the video as he does so. Finally, it wears on him.
Not paying attention, he slips off the treadmill, and smashes his face on the floor. Luckily it’s carpeted. Grabbing his face, he lets out a sigh of pain, and hops back to his feet. Why does that shit always happen to him? What has he ever done to anyone? Strolling into the kitchen, he reaches into the fridge, and pulls out some hash browns. It’s alright to have a little cheat every now and then. Throwing them into the pan, he again, grabs a hold of his head, feeling out a large goose-egg. Sitting down at the table, he begins to rub his temples. So much to think about. So much turning in the demented mind of Patrick Bateman. Not even bothering to look pack, flames shoot out from under the pan, and begin to blaze everything. In an act of panic, Bateman, runs underneath the sink, and grabs a bucket. Speeding down the hall, and into the washroom again, he gathers some ice water, and runs back, throwing it onto the inferno. Letting out some relief, he grabs his cranium, and rubs it furiously. This is too much. He needs to get out. Shutting off the burnt pan, he grabs some of his winter gear (coat, boots), and heads out of the house. As he walks down the street, a smoke in hand, he raises it to his mouth, and blows out a huge cloud of smoke. Now, usually, he would never do this, considering it’s bad for your health, and he’s a very fit guy, but nonetheless, he is. Stopping at a local bench, he sits, with no one around, but as you all know, this is New York City. Home of the ignorant, who like to piss people off.
So anyway, out of nowhere, this old bitch comes, and seats herself right beside him. Focusing her gaze on his very being, he turns to look, and passes her a nasty glare.
“You are a psycho”, says the woman.
“Excuse me?”, Bateman replies.
“You heard me”
Bateman is confused. Who is this old whore?
“Whoah, whoah, whoah… First of all lady, who the fuck are you?”
“That is none of your concern, Patrick”
“How do you know my name?”, he asks.
“I am a psychic”, she replies.
“Yeah, right”
Bateman laughs.
“You don’t have to believe me”, she says.
“But I know everything about you”
“Oh really? Well then list something”, Bateman replies.
“Well, for starters”, she says.
“You are a serial killer. You strive on murdering others, for reasons beyond belief… Just because they are obese, or homeless. In your mind, you are superior to all others”
Bateman just smirks.
“Okay, I believe you now… But since you’re psychic, why don’t you predict my future? You know, my match with Ryan Black?”
“I see a win in your future, but only if you apply yourself”
Smiling, Bateman replies:
“Well, you don’t have to worry about that one. I’m always one hundred percent going into my matches. I always make sure that I’m on my A game. Because as you probably already know; losing is not in my person agenda.”
The psychic doesn’t even crack a smile. Instead, she replies with:
“You do seem to be on quite a roll, but don’t let that get to your head. You’re also very narcissistic.”
Bateman’s smile doesn’t leave. In fact, it grows.
“Well, within reasoning. You see, I-”
“You’re truly better than everyone else?”, she replies.
“Yes, I know the drill. You say the same thing every time. “I’m better than you”. “I’m this, I’m that”, when in reality, you’re just a poor excuse for a human being. You pray on the weak.”
Bateman frowns.
“Listen, lady. I’m not just gonna sit here, and let you tell me shit like that. I am not, I repeat, NOT, a poor excuse for a human being. In fact, I’m one of, if not THE, best of my kind. So I suggest you take that into your warped little mind, and get the fuck out of my face”
“As you wish”, she replies.
“Just remember.. I’m watching you”
As she walks off, Bateman thinks of something, and chases after her. As she disappears behind a crowd of people, Bateman can no longer spot her. Nodding his head, as if to say “Yeah, creep”, he turns, and heads into the Malibu restaurant. Noticing a lone table in the distance, he sits down, and orders a Guiness. Not his usual, fancy beverage, but change can always be for the better. As the waitress brings it to him, he smiles.
“Hey there”
Smiling back, she replies with:
“Hey, how are you?”
“I’m alright”, says Bateman.
“A little nervous and stuff, but aside from that… Hey, are you seeing anyone?”
She just rolls her eyes.
“Enjoy your beverage”
Walking off, a few guys behind the table laugh. Bateman, frowning, takes a sip of the Guiness, and turns around to look at the four losers.
“Well, hey… At least I have the guts to actually advance”
Smiling, Bateman takes another sip. The biggest guy stands to his feet, and trails over, right beside him.
“You wanna try saying that to my face?”
“Well, I would”, replies Bateman.
“But here’s the thing… I can’t stand the way you look. I just want to throw up. Haha, when I first turned around, I thought I was staring right at Mick Jagger.
As Bateman goes to take another sip, the glass is ripped out of his hand, and tossed to the floor; glass shattering everywhere. Following these events, Bateman is greeted with a hard, right slugger to the face. As he rolls around in agony, the entire place grows silent, with the odd little “Ooh”, and “Ahh”. After this, Bateman completely blacks out. During that time period, he has nearly killed the mother fucker. Blood splattered everywhere, he wakes, ready to drive one of the shards into his throat. Begging for mercy, Bateman lets him go, and continues to stare at the floor. Almost as if he was mesmerized. Finally, he looks up at all the terrified faces.
“What the fuck are you laughing at?”
They all go back to what they were originally doing, as Bateman takes one final look at the waitress, who is in complete shock. He then leaves the store, blood all over his outfit.
“Ah great”, he says.
“I guess it’s time for the dry cleaners.”
Up the street, he makes his way into the store. Taking off his jacket, and pants, he tosses them to the lone Chinese woman.
“Wha da fook?”, she says.
“What’s the matter?”, replies Bateman.
“Is dat da bloo?”
Bateman can’t help but chuckle at her pathetic accent.
“No, you moron, it’s cranberry juice… Now how long will it take?”
The woman takes another look.
“Aboot a owa”
In his underwear, Bateman goes to sit down, but just as she turns her back, he charges for the counter, hops it, and wraps his right arm around her throat.
“LISTEN BITCH!”, he says.
“YOU’RE GONNA DO EVERYTHING I FUCKING TELL YOU! UNDERSTOOD!?”
She nods her head, as Bateman throws her face first into the door. Opening it, he drags her in by the hair. Locking it behind him, he rips off his underwear, and tosses them onto her face. Shoving them down her throat, she begins to cough, and gag. A sinister, evil, smile forms on Bateman’s face.
“Right now, you’re Ryan Black!”
Bateman runs up, and kicks her hard in the stomach. He then begins to rain down punches, until she’s a bloody, broken, piece of oriental shit. To finish her off, he grabs an axe, located to the right of the door. Raising it high above his head, Bateman brings it down, right on her face, and in the process, splits it right down the middle. Brains, and pieces of skull all over the floor. Following this, he unloads on her face… Well, what was formally her face. Laughing, he picks up his underwear and throws them back on. Grabbing a garbage bag nearby, he picks up all the pieces, and throws them in. Back into the main room, he begins to wash his clothes himself. Something to keep him occupied. An hour later, he pulls out the clothes, and throws them on. Carrying out the garbage bag, he turns down an alley, and throws it in the dumpster.
Rubbing his hands, as if he just accomplished something worth a medal of merit, he turns, and strolls away. As if it was some huge joke. Back at his place, he plops down on his bed, and thinks about what has transpired during the day, and what is still to come. Just at that, the doorbell rings.
“Who the fuck could that be?”
Hopping up out of bed, he trails over to the door, and peeks through the whole. Noticing some faggot, he’s reluctant, but opens anyway. With an entire crew behind him, the faggot appears to be a cameraman.
“Hello Mr. Bateman, we were wondering if you’d like to get a few words in, regarding your match with Ryan Black this week?”
Bateman thinks, and then smiles.
“Yeah, sure… I need to get a few things off my chest. Come on in.”
If only they knew this would be their last day… Inside, Bateman instructs them to setup the equipment in front of his big screen. It takes about ten minutes, but at that point; everything is ready.
“And… Now”, says the cameraman.
“Hello, fans of PWN. I wish I could say that you all PWN, but I’d be lying. And who wants to be known as a liar, right? Right, so don’t take it personal. Now, last week, I guaranteed you all something. I guaranteed that I would walk away from the show as the first, PWN World Heavyweight Champion. Now, as much as I’d like to be sitting here, that belt draped around my shoulder, it just isn’t possible. But don’t count me out of the picture just yet. For come the show, I will defeat Ryan Black. And after I accomplish that, Nathan Harter is next on my hit list. I am ready for this. I’ve always been ready for this. My opportunity. Last week, I failed, but this is like a new beginning for me. I’m cleansed, and ready to fight again. Only this time, I will persevere. Mark my words. Mark my words in a fine layer of black, because the promise is at a higher rate. If I fail, that could be the last chance for me. Sent right down to the bottom of the food chain again, and I can’t have that. I will not accept it as even a possibility. Too much for a human being of my great fortitude, and dignity to imagine.”
Shaking his head, Bateman reaches up, and strokes his nose.
“This will indeed be a complicated task. I have never, had to face a man with the caliber of Ryan Black, so it’s a huge increase for me. A huge change. But I’m all for change. Like I said; I am ready. I am more ready than ever. My veins are pulsing. My eagerness to step in that ring, and destroy Ryan Black is rising. You see, I’m a very impatient person.”
Standing to his feet, Bateman wipes the sweat away from his brow. A hand on each hip, he bends over, catching his breath.
“This is too much for me! I need to take out my frustrations! I just want someone to die! Watch on, as their blood leaks out all over me.”
“I… think that’s a wrap”, says the cameraman, as he hurries to pack everything up.
“You’re not going anywhere!”, replies Bateman.
Reaching under the sofa, he pulls out a hand-gun. One bullet at a time, he shoots them all down. Blood everywhere. Grabbing his head, Bateman stumbles around, and then… BANG! He falls with a thud, passed out on the floor. He’s nearly reached the point of mental insanity.
A while later, he awakes to the same scene as earlier. Members of the camera crew are laying everywhere… All except for one. He also notices that his door is wide open. Charging out, he peers down he steps, and notices a blood trail. Over the railing, he appears. At the very bottom. Almost out the door. Bateman races, slipping in blood, but not hesitating at all. He can’t let this asshole escape, or he’s fucked. Finally, he reaches him, and begins to drag him back up the stairs. The man tries to fight, but to no avail. Back at the apartment, Bateman finishes the job, with a knife to the throat. Afterwards, he chops them all up, and sends them into a large, garbage bag, reminiscent of earlier in the day. Tossing it into the local dumpster, Bateman again, makes his way into the apartment. So many trips. But there’s going to be even more in his future, for in just a short while, he must travel across seas, over to London, England; the destination of the next PWN event. Who will emerge victorious? Bateman, or Black? Well, definitely Bateman, but hey… Gotta add a little spice with the whole “him, or him?” thing, ya’ know? Whatever… Fact is, Bateman is fucking mental, and they say guys like that have the power of ten men. So it really is an easy picking. Anyway, I will see you all at the show… Well, I won’t be there, but I’ll be watching on, as ma’ boy Bateman fulfils his gaol. Yeaaaaaaaaaaaah son!
END RP