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TF2 - Scout vs Scout, an awkward day
"Ma, why are we doing this?"
"Because his mother and I are good friends and we want you both to be friends, too!"
BLU Scout and his mother were going to meet RED Scout and his mother.
"But Ma! We are enemys! We are supposed to hate and kill each other!"
"I don't care, hon'! You have holidays, so you won't kill each other! Oh look, I can see them already!"
Both mothers ran up to each other giving each other a friendly hug. Both Scout stared at each other.
Both mothers were talking about some girly stuff, like shopping. Both Scouts didn't talk really much.
"You're so dead!", both said suddenly at the same time.
And the torture began.
First of all they did the most awkward thing ever: they went shopping with their mothers. The Scouts were teasing each other.
"Hey, BLU retard! This pink shirt would fit to a girl like you!"
"Oh yeah? Then look at this skirt! It would fit you with that shirt, RED dumbass!"
"Look at this jacket for little girls! Because you are
TF2 - A normal day with the team"GOOD MORNING MERCS!! WAKE UP OR YOU WILL FEEL MY DAMN BARE HANDS!", the CEO from MannCo roared as he opened all doors.
"I SAID WAKE UP! WAKE UPPPP!"
Suddenly, an arrow passed him and was stuck on the wall behind him. There was a note on it:
"Shut up and let us sleep.
-Christian Brutal Sniper."
"Fine,I'm gonna beat you all with my DAMN BARE HANDS!"
Suddenly, the flying guillotine almost hit him.
"Damn, almost got him...Zzz...", Saxton could hear the youngest of the team saying. It was the Scout.
Saxton sighed. As lazy as ever. They had holidays, so the team members didn't give a fuck to stand up. Even the CBSniper was still sleeping. Even the Horseless Headless Horseman Jr. kept sleeping in his grave. Suddenly he could hear some steps: it was the sleepy Heavy.
"Stop shouting, big man. Others want to sleep. Don't you remember what happened yesterday?"
Saxton remembered, yesterday he did the same and everybody started to beat the crap out of everyone.
"But it's 11 am already."
Volpi.You will find that the story you tell
is very rarely your own. In Lucca,
even the smallest pebbles
breathe in the warm sunlight.
Knotted stones and cobbled roads
beat out a paper-dry heartbeat heat
my city breathes in and out,
inhales sparrow air.
It's writing a story.
You are the pen.
You will find that in Lucca
the daisy chains forge fire
in side streets and back alleys.
Teenagers intertwine. Tell me,
odd flower, are you still closed?
Here we are colored wax;
the heat of the city melts us.
We run into each other, rhapsody
of pigments. Operas are our specialties.
Open up; feel the reds.
If not, try and see them. There is a place
of deep knife marks, a street
long as midnight
you may learn something there.
Valentina's voice glimmers like red wine.
You may enjoy intoxications. Still,
know alcohol has no story
and will swallow your own.
Find the sign with the wolf on it.
You'll know the place. Epiphanies ring true as church-bells.
Lucca still guides the wanderers
to well sp
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