Hip Teens Don’t Wear Blue Jeans (The Lo-Fi Mix)

Here’s a really rough edit (just off the press) of something I’ve got cooking. It’s meant to be an anime-flavored, candy-coated, action book that’s slighty retarded and self-deprecating. Not my usual style, but I wanted something brainless, light and frothy. Like a milkshake.

Without further a-do, here it be. Hip Teens Don’t Wear Blue Jeans, Chapter Two: The Lo-Fi Mix

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Gunslinger Serenade

1.
He rode into town on a Saturday and by Sabbath the town went silent; dead silent if ya catch my meanin’. He didn’t leave nobody alive, the lowlife gamblers, the chinks, the cunts, nobody; even the Doc and preacherman got it in the end. A weird fella, with a nasty streak, meaner than the clap; so much as look at him wrong and he’d just as soon shoot ya than leave ya livin’. My only advice, you see this fucker comin’, you don’t even pack, you just take what you got on ya, jump on the nearest horse and ride hard as fuck toward the sunset. And trust me, you can’t miss this sumbitch; got a faggot tongue, always speakin’ in some kinda verse and askin’:

Headin’ to Refrain
Might I ask the way?

I never heard of no Refrain, but whatever’s there, I pity ’em real good. This fucker got a mad-on like I never seen, and should he ever get there, ain’t nothin’, God almight, chink pagan gods, nothing gonna save ’em.
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