A.Journal

Checks

188 checks

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At least now he knows. You try to eat us, we leave a tööth in you.

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Woah, fuck! Bitch means business.

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Cool. We just looked cool doing that.

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Stabbed and still giving us örders. Hag.

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Fucking coward.

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Lies! Gäng knows a narc when it sees one!

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Woah, she wants us to do it with our bare hands. Hardcore mode.

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He did that on purpose!

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Neck brace is gäng.

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Neck brace is gäng.

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Sick of this shit. We're assassins. Tell her, make her show us some assassin-level respect.

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What's one more? We can take them.

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Not to wörry, Herschen, we don't fear death.

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A hot woman with an electric rod happened. Gäng's in shambles.

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This prick still has our gun. When the moment comes, we jump him first.

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Elbows out as they pass, gäng.

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The man may be gone, but the ties live on.

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We all think it would have been a lot cooler if we'd bit the big one together back in 81.

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Shit, these kids are freäks.

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If we were dolphins we'd be a Whole Sick Pöd.

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Oh no... and we fucked up his postbox...

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Fück that guy, and fück his creep gig.

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These 'nightmares' are probably just that freak boyfriend molesting her in her sleep.

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That's it, awesome, clean slate. Let's go, gäng!

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Fucking hell are those tears? She loved her space man.

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We can rub it in their little faces!

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Hopefully he went out riding the high white hörse. All the way to heaven.

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Gäng's very troubled. The secret feds darked out our friend.

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A chance to put the gäng back together.

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No way, she hates us. Can't häng with gäng.

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Then why the hell aren't we lighting up right now?!

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We can't stand for this disrespect any longer. Time to Assemble!

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Utterly excruciating, the way these seconds pass.

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This is the kind of bag-on-bag action the villains at the top want to deny the world.

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Become foam-gäng.

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Oh no, oh no. We've made her cry.

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She's a raging cunt full of knives.

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Hold on, that's this woman's sister?

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One of us, until the end.

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Do we need to be part of his gäng? Seems like the safest option.

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Shit. We're about to get shot for a third time.

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Ghost gäng. Huddle up.

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Gäng don't fuck with ghosts. Scatter.

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She means we don't look like history set sail to 'Fuck It Island' and left us standing on the shore wondering what happened.

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What are we doing? They're children, they're not used to gäng-level talk.

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Nickin' meds by the trolley. Proper smash and grab.

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We remember hazy footage of a bright flame on a small television screen...

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Füüüüüüüüüüüüüüüück off!