Charles entered the living room and strode to the other side, never stopping, throwing papers down to the couch.
"Nathan, this is another lawsuit regarding one of your tequila fits. Skwisgaar, you have another six mothers claiming that you're their children's father and you are required to appear in court tomorrow. Murderface, this is about your recent urination on an elementary school, as well as one of the children attending it. Pickles, this is from a Columbian drug lord that you cheated out of two tons of cocaine. And finally, Toki, this is the bill for all of those stuffed animals you bought last month."
He was out of the room as quickly as he had entered, and the five of them began to growl and groan at their papers. Nathan stared a hole through his papers, trying to make them disappear.
"Dammit, guys, we have to stop this shit."
Pickles gestured to their solid gold-plated flatscreen that took up the entire Eastern wall.
"Dood, look at dat. We gat enough money ta pay fer dis shit."
Nathan sighed and absent-mindedly went for the chips, not noticing that he instead picked up a playing card. He chewed and swallowed it regardless.
"Yeah, but, like, one day one of those moms is gonna win against Skwisgaar. One day your fuckin' foreign drug buddies are gonna shoot us in the dicks."
Skwisgaar sighed and briefly ceased his constant subconscious guitar pratice.
"Okays, guys, I guess your rights. Maybes we shoulds...we shoulds go to a resghabilsgmatametions centers."
Murderface spit out his beer onto Toki's face.
"We don't need fuckin' rehabilitation, Schkwischgaar! We're Dethklok!"
Nathan attempted to speak over Toki's screaming as he ran blindly into walls, his eyes shut tight.
"Skwisgaar has a point, Murderface. If we don't stop this shit, we're all gonna get fuckin' hamburger timed. Like those people at our concerts."
Pickles threw his empty bottle into a wall, the shard barely missing Skwisgaar as they came flying down.
"But dood, those people are regular jack-offs. Nobody loved 'em er anything, who gives a shit if they died? WE, on the other hand, are important as shit. We CAN'T die, we won't die, 'cause we're...like...feckin' Dethklok, y'know?"
Nathan took no notice as Toki crashed next to him on the couch.
"HELPS ME, YOU FUCKING DILDOS! I GOTS BEER IN MY EYES!"
Murderface grabbed a cloth and threw it at Toki.
"Usche thisch."
Toki desperately reached around for the towel and couldn't find it.
"FUCKINGS HELPS!"
Nathan exaggerated a groan and grabbed the towel, going to wipe the beer from Toki's eyes.
"God, 25 years old and can't fucking take care of himself..."
Skwisgaar stood up and began to head out.
"Wells, I'ms going to get Charles to gets us in da reesgabs place."
Murderface didn't even attempt to stop him, though he knew he should have.
"Guysch, you all know thisch ischn't going to work. How does Schkwischgaar think thisch rehab isch going to teach him how to keep it in hisch pantsch?"
Pickles shrugged and tossed another bottle to the wall, a shard burying itself in Murderface's thick hair.
"I dunno. Maybe it won't help him, but it might help the rest of us. Y'know, Nathan, maybe it can, like, stop yew from drinking tequila and then rippin' cars in half, y'know?"
This story is more fucking amateur than UpbringingKlok, so I'm not sure if I should continue it. Thoughts?