THE DISCLAIMER!! Bum...bum....bum.....okay. disclaimers. For all those imbeciles
out there who do not understand what the term means- let me break it down
for you...it means to "dis" "claim". Got it? Disclaim...okay...that didn't go
over well with the editors...disclaim- as in "to not claim something that
doesn't belong to me in the first place and by reinstating that 'not-
claimness' by saying 'I do not own any of these characters...lateeda...' and by
also stating that what already rightfully belongs to these official
nationwide entertainment companies or other sorts of these companies, etc.
rightfully belongs to them." So we're just basically reinstating the
obvious to all of those ingrates who still puzzle over those mindwrenching
questions such as: Why is the sky blue? Or, why is the freezer cold? Or,
why-AAAAHHHH!!! (after several days-AAAAHHH!!!! – Okay months of ravenous
torture...the author is ready to be presented to the public once again)
Whew...so...as I was saying...this crap has gone for far too long- Yes, I DO NOT
own anything in this story that I DO NOT OWN...so Kaiba and Yugi and
everything else YGO related doesn't belong to me...thank you. (author looks
at script again and shouts to assistant-) Are you sure I was supposed to
say that? Cuz if you hold the paper at a certain angle that whole "I DO NOT
own" and "YGO" thing clash, so it looks like "idiot yugo" or something...no?
Somebody shoot this author please!!!!ARGH!!
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The man took a last drag on the glowing cigarette burning in his mouth, before he threw it on the ground and made his way onto the sidewalk again, pulling the collar of his overcoat to shadow his face. It was bitterly cold, and he had his hands balled into fists deep within his coat pockets. Puffs of smoky mists trailed behind him, as he walked briskly towards the hotel on the corner Fifth and Drift Avenue. The wind was howling, and the trees groaned, as debris and dry leaves whipped all around him.
The shadow that stalked silently behind him was grateful for Nature's favoritism to mute the soft footsteps. With each gust of wind the shadow lurked closer and closer. The man continued on his way unaware of anything abnormal about his senses. The shadow flicked a silver metal that glimmered in the moonlight, proclaiming the last of the shadow's patience. The black figure darted behind a tree, a building, a bush. The man continued walking, ignorant of his own inevitable fate. The shadow tensed and darted quickly and silently towards the man in the large over coat. The man cried out, though his voice was muffled from the gloved hand that held his voice in, and that was silenced soon. Lost within the moans and gurgling of blood, flowing from his slashed throat. The man fell limply to the ground.
The shadow flicked the blade in hand, the blood falling onto the dead man's face, before taking out a more perverse tool of weaponry. It was a large hilt, which sloped into three, thin blades. The shadow bent over, took the man's left arm, and struck him with the knife. It easily ripped through his coat and clothing, causing whatever other blood he may have had in his upper body to spurt from the new wound.
The arm had a perfect slice; the flesh was marked with three strikes. A mark that sent fear into anyone who saw it, including the paramedics and police officers whom would be arriving three hours later. It was the mark of sure death, of horrific victory. It was the mark of the legendary assassin- the Wolf, and those who weren't as intimidated knew the assassin as, the Trison.
~~~~****~~~~
If any of the readers who have actually taken their time to actually read this and have come to the conclusion that the author who made the disclaimer above and the author who has been writing this story is either bipolar, completely insane, or...has an insane twin. All three may be correct, and if you hate me for the rest of your life because of the lengthy disclaimer, wish to kill me yourself, and just have a general hatred for that whole sober state of mine.............................. you have a right. So if you have any questions about my insanity, story, clothes, retail prices, toys, video games, politics, entertainment, money, cars, love interests, port-a-potties, fish, food, dvds, ANIME, dogs, unicorns, elves, cereal, governors, movies, guns, movies, paintballing, movies, late night show, movies, SNL, movies, or the ultimate plans for an indestructible torture device to fry the brains of people like me press the (#) key or just send a flippin' review. I would have placed my shrink's number on here, but for some reason our line went dead before I could ask...Garcias!
The man took a last drag on the glowing cigarette burning in his mouth, before he threw it on the ground and made his way onto the sidewalk again, pulling the collar of his overcoat to shadow his face. It was bitterly cold, and he had his hands balled into fists deep within his coat pockets. Puffs of smoky mists trailed behind him, as he walked briskly towards the hotel on the corner Fifth and Drift Avenue. The wind was howling, and the trees groaned, as debris and dry leaves whipped all around him.
The shadow that stalked silently behind him was grateful for Nature's favoritism to mute the soft footsteps. With each gust of wind the shadow lurked closer and closer. The man continued on his way unaware of anything abnormal about his senses. The shadow flicked a silver metal that glimmered in the moonlight, proclaiming the last of the shadow's patience. The black figure darted behind a tree, a building, a bush. The man continued walking, ignorant of his own inevitable fate. The shadow tensed and darted quickly and silently towards the man in the large over coat. The man cried out, though his voice was muffled from the gloved hand that held his voice in, and that was silenced soon. Lost within the moans and gurgling of blood, flowing from his slashed throat. The man fell limply to the ground.
The shadow flicked the blade in hand, the blood falling onto the dead man's face, before taking out a more perverse tool of weaponry. It was a large hilt, which sloped into three, thin blades. The shadow bent over, took the man's left arm, and struck him with the knife. It easily ripped through his coat and clothing, causing whatever other blood he may have had in his upper body to spurt from the new wound.
The arm had a perfect slice; the flesh was marked with three strikes. A mark that sent fear into anyone who saw it, including the paramedics and police officers whom would be arriving three hours later. It was the mark of sure death, of horrific victory. It was the mark of the legendary assassin- the Wolf, and those who weren't as intimidated knew the assassin as, the Trison.
~~~~****~~~~
If any of the readers who have actually taken their time to actually read this and have come to the conclusion that the author who made the disclaimer above and the author who has been writing this story is either bipolar, completely insane, or...has an insane twin. All three may be correct, and if you hate me for the rest of your life because of the lengthy disclaimer, wish to kill me yourself, and just have a general hatred for that whole sober state of mine.............................. you have a right. So if you have any questions about my insanity, story, clothes, retail prices, toys, video games, politics, entertainment, money, cars, love interests, port-a-potties, fish, food, dvds, ANIME, dogs, unicorns, elves, cereal, governors, movies, guns, movies, paintballing, movies, late night show, movies, SNL, movies, or the ultimate plans for an indestructible torture device to fry the brains of people like me press the (#) key or just send a flippin' review. I would have placed my shrink's number on here, but for some reason our line went dead before I could ask...Garcias!