Friday, February 14, 2014


It was a massacre. They did it sloppy and quick. Shotgun. Hand Gun. Sub-Machine gun. If one guy and this dog had not survived (The man from injuries sustained from the slaughter did later, after telling authorities: who, what, where, when, how, succumb.), the crying dog alerting folks earlier than they would have been, due to its wailing for its dead master, alerting new, post scene event witnesses. But you know they all died horribly in their own way, did the killers. At least, you tell yourself that. And the killed, were thugs from some other gang(s) too. Bad guys, no doubt. But so what? Still killed. Killing. Dead. Not coming back. Brutally butchered. Love gone horribly wrong. Acts of love taken to extreme. Love for the gang, actions of loyalty to the bosses, love twisted all out of purportion. You know they were scared, afraid of being killed by cops if caught in the act, or stopped by others...they couldn't even kill the damn dog, idiots. You do a thing like that, you shoot the dog too. If you go beast, brutal, you do it all the way. Chickenshit Pansies!! Yeah, easy to say, but it's true. What kind of horrible person writes this? Someone without love? Who does such a thing as that? Killing other people? In a warehouse room? On Valentines Day!

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