Elements of Larceny

by TheManWithTwoNames

The Big Idea

Elements of Larceny

A “My Little Pony Friendship Is Magic” fanfiction

By TheManWithTwoNames

“My Little Pony” and all subsequent properties belong to Hasbr— Masky’s taking this show now, see? Myah, see!
Masky and Patsy are my own little brain babies.

---

Not many ponies appreciated just how full Manehattan really is, and how it seemed to just have an endless supply of nearly everything someone would never want. The urbanites could cram themselves around a bus stop in such numbers one would start listing off the benefits a killing spree might bring to society. The city had a proud history of being known as Equestria’s most-visited landfill, where ponies would travel from far and wide to take one look at the sprawling city, take two sniffs, and then immediately turn tail and vow to never complain about their hometowns ever again. The obtrusive and gauche skyline was mercifully hidden by endless forests of steel and concrete towers that aimed to pierce the heavens and shame Canterlot in their magnitude. And the spaces between those metal giants was positively filled the most pervasive labyrinth in all the known world: the Manehattan Underground.

Most ponies thought of the expansive halls of the hidden city as merely the ugly alleyways where the homeless spent their lives alternating between warming their hooves over a trash fire and drinking a mystery substance that was carefully guarded secret mixture of sludge, muck, and ooze. But the more in the know ponies understood it for what it was: the seedy underbelly of the city and the true society that ruled the lives of Manehattan’s citizens. Which, admittedly, had a bit of a homeless problem.

Every crook, cheapskate, con artist, hustler, criminal, fink, rat, rat-fink, bastard, swindler, and son of a mule roamed freely through the city, as kings in the Underground and as ghosts in the light. It was a place where a pony could rest comfortably knowing that they wouldn’t be woken up as thugs stripped them of ever last bit they held to their name in the dead of night. It was a place where the clever could make a killing without the typical nasty business of making a killing, and where the dim could do just as well if they didn’t mind washing out their fur after the nasty business.

It was a paradise for ponies like Masky, who was happily applying his trade in such an alley.

“You really don’t want to be doing this,” the green pony insisted as his back hooves pressed up against the brick of a dim alleyway.

“Guy shink hai dooh,” the mugger replied with vicious smirk as he stalked his prey.

“Beg pardon?”

“Ai shed ah hink hai due!”

“You’re gonna have to drop the knife, mac, I can’t understand a word you’re saying.”

With a roll of his eyes, the mugger spat and let his knife clatter to the filthy ground below. “I said I think I do!”

“But are you positive?”

“What?”

"Because I’m positive that you don’t want to do this.” The stallion watched as the mugger lowered his head down to pick up his blade and gave a disapproving cough. “Are you positive you want to pick that up? The streets are filthy.”

“I think I do,” he grunted, glaring hideously at the smarmy victim.

"But are you positive?”

“Yes! Yes, already! I’m positive!” he roared before snatching up his weapon again and stalking closer to the grinning target.

“I’m glad to hear that. I like positivity.”

Masky put a heavy value in Positivity. With a little positivity, you could turn the worst situation into a blessing or have an upper hand when things got messy. Masky truly enjoyed Positivity. He was such a helpful little accomplice. Though typically, the thief called the little dragon by his nickname, Patsy.

The moss green juvenile dragon gave two swift punches to the back of the mugger’s head, dropping the pony to the ground. He rubbed his hands and slipped off his two brass knuckledusters as he stepped over the unconscious pony and strutted over to Masky with a critical glare.

“So, what did you do to set this one off?” Patsy asked, tapping a clawed foot.

“Would you believe me if I said I was just minding my own business?” Masky asked sweetly.

“You know, if you stopped minding your own business, I wouldn’t have to save your tail so much.”

“Yeah, but then you’d be bored outta your gourd with nothing but an empty stomach to think about,” Masky said smugly as he slipped a brown coin purse off the waist of the would-be mugger. “I do this because I care about you.”

Patsy simply rolled his eye and gave the mugger a quick kick to the ribs. “So, what now?”

Masky thought for a moment and weighed the bag in his hoof. “Let’s go to the market. Ey ey ey! No guff. I don’t wanna hear it.” He slid the bag underneath his purple newsboy cap and dusted his hooves off on the back of the snoozing mugger. “And next time,” he said to the thug, his voice taking on a nasally sneer, “you’ll dig twice before you try to chisel with me, see? Myah, see?”

“Really? The voice? You’re practicing the voice on somepony who’s out cold?”

“Stuff it. Now let’s get a wiggle on, Payzme’s got some new goodies in stock and I don’t want any early birds to beat me to them.”

“Ten bits says it’s junk. It’s always junk,” Patsy said.

“You don’t even have ten bits to bet.”

“I will once you pay me back for when you left me with the bill at Rex’s Diner last week.”

“It was a dine and dash! S’not my problem if you can’t pick up the pace!”

“I’m warning you, Masky. One of these days you’re going to wake up on fire.”

Masky only gave a sharp laugh and brushed past his partner, eager to get to Payzme's market as quick as he could.

Masky wouldn’t call himself the smartest crook in the Manehattan Underground, but only because ponies who go flapping their gums about that kind of stuff typically get clubbed in the head a few times until they aren’t so bright anymore. So for his own sake, Masky proudly spread a reputation for himself as the dumbest swindler who would ever make a pony look like a sap. In a place where fame generally meant being the Underground’s most wanted, he was more than happy to live in obscurity and nick the goods while everyone was focused on taking down whatever new hotshot who wasn’t smart enough to keep his head down.

That isn’t to say he wasn’t proud of his sense of style and flair. “No one likes getting mugged,” he would explain to his uninterested assistant time and time again, “but everyone loves a good con. A little bamboozle here and never hurt nopony, and it leaves ‘em with a better story than ‘I was walking down the street when I got bucked in the side of the head and woke up without my watch.’” Masky was proud to be a thief, and wore his purple cap and purple striped vest like a uniform at all times. His ensemble was completed by a purple mask which wrapped over his lemon yellow eyes, resting on his nose, and neatly tied just over his short black mane. His coat was a rich green, and he was fortunate enough to have a cutie mark that was ambiguous enough to not immediately identify him as a scoundrel: a brown bag with a gold bit on the face of it. Depending on the crowd, it was either one of those money bag cutie marks those well-to-dos in Canterlot paraded about as a show of his business skills, or a good old-fashioned looting bag.

Patsy was a rare spectacle in Manehattan, as most citizens found dragons to be too grotesque, greedy, grouchy, or inedible (in the case of the small Diamond Dog population) to want to keep around. Greedy was a fair accusation. Grouchy, maybe. Inedible, he certainly hoped so. But he drew the line at grotesque. Sure, the black eyepatch over his left eye was a bit off-putting to some ponies, but it wasn’t like he actually needed it. It served as much of a function the red bandanna he wrapped around his neck. But Masky always insisted that presence was half the scam, so he kept the accessories. And as a bonus, he thought they made him look pretty tough to compensate for his smaller stature. He was lean and trim, and his muddy brown pointed spines left him just barely shorter than an average pony. He was reaching the age where he was beginning to stretch out, and to his chagrin, Masky often joked that soon he’d be big enough to steal a building for him. The fins on the side of his head and the spines that extended from his back and down his tail were much sharper than an infant dragon’s. Even his tail was even getting a bit of a snap to it for when he wanted to knock a pony off their feet.

“Hey! Hold it right there! Thief! Help! Somepony call the police!”

The two crooks instinctively flinched at the cry, but they continued their pace while listening carefully to the sound of hooves clapping against concrete. Without even looking, Masky could already deduce that some unlucky target had gotten their purse or necklace snatched by some desperate hoodlum. It never reflected well on a pony’s financial situation when they had to take to the street to make a living, which was as true for thieves as it was for any other “working mare.” Masky and Patsy merely stepped to the side a bit and waved to the large pony who blazed past them with a purse clenched in his teeth.

“How’s it hanging, Clubber?” Masky asked pleasantly.

“Get bent, green bean!” Clubber shouted over his shoulder as he vanished among the impassive crowd of Manehattanites.

“Everypony’s in such a rush these days,” Patsy whistled.

“You’re telling me. Clubber didn’t even notice he lost this,” Masky replied with a devious smile, catching a brown bag in his hoof that jingled as it rose and fell. “Clumsy Clubber.”

“Ugh, you know it terrifies me when you do that, right?”

“Do what?”

“Smile,” Patsy said, smothering the word with disdain. “Hasn’t anypony ever told you it looks like the top half of your head’s about to fall off?”

“You’re gonna razz me about my winning pearls? When you got that little snaggletooth peeping outta your mouth?”

“I’m a dragon, I’m supposed to be ugly. What’s your excuse?”

“I oughta take you for a ride and leave you for the buzzards, you know that, you little grubber?”

The two bickered for the better part of an hour, their tempers burning hotter and hotter with every passing minute. It was already dark and right around the time Masky was threatening to skin Patsy and turn him into a coat when the pair became suddenly aware of their surroundings.

“They’ve got to fix the streets on this part of the city already,” Patsy grumbled as he pushed himself off the ground, rubbing his forehead with one claw and massaging his stubbed toes with the other. “I’m tired of tripping on the sidewalks.”

“You could always just look where you’re walking. Maybe take off that patch so you could see where you’re going,” Masky said snidely.

“You’re the one who said I should—you know what? Forget it. Let’s just get there already and go.”

“Don’t be such a putz, Patsy,” Masky said, giving him a light jab to the shoulder. “It’s just gonna be a quick visit, don’t go getting your tail in a twist. Besides, Payzme always loves checking in on old merchandise.”

===========

“You’re late,” Payzme grunted as he folded his newspaper and pushed it to the side of his desk. He glared at the duo approaching down the alley from over the edges of his sunglasses.

“It’s always a kick seeing you too, Payz,” Masky said as he sauntered up to the repurposed newspaper kiosk and leaned on the counter. “And a little birdie told me that you’ve got some new toys in stock.”

“Oh, you got that tip, did you?” the gray unicorn said apathetically as he rifled under the counter for something. “I’m glad. I’ve been wanting to see you for a while now.” He raised his eyes over the counter to glare at the two. “Since your last visit, actually.”

“You really shouldn’t hold a grudge, it’s not—ah.” Masky’s words died in his throat when he came face to face with a metal pellet hovering finely between his eyes. “What’s this, some kind of fancy acorn?”

“Just a little tool I’ve been working on,” Payzme said. “I call it a Gunne. As in, I want you to pay your debt and then I want you gunne, or I launch this through your skull.”

“I like the name,” Masky grumbled. He took the two coin bags out of his hat and spilled their contents onto the counter. Payzme swept the bits into a drawer and tossed the Gunne over his shoulder. It clattered and quickly vanished among the piles of merchandise the shifty pony had accumulated while running his black market.

“Before I make tracks, you wouldn’t mind if I just snoop around, would ya?” Masky asked innocently. “You did bait me all the way out here to shake me down, the least you could do is show me some goodies.”

“And just how do you plan on paying for anything?”

“Maybe I have something expensive I can pawn off, ever think of that?” The expression on Payzme’s face told Masky that the idea truly never crossed his mind for a number of reasons. “Fair enough. But Patsy can spot me,” he said with a convincing smile as he leaned over the desk to try to get a peek at the piles of dirty tricks just lying on the ground, practically begging him to slip a few of them into a pocket and slink away.

“Forget it.”

Masky was thrown off his hooves by a blast of magic that sent him tumbling down the alley.

“I told you I hate that glittery magic bunk!” he shouted. He shivered as the last few traces of telekinetic magic left him and snarled at the unicorn. “Hate it! How could you treat your number one customer like that? Oof... Patsy, give me a hoof here. I think I’m gonna toss my cookies.”

“Can you make him do a flip?” Patsy asked Payzme as he hopped up on the counter.

“You dirty rat! When I get my hooves on you, you’ll wi-waha-wahwoah!”

The world turned into a merry-go-round from hell for Masky as he kicked his legs uselessly against the magic aura. Colors and lights swirled together as he was tossed about by the spiteful shopkeeper. He was held still only long enough to see a malicious grin on Payzme’s face.

“Let’s play make believe for a minute. I’ll be Princess Celestia, and you be Princess Luna.”

“You’re kind of ugly to be a princess, aren’t you?” Masky slurred.

“Bing bang boom, straight to the moon.”

Masky blinked at his new surroundings. The ground was a good way below him. The situation reminded him of some movie he had seen once, about an earth pony who had a dream every night about being a pegasus and flying through the skies, sleeping on the clouds, dancing in the rain, all sorts of namby pamby garbage. It was cheesy, it was terrible, and he had Patsy start a fire in the theater when they wouldn’t give him his money back just because “He didn’t buy a ticket.” And as he plummeted back to the ground, he vowed to burn the theater twice for making his last thoughts on Celestia’s earth be about that lousy movie.

He froze in the air just an inch above the ground before falling square on his head. He patted himself down and found with pleasure that his mask and hat had managed to cling to him during his acrobat routine. Satisfied, he allowed his legs to buckle under him, leaving him spread on his stomach in front of the black market as Payzme and Patsy howled with laughter. The laughter subsided a bit when Masky made good on his previous threat and gave a technicolor yawn at the foot of the stand.

“That’s real pretty,” Patsy said with a sigh as he helped his dizzy partner to his feet.

“Hey... hey you,” Masky mumbled as he jabbed a hoof at the space a few feet to the left of the amused unicorn and nearly falling over from the sudden imbalance. “You shut your mouf. I’d if... hurgh... I’d kick your ass if there weresn’t five of you... Patsy, I’m hungry.”

“You did just enjoy your breakfast in reverse, so I’d imagine.”

Patsy helped his accomplice to his feet again and guided the pony down the alleyway and back into Manehattan proper. Masky shook his head a few times, dislodging his namesake from its proper place. Retching one more time, he fixed the mask and cracked his neck.

“Well, that was a laugh and a half. What did you manage to swipe?” he asked. Patsy held up a finger to silence his partner as he began to heave and gag, his throat bobbing grotesquely. Masky had to avert his eyes or risk joining in with another round of tossing up green. With a final heave, several black balls dropped out of the toothy maw. Patsy quickly caught the balls before they dropped onto the ground and shook the slime off of them.

“I got... I got some... some smoke bombs an’... and his newspaper,” he panted. “I gotta get better at doing this.”

“Stealing? Yeah, I’d say so, too,” Masky snapped. “He was all over me with that creepy-crawly squiggly noodle glitter! I risked my neck back there! Damn narwhal could’a bumped me off if he had the mind to, and all you could nab was this kiddie stuff? I say next time, we just thump the wet sock and be done with it.”

“I was talking about the stomach pocket,” Patsy said shrilly.

“Yeah, you suck at that, too.” The comment earned him a kick to the stomach that nearly started a whole new digestion crisis. He mumbled something along the lines of “dugging dragons” and snatched the newspaper. “Where were you hiding this one?”

“You don’t want to know.”

==========

There’s a lot that could be said about Diamond Dogs. It could be pointed out how they were freakish ghouls who slunk around in caves as if they were afraid of seeing themselves in the light of day. Someone could mention that they were barely sentient shrieking husks of fur and claws who couldn’t tell a face from an ass without shoving their nose in it and hoping really hard it was a face. And if someone was feeling particularly mean-spirited, they might even say that they were mangy, flea bitten bottom feeders who survived off the scraps of the scum of the earth and most likely were the result of some hideous amount of unholy magic striking what could have otherwise been an ordinary dog who could go a day without trying to communicate with voices like horns scraping on a chalkboard while they wallowed in their own filth until the day merciful Luna finally descended upon them and put them out of everypony’s misery.

“You’re thinking awful things about Diamond Dogs again, aren’t you?” Patsy said from his seat at the grungy table as he looked over the menu.

Rex’s Diner was an oasis for the scum of Manehattan. It was dark enough to hide in if someone was looking for someone who couldn't afford to be found, it had that special amount of grime and a reputation for violence that kept the straight-laced Manehattanites from butting in and classing up the joint, and the cooks could sling up some some negotiably edible slop for any customers with a vegetarian or carnivorous diet.

“I just don’t see why they have to yell every time they talk—”

“FOOD ORDER READY UP! BRING FOOD, PONY! PONY FETCH!”

“I can hear it in my nightmares,” Masky said wearily over the sound of three chefs yapping at the sound of a bell. One of the pony waitresses finished pouring a cup of coffee for a burly stallion, ducked under an airborne plate, and brought a bowl of the Cream of Don’t Ask soup to the table next to the two. In the far corner of the diner, a glass shattered. In response, the waitress grouchily seized a chair, hovered up a few feet above the perpetrator, and broke the chair over the rowdy customer’s head.

“NO PLAYING WITH PONIES, PONY! PONY FETCH ORDERS! FETCH!” came the orders from the kitchen over a cacophony of crashes and pots pounding against one another. “ROVER! DROP! NOT FOR EATING! FOR PONIES TO EATING! DROP!”

“It’s pretty mellow today,” Patsy said as he took a look at his mug of water and wisely chose against drinking.

“Hello, boys,” a voice cooed.

Masky shuddered a bit and turned to look at the wrinkled yellow mare smiling at him.

“And what can I get you two strapping men today?”

“Veggie burger for me and regular ground cow for the squirt,” Masky said curtly, sliding the menus at the mare and taking a sudden interest in the rusted and empty napkin dispenser.

“So, what’s your name, dearie?” the waitress asked Masky innocently, sliding a little closer.

“Is this really professional?”

“No need to be so shy. I don’t bite...” she said, leaning in further, her smile morphing into what might have once been a more inviting expression a hundred years ago. Patsy chomped down on his tongue, fighting with all his might to not laugh simply so he wouldn’t miss a word of this unholy courtship.

“You still haven’t rung up our orders yet,” Masky said, his voice finally beginning to waver a bit. He risked a glance at the gray old mare’s face in hopes he could scare her off.

He only made her more powerful.

“I’ll bet you like wine.”

“I... hanh?” He had a feeling that this was all going to get worse before it got better.

“You know how wine gets better with age?” There it was.

“Lady, enough!” Masky prayed his namesake granted him some anonymity as more of the amused patrons paused their efforts to choke down their slop to watch the spectacle.

“You know, you look a lot like my grandson.”

“Sto-ho-hop it! I’m! I’m gon-gon-gonna peeee hahahaha!” Patsy squealed as he rolled on the floor.

“Ey, green bean,” a plump mare sitting at the counter shouted. “How’s about giving the old bird a little peck?” Masky didn’t enjoy the suggestion as much as the rest of the customers did. He would have loved to push the old waitress off of him, but he didn’t quite feel like being earning a reputation as a granny beater and a granny shagger. So he settled for hurling the napkin dispenser at the pony who heckled him.

The metal box missed its mark, but managed to get a solid hit on the pegasus waitress as she flew by with a pot of what passed for coffee. Knocked off balance, she did a tumble in the air, spilling the scalding liquid on a number of patrons too distracted by Masky’s marefriend to react in time. The ponies all howled and tried to rush out from their seats, flipping over their tables and chairs in the process. One chair rocketed across the restaurant, slammed into another table, and knocked a single bowl of over-ripened salad to the floor. The disturbed eater rose up to buck the nearest pony in the head, only to step down in his bowl and slip and land square on his back.

The bowl arced into the air, showering lettuce and dressing across the room before breaking on the head of a stallion who had chosen to ignore the brawl. He rose to his hooves, seemingly inflating to twice his size. With a roar, he charged at the crowd of fighting ponies who all had the sense to move out of the way of the crazed horse and let him barrel into a table of innocent (relatively speaking) bystanders. The offended customers threw the wild horse off their table and began to pummel the giant to the best of their ability before their victim regained some sense and tossed them all across the diner.

In a matter of minutes, Rex’s Diner had descended into the greatest disaster zone Manehattan had seen since Fillydelphia had dumped their parasprite problem on the city. Food, ponies, and harsh words flew in a whirlwind of anarchy until the kitchen door was finally kicked open and a small Diamond Dog jumped up onto a table that had been miraculously overlooked when the customers were searching for weapons. He put a whistle to his mouth and blew with all the strength he had in him.

Few beings in Equestria were even aware there was a painful frequency of sound that only ponies could hear. That number grew to include the patrons of the diner who all immediately collapsed to the ground, clutching their ears in agony.

“FOOD NOT FOR FIGHTING!” Rex screeched at the top of his horrid little lungs. “WHERE IS PONY? WHERE IS PONY WHO START TROUBLE?”

==========

“This is why we can’t have nice things,” Masky huffed as he rounded a street corner.

“Because you have serious anger management issues?” Patsy asked tensely as he rubbed the tip of his tail gently. It had gotten caught in the door during their escape, but considering the chaos they had unleashed in the diner, he counted himself lucky to have gotten away with just that. Well, lucky would have been getting away with a full stomach and a tail that hadn’t been fractured by a metal door, but he had to settle with what he got.

“What?” Masky gasped as if he had just been asked to spare a bit for charity. “I’m great! It’s those damn grannies always trying to start with me! They’ve got to be passing notes about me somehow.”

“So there’s a conspiracy of old mares all trying to get you, is that right?”

“Not old mares. Just grannies. Specifically grannies. Maybe they’re throwing some big granny shindig and they all talk there. Maybe they have a newsletter or something, I don’t know!” he cried as he headed down an alley and took a seat on a trash can.

“That makes much more sense. ‘Foxy Grandma Weekly’ is a pretty popular magazine, I hear,” Patsy said with a snort as he unfolded the newspaper he had managed to hold onto.

“No, it would have to be something less frequent. They can’t read that fast, they have old eyes,” he said. Patsy found it uncomfortable how he couldn’t find the least bit of irony in his partner’s voice. “Maybe ‘Plastic Hip Monthly.’ And hey!” Masky shouted, snatching the paper out of his claws. “Just what do you think you’re doing with that?”

“I’m reading. That’s sort of what you do with the newspaper.”

“Who taught you how to read?” he asked suspiciously as he began flipping through the pages.

“Well it wasn’t you, you horse’s a—” Patsy wasn’t sure how Masky managed to pinch his lips shut with a hoof.

“Patsy, shut up for a second. Or a minute, even better. Feast your eyes on this!”

“‘Audience Says “Me-WOW” To Drug Bust At Cat Show.’ Yeah, that’s... that’s something."

“Not the rotten cat article! This one!” Patsy moved the green hoof out of the way to read an article on the opposite page.

“Princess Celestia Commissions Statues,” he read aloud. “In honor of the heroic defeat of Discord, the Spirit of Chaos and Disharmony who had plunged Equestria into madness months ago, Princess Celestia, our glorious leader, has ordered sculptures of the six bearers of the legendary Elements of Harmony to be placed around the wicked spirit in the Canterlot Sculpture Garden.

When asked why the beautiful and kind Princess would spend the national budget to pay for the marble statues, which are to be gilded with purest gold and studded precious stones, in blatant disregard to the growing welfare issue and food shortage spreading across the nation, our great and glorious leader had banished the treasonous slanderer to the far reaches of the globe. All Hail Princess Celestia.

The six mares of interest declined comment on the issue, but all agreed that Princess Celestia is great and wonderful to all.”

“This rag took a conservative turn lately,” Patsy lamented as he handed the paper back to the madly grinning Masky.

“Never mind that! I just cooked up something brilliant, see?”

“Oh good, the voice. I can’t wait to hear this one.”

Masky’s smile threatened to conquer his entire face as he drummed his hooves against the trash can lid, providing his own drumroll. “We’re going to swipe them!”

“The statues. Real funny. Hey, pass me the crosswords.”

“Not the statues, you maroon!” Masky shouted as he jumped to his hooves, his yellow eyes glinting with devilish intent. “We’re gonna pinch the Elements of Harmony!”

Comments

[Corona Blaze]

wat.

HUH!?

This is gonna be GOOD!

[Greytercakes]

I am currently linking this story to everybody I know. All two of them

This is still really hillarious, I so look forward to more

[Red Rune]

Well. This can only end... Hmm... Well? I believe.

Ladies and Gentlecolts, may I present to you the first two recruits of the Equestrian Aeronautics and Space Administrition.
These brave individuals, Masky and Patsy, have volunteered to be the first pony- Er... individuals to LAND on the moon in a little over a thousand years!

[ooooo13]

Pretty damn good..

[Brony Tom]

"Though most ponies simply thought of the expansive halls of the hidden city as merely the ugly alleyways where the homeless spent their lives alternating between warming their hooves over a trash fire and throwing a mystery substance that was carefully-guarded secret mixture of sludge, muck, and ooze, the more in-the-know ponies understood it for what it was: the seedy underbelly of the city and the true society that ruled the lives of Manehattan’s citizens."

That is one hell of a sentence. I think it would flow much better if you split it up.
Also, you're missing a few " marks at the beginning of some of your early dialogue sentences.

Otherwise, very interesting. Continue writing this, please.

[avatoa]

These guys can't be that stupid, can they?

[TheManWithTwoNames]

338457

I blame the faulty option that lets you transfer documents from google docs to fimfiction. It always leaves out big chunks of text here and there and I can't always catch all of them. I'm perfect, it's everything else that needs to fix itself.

338853
If it's a stupid idea and it works, it's not stupid.
That said, I haven't decided if it's going to work or not yet. Stay tuned, kiddies!

[Relevant Heavy Metal]

Keys To The Kingdom - Motorhead

[BrightIdea]

Description paragraph's to me seemed abit long, but otherwise I laughed out loud and nearly choked on my gum. I Track.