|You've got a message! (3 of 5)|
Bad news, Adverse Interests, LLC. Your Nion, Becks and Cyn, has died in the field. Please review the asset profile and make the arrangements that apply.
"Unstoppable, the raw force of the sun or a black hole unleashed on your foes, but are they really worth it? Christ, just fucking blow my brains out already. I can still hear them laughing about something from Big Brother."
"I would rather gobble thousand degree boulders of pumice out of a dead horse pussy than hire these two wastes of tits and ass ever again. If I see them on the sidewalk I will swerve to drive over the stinking, snaggly jizz pits they call heads."
|Becks and Cynthia|
AKA: Rebecca Horsely and Cynthia Mallowcup, Those Two Skanks, The Drunk Girls, The Party Girls
Customer Score: 60% (rate)
Availability: Currently Unavailable!
Capabilities: Being sooo unbelievably drunk, No, seriously Becks, I think I am gonna pass out, kissing each other, getting mad at each other, fighting with each other, crying about high school with each other, texting, shagging the same bloke that gave the other one a VD and then posting about it on facebook, annihilating all enemies.
Equipment: Tiny purses, gum, mobiles, about two quid and one condom between them, completely inappropriate kit for a combat mission.
Special Training/Notes: Both girls were created by Project Omega as the vessels of the infinite negator, as such they can release an incalculable force of destruction whenever they choose. The difficulty is convincing them to do so.
|Circumstance of Contract Liquidation:|
Had too many cranberry vodkas at Trio and disappeared from the mission to "go find some blokes." Turned up later both dead from carbon monoxide poisoning. According to the police they passed out in the garage with their car running and died from (more)
Simply put, if I had Johnny Manziel’s physical gifts, you better believe I would be there in the Weight Room, getting to bed early, doing whatever I had to do to be the best possible athlete I could be. I wouldn't be posting on social media about sucking titties. I wouldn't even look at a titty, buddy. I'd look at a titty and see two big footballs.
A real friend doesn't move until the middle of August, ensuring temperatures in the 90s and a humidity that turns boxers into moist balls of ruined cotton.
Expendable? You must be joking.
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