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Lucien was sullen and uncooperative and gave one-word answers. He wore prison khakis and slouched on the witness stand. He had styled his hair into two big buns above his ears. One of Stanley's public defenders, Richard Reeve, spent most of a day prodding Lucien with pointed questions designed to convince jurors that, at 24, Lucien is a career criminal making up evidence against Stanley in an effort to avoid serving a life sentence of his own. Lucien admitted robbing crack dealers, shooting at strangers he thought might be following his car and engaging in a running gun battle through the backyards of homes in a crowded city neighborhood.

When a friend complained that someone from Kent Street had disrespected him by cracking him on the head with a bottle, Lucien said, he went to Kent Street and tried to shoot a complete stranger. He said the stranger lived because the gun jammed. Lucien admitted under questioning that he wants to reduce the life sentence he faces for trying to arrange the murder of his former best friend, Charles Jernigan. He testified that he and former Ave boss Dominique Mack were afraid Jernigan might cooperate with authorities and tie them to gun crimes.

Lucien thought he was hiring a hit man, when in reality he was talking to an undercover FBI agent wearing concealed audio and video recorders. He was being held at a Rhode Island jail while awaiting trial on a variety of charges and he spoke repeatedly to the faux hit man through the plexiglass window of a visitors' area. They communicated using a combination of loud words and crude sign language.

When the hit man pointed out that Jernigan lived with a girlfriend and daughter, Lucien admitted under questioning that he couldn't afford to let them survive as witnesses. The recording shows Lucien flicking his fingers across his throat, a pantomime of slitting a throat. Then the recording shows that he smiled and gave the agent a fist bump through the plexiglass. Lucien testified that he was present when Stanley shot Washington on Ave turf at Oakland Terrace on July 15, Earlier in the day, according to the prosecution case, a member of The Ave shot at Stanley as he drove through The Ave territory on Vine Street.

The prosecution claims Stanley drove back later in the day to get even, and his target was Lucien. What would we do if you dropped it and broke it? You can't touch it!!! I never watched a lot of wrestling as a kid, but if it looked like this, I would have. I-I hate to say it, but their arms kinda look like reverse dicks.

They have droopy eyes, their eyes look like balls! Why am I Wilhelming so hard tonight? Waluigi is scared of his own shadow, and for good reason. Non-stop web-slinging, wall crawling action! Daphne has become color bars on a television. Beat She needs to be investigated. So, the name of this corruption is ' Swaggy Has a Wing. Shaggy's been smokin' the purple haze. Shaggy imitation Scoob, it's really kicking in now, Scoob!

Scooby imitation I runno? The guy with the mask? It's spooky in here.

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Inject amphetamines into your eye and you can see this in real life. Do NOT inject amphetamines into your eye. There were these, um, rumors that we were gonna get a Paper Zelda game on the N And yes, it's the same one that ate glue. Link, now is not the time for your egg. The only way to experience your video games.

Guys, I can't control Link. He noped right out. Guys, its all white. Now I could easily make a "white ink" joke, a la Splatoon , but instead, I'm just gonna say it's semen. They're on the ship right over there, there's a bunch of seamen. And a seawoman too, see? Some days, you just Why is it moving on its own!? What does this to do with corruptions VGDC? I mean, it's a Game Boy version of the show , which is disgusting. All right, let's just keep moving. Worst music in N64 history! What have you done to these poor children?

So they're finally here DK rap: Is that what you want? Oh, that doesn't say "fuck", it just says "F".

Vinesauce Vinny / Funny - TV Tropes

What is this shitstorm of a gam- NO! Wai— why did i— what? The censorship in Nintendo games was out of control, even in the nineties. Luigi, what'd you do to your dick? I dunno, Mario, w-whadaya mean? I know you're into that modification stuff, but did ya have to put a flashlight in there?! I thought it was unique! I dunno what the fuck you want from me, old man, but allow me to at least give you the sweet release of death, the most precious gift I could give to someone such as yourself Y'know, he lost his faculties! This is what happens when you're in an old, moldy, crusty, rotted dungeon!

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Your brain starts to go funny, you start to say strange things Vinny re-enters the room where the old man was, and the only text displayed is "No". Vinny busts his gut laughing. My whole train of thought You put your C in me, Homie. This is the Smash 5 hype train. It doesn't stop, and it never shuts the fuck up. That sound you hear is endless speculation. Excuse me, but what in the name of the ever-risen Christ on this day of Easter is the momu Plund? Here we go, nice date with Tifa. Tifa would by my choice- WHAT.

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Gets up I don't know what the fuck is going on any more but I have had enough! And the flower is tripping absolute fucking balls as well. C'mon Beavis, pull it! What, he's just an ass! They say that this, uh, planet's atmosphere is made of helium. Vinny's Laughing Mad reaction to a buggy jackhammer in a roadworks simulator game.

What is this hot garbage? No, it's brought to you by 'Cheyyv'. You couldn't find the Burger King font and come up with another name; you had to just replace 'Burger' with 'King', again? This is a fun game to pick on, it's such an easy target. I'm sorry, it's called 'Dad and Dad'.

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Sounds like someone inserting a wet fish into a jar of custard Vinny after positioning various vehicles in such a way that an airplane flips over: I just found my first toilet, Michael Jackson will be so proud of me. I just realized what I said. I would rather pick the lint out of someone else's belly button. I would rather eat an ice cream cone filled with ass. I would rather milk a cat. I would rather eat a buffalo diarrhea. Oh my god, what is this? What does this have to do with Pikachu? Shut the fuck up, shut the fuck up!

Shut the fuck up dog, shut the fuck up handsome, shut the fuck up TV, shut the fuck up you! Shut the fuck up dog, shut the fuck up TV, shut the fuck up phone, shut the fuck up baby, shut the fuck up Snoopy! He was having a good time. They only take down Metroid games! Can someone explain why this Mickey Mouse-looking motherfucker does not have eyeballs? Absolute fucking massive quality! I have to put down the controller now. Okay, take it all in: I like that it says "Oasis"; that's the band Oasis's logo. Oh, what's up, Noodle? I wanna shit my internal organs and skeleton out of my butt.

He's not Pac-Man , and that's not Mrs. Creepy, but as long as it doesn't turn into a porno I smell it from here. It's gushin' wi' juice, it's embaumin' the air; It's steamin' for us, and we're jist aboot there. For the sake o' that haggis I'll gang till I drap. And the flare and the glare and the fury increase, Till you'd think they'd jist taken a' hell on a lease.

And on they go reelin' in peetifu' plight, And someone is shoutin' away on their right; And someone is runnin', and noo they can hear A sound like a prayer and a sound like a cheer; And swift through the crash and the flash and the din, The lads o' the Hielands are bringin' them in. When hirplin alang comes wee Wullie McNair, And they a' wonnert why he wis greetin' sae sair.

On, on, wi' their bayonets thirstin' before! On, on tae the foe wi' a rush and a roar! And wild to the welkin their battle-cry rang, And doon on the Boches like tigers they sprang: And there wisna a man but had death in his ee, For he thocht o' the haggis o' Private McPhee. From wrath-red dawn to wrath-red dawn, The guns have brayed without abate; And now the sick sun looks upon The bleared, blood-boltered fields of hate As if it loathed to rise again.

How strange the hush! From yon down-trodden gold of grain, The leaping rapture of a lark. A fusillade of melody, That sprays us from yon trench of sky; A new amazing enemy We cannot silence though we try; A battery on radiant wings, That from yon gap of golden fleece Hurls at us hopes of such strange things As joy and home and love and peace.

Pure heart of song I do you not know That we are making earth a hell? Or is it that you try to show Life still is joy and all is well? Ah, not in vain You beat into that bit of blue: Me and Ed and a stretcher Out on the nootral ground. If there's one dead corpse, I'll betcher There's a 'undred smellin' around. Me and Ed crawlin' 'omeward, Thinkin' our job is done, When sudden and clear, Wot do we 'ear: Now what would you do? There was me slaughtered mate. There was that 'Un I'd collered 'is gun , A-snarlin' 'is 'ymn of 'ate.

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Wot did I do? The rockets are shootin' and shinin', It's rainin' a perishin' flood, The bullets are buzzin' and whinin', And I'm up to me stern in the mud. Old sport, you're a-slackin' your grip. But I'm crocky already; My feet, 'ow they slither and slip! There goes the biff of a bullet. The Boches have got us for fair. Another one Whut! The son of a slut! Wot was it jabbed at me shoulder? Gave it a dooce of a wrench. Is it Eddy or me Wot's a-bleedin' so free? I ain't just as strong as a Sandow, And Ed ain't a flapper by far; I'm blamed if I understand 'ow We've managed to get where we are.

But 'erce's for a bit of a breather. Old pal, it's all right; It's a 'ell of a fight, But are we down-'earted? It's the rummiest sort of a go. For when it's most real, It's then that you feel You're a-watchin' a cinema show. It's somewheres in France, And I'm 'ere in a pit Where a coal-box 'as 'it, And it's all like a giddy romance. The ruddy quick-firers are spittin', The 'eavies are bellowin' 'ate, And 'ere I am cashooly sittin', And 'oldin' the 'ead of me mate.

Them gharstly green star-shells is beamin', 'Ot shrapnel is poppin' like rain, And I'm sayin': You'll wake up and 'ear yourself sayin': A feller wot punctured your partner; Oh, you 'ammered 'im 'ard on the 'ead, And you still see 'is eyes Starin' bang at the skies, And you ain't even sorry 'e's dead.

But you wish you was back in your diggin's Asleep on your mouldy old stror. Oh, you're doin' yer bit, 'Erbert 'Iggins, But you ain't just enjoyin' the war. It's us for the bomb-belt again. Except for the shrap Which 'as 'it me a tap, I'm feelin' as right as the rain.

It's my silly old feet wot are slippin', It's as dark as a 'ogs'ead o' sin, But don't be oneasy, my pippin, I'm goin' to pilot you in. It's my silly old 'ead wot is reelin'. The bullets is buzzin' like bees. Me shoulder's red-'ot, And I'm bleedin' a lot, And me legs is on'inged at the knees. But we're staggerin' nearer and nearer. Just stick it, old sport, play the game. I make 'em out clearer and clearer, Our trenches a-snappin' with flame. Oh, we're stumblin' closer and closer. Just one more try. Damn it, no, sir! I'll carry you in if I die. They're sendin' out stretchers for two.

Let's give 'em the hoorah between us 'Anged lucky we aren't booked through. My flipper is mashed to a jelly. A bullet 'as tickled your spleen. We've shed lots of gore And we're leakin' some more, Butwot a hoccasion it's been! They're crawlin' out cautious and slow. Buck up and greet 'em, my 'earty, Shoulder to shoulderso. They mustn't think we was down-'earted. Old pal, we was never down-'earted. If they arsts us if we was down-'earted We'll 'owl in their fyces: It isn't the foe that we fear; It isn't the bullets that whine; It isn't the business career Of a shell, or the bust of a mine; It isn't the snipers who seek To nip our young hopes in the bud: That often is rather good fun.

It isn't the shrapnel we find Obtrusive when rained by the ton; It isn't the bounce of the bombs That gives us a positive pain: It isn't because we lack grit We shrink from the horrors of war. We don't mind the battle a bit; In fact that is what we are for; It isn't the rum-jars and things Make us wish we were back in the fold: Oh, the rain, the mud, and the cold, The cold, the mud, and the rain; With weather at zero it's hard for a hero From language that's rude to refrain.

Oh, weren't they the fine boys!

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You never saw the beat of them, Singing all together with their throats bronze-bare; Fighting-fit and mirth-mad, music in the feet of them, Swinging on to glory and the wrath out there. Laughing by and chaffing by, frolic in the smiles of them, On the road, the white road, all the afternoon; Strangers in a strange land, miles and miles and miles of them, Battle-bound and heart-high, and singing this tune: Good-bye, Piccadilly, Farewell, Lester Square: It's a long, long way to Tipperary, But my heart's right there.

Come, Mimi, and cheer for them! Throw them flowers and kisses as they pass you by. Aren't they the lovely lads! Haven't you a tear for them Going out so gallantly to dare and die? What is it they're singing so? Some high hymn of Motherland? Some immortal chanson of their Faith and King?

Au revoir, Lestaire Squaire! C'est un chemin long 'to Tepararee', Mais mon coeur 'ees zaire. And yet it seems but yesterday, that great, glad sight of them, Swinging on to battle as the sky grew black and black; But oh their glee and glory, and the great, grim fight of them! Just whistle Tipperary and it all comes back: It's a long way to Tipperary Which means "'ome" anywhere ; It's a long way to Tipperary, And the things wot make you care. Ain't War just 'ell? It's off at the knee. Do I miss it? You see I've had it since I was born; And lately a devilish corn.

I rather chuckle with glee To think how I've fooled that corn. But I'll hobble around all right. It isn't that, it's my face. Oh I know I'm a hideous sight, Hardly a thing in place; Sort of gargoyle, you'd say. Nurse won't give me a glass, But I see the folks as they pass Shudder and turn away; Turn away in distress Mirror enough, I guess. You bet I am gay; But I wasn't a while ago. If you'd seen me even to-day, The darndest picture of woe, With this Caliban mug of mine, So ravaged and raw and red, Turned to the wall in fine, Wishing that I was dead.

What has happened since then, Since I lay with my face to the wall, The most despairing of men? I'll tell you all. That poilu across the way, With the shrapnel wound in his head, Has a sister: