Bust A Cap Quotes

It is my fondest desire to bust a host of caps into multitudes of fleshy personages.

Tohrment spoke. "Bella's brother called. He's tabled the sehelusion request and asked that she stay here for a couple of days." Z jacked his head up. "Why?" "He didn't give a reason-" Tohr's eye's narrowed on Z's face. "Oh... my God." "What the fuck are you looking at?" Phury pointed to the antique mirror hanging on the wall next to the double doors. "See for yourself." Zsadist marched across the room, ready to give them all hell. Bella was what mattered- His mouth went lax at his reflection. With a shaky hand he reached out to the eyes in the old-fashioned leaded glass. His irises were no longer black. They were yellow. Just like his twin's. "Phury?" he said softly. "Phury... what happened to me?" As the male came up behind him, his brother's face appeared right beside Z's. And then Wrath's dark reflection showed up in the mirror, all long hair and sunglasses. Then Rhage's star-fallen beauty. And Vishous's Sox cap. And Tohrment's brush cut. And Butch's busted nose. One by one they reached out and touched him, their big hands gently on his shoulders. "Welcome back, my brother," Phury whispered. Zsadist stared at the males who were behind him. And the oddest thought that if he were to let himself go limp and fall backward... they would catch him.

When my phone rang at the bakery, this usually meant someone wanted to order a birthday cake. When Brock’s rang at the Station, this usually meant someone had a cap busted in their ass. My job was WAY better.

Alec answered her, “You do know that it’s disturbing that you know all that, right? We thought you were some go-hard; take no prisoners, don’t-look-at-me-or-I’ll-bust-a-cap-in-your-ass, warrior.” She balled her hands up by her hips and barked in annoyance, “Well I wasn’t raised on G.I. Joes, you know! Mama raised me on princesses and fairy tales, I just happened to end up liking the swords better than the shoes in the stories, okay?” ~ Jenna

Dear troubles, my amigo Accolades to your valour and vigour in battling Me. Though each time you have lost the crusade, your persistent effort in drubbing me down with tiresome regularity, is remarkable. Sadly your trials have all been clunkers, and your lingering rage at being unceremoniously busted by snippy woman storm trooper inside me to boot is axiomatic. I know it’s not your fault, fighting me is not a cake walk. You can’t quash my acquaintance with the strategic moves you make, or the unreal-fleeting bonds you break. I am rather familiar with aimless, exasperated steps you take and that Duchenne smile you fake. I can, for sure, guess any rare cryptic word you say or sinister cat and mouse game you play. My dear old stinging Gordian’s Knot, I love the way you have always tailed me, but to your dismay I guess I was always ahead of the curve. My love, my darling, quandary little Catch-22, I suggest you kill me now, shoot me now, show no mercy bury me deep, deport me to hellhole, coz I have right to die. Hang me and close me in a gas chamber, entomb me and put my soul in a bottle, cap it tight and throw it in the deep sea. Get rid of me else if slightest of me comes back then my lovely, ‘stumbling hornets nest’, you are bound to fizzle out and evanesce into nothingness. Run, I say, run now and never return, you know I am kinda tried and tested………..

Damn It Feels Good To Be A Gangsta Verse 1 Damn it feels good to be a gangsta A real gangsta-ass nigga plays his cards right A real gangsta-ass nigga never runs his f**kin mouth Cuz real gangsta-ass niggas don't start fights And niggas always gotta high cap Showin' all his boys how he shot em But real gangsta-ass niggas don't flex nuts Cuz real gangsta-ass niggas know they got em And everythings cool in the mind of a gangsta Cuz gangsta-ass niggas think deep Up three-sixty-five a year 24/7 Cuz real gangsta ass niggas don't sleep And all I gotta say to you Wannabe, gonnabe, cocksuckin', pussy-eatin' prankstas 'Cause when the fire dies down what the f**k you gonna do Damn it feels good to be a gangsta Verse 2 Damn it feels good to be a gangsta Feedin' the poor and helpin out with their bills Although I was born in Jamaica Now I'm in the US makin' deals Damn it feels good to be a gangsta I mean one that you don't really know Ridin' around town in a drop-top Benz Hittin' switches in my black six-fo' Now gangsta-ass niggas come in all shapes and colors Some got killed in the past But this gangtsa here is a smart one Started living for the lord and I last Now all I gotta say to you Wannabe, gonnabe, pussy-eatin' cocksuckin' prankstas When the sh*t jumps off what the f**k you gonna do Damn it feels good to be a gangsta Verse 3 Damn it feels good to be a gangsta A real gangta-ass nigga knows the play Real gangsta-ass niggas get the flyest of the b**ches Ask that gangsta-ass nigga Little Jake Now b**ches look at gangsta-ass niggas like a stop sign And play the role of Little Miss Sweet But catch the b**ch all alone get the digit take her out and then dump-hittin' the ass with the meat Cuz gangsta-ass niggas be the gang playas And everythings quiet in the clique A gangsta-ass nigga pulls the trigger And his partners in the posse ain't tellin' off sh*t Real gangsta-ass niggas don't talk much All ya hear is the black from the gun blast And real gangsta-ass niggas don't run for sh*t Cuz real gangsta-ass niggas can't run fast Now when you in the free world talkin' sh*t do the sh*t Hit the pen and let the mothaf**kas shank ya But niggas like myself kick back and peep game Cuz damn it feels good to be a gangsta Verse 4 And now, a word from the President! Damn it feels good to be a gangsta Gettin voted into the White House Everything lookin good to the people of the world But the Mafia family is my boss So every now and then I owe a favor gettin' down like lettin' a big drug shipment through And send 'em to the poor community So we can bust you know who So voters of the world keep supportin' me And I promise to take you very far Other leaders better not upset me Or I'll send a million troops to die at war To all you Republicans, that helped me win I sincerely like to thank you Cuz now I got the world swingin' from my nuts And damn it feels good to be a gangsta

Pissed-Off Poet's Credo: Limerick My Ass Motherfuckers There was a spoken-word poet from the hood Who busted kick-ass rhymes that nobody could. The homeboys believed he had a gift; Jealous poets gave this nigga short shrift ~ 'Till he busted a cap in their asses and the jealous poets shut-the-fuck-up for good.

I’m not as perfect as you think, sweetheart!” He laughed, shaking his head as he pinched the bridge of his nose. “Oh yeah? Show me one defect, Brooks,” Ava challenged, grinning as he sat upright. “Alright, see this tooth?” He pointed to one of his incisors. “Fake. Lost it tryna impress a girl at college.” “What, like in a fight?” Ava’s eyes widened like a drama-thirsty vampire. “No…more like me tryna bust open a beer cap with my tooth and then, pop!” “Oh my God, that is tragic!” she squealed, her hand covering her mouth as she burst out laughing so hard that gentle snorts left her nostrils. “You’re a closet dork!” “Yeah, well, never judge a book by its cover!” Nate laughed with her. “Mhm, a very tall, dark, and sexy book at that!

If I fly off the fucking rocker, Cap, I’m busting balls the entire way down.” “Good thing we wear cups.

she was going straight into Hollywood Station. 9 Ballard kept all her work suits in her locker at the station and dressed for her shifts after arriving each night. She had four different suits that followed the same cut and style but differed in color and pattern. She dry-cleaned them two at a time so that she always had a suit and a backup available. After arriving nearly eight hours early for her shift, Ballard changed into the gray suit that was her favorite. She accompanied it with a white blouse. She kept four white blouses and one navy in her locker as well. It was Friday and that meant Ballard was scheduled to work solo. She and Jenkins had to cover seven shifts a week, so Ballard took Tuesday to Saturday and Jenkins covered Sunday to Thursday, giving them three overlap days. When they took vacation time, their slots usually went unfilled. If a detective in the division was needed during the early-morning hours, then someone had to be called in from home. Working solo suited Ballard because she didn’t have to run decisions by her partner. On this day, if he had known what Ballard’s plan was, Jenkins would have put the kibosh on it. But because it was Friday, they would not be working together again until the following Tuesday, and she was clear to make her own moves. After suiting up, Ballard checked herself in the mirror over the locker room sinks. She combed her sun-streaked hair with her fingers. That was all she usually had to do. Constant immersion in salt water and exposure to the sun over years had left her with broken, flyaway hair that she kept no longer than chin length out of necessity. It went well with her tan and gave off a slightly butch look that reduced advances from other officers. Olivas had been an exception. Ballard squeezed some Visine drops into her eyes, which were red from the salt water. After that she was good to go. She went into the break room to brew a double-shot espresso on the Keurig. She would be operating now and through the night on less than three hours of sleep. She needed to start stacking caffeine. She kept her eye on the wall clock because she wanted to time her arrival in the detective bureau at shortly before four p.m., when she knew the lead detective in the CAPs unit would also be watching the clock, getting ready to split for the weekend. She had at least fifteen minutes to kill, so she went upstairs to the offices of the buy-bust team next to the vice unit. Major Narcotics was located downtown but each division operated

Papa’s not afraid of anything and I’ll bust you in two halves if you say so.” He jerked off his cap and hurled it to the ground. Text rolled his eyes until the whites showed. He had never seen Lon angry before, but he wasn’t afraid. “Then how come your Paw didn’t whup Mister Eben when Mister Eben kicked his dawg about two years ago?

The captain was threatening us that he was gonna keep turning the generators off, so I had to take him into a corner and talk to him very discretely, ‘Now, come on, Cap,’”50 was how Paul later remembered the lecture. But at the time he was incensed. “The captain of the boat that we were on was a little, sort of, heavier than the other captains—you know, he sort of took it a little more seriously—and at some stage we had an argument with him, and I sort of said, ‘You know, we don’t need all this aggro and stuff,’ and we wanted to get off onto this other boat that happened to be in the harbor.”51 The other boat was Wanderlust, and Paul cooled off by spending a few hours there with his guitar. Unwinding after his altercation with Captain Carlo, Paul wrote a song, taking the name of the boat as its title and alluding to the argument in the opening verse: “Light out wanderlust / Head us out to sea / Captain says there’ll be a bust / This one’s not for me.” “It became like a symbol of freedom to me, this catamaran, as it was, called Wanderlust. . . . After this hassling that this other fellow had given us, to get on this boat was like freedom, you know? So the song for me is actually just carrying on the idea. You know, just head us out to sea and take us away from all these headaches, and just wanderlust kind of free.” 52