Deceptive backwoods discourse (38 and counting)

A freedom anchor. A dungeon swap meet. A lifestock massacre. All things that were in Corey's new spell book. A backwoods appeal to the city folk for more park land, stronger public schools, and supermarkets within walking distance. In addition, an index located in the back mentioned a few public policies that have been obsolete since primitive societies have ceased to be.

An oily smoke mixed with the flavor of freshly cut, dew soaked grass streamed into his nostrils. Tammy the gimp switched back over crowded ground to a vantage point where she could see what Corey's next move actually was. There he stood, the ancient powers at his side. He took in the smell and raised his arms to the air, sensing that he had reached full power, possibly granted to him by the Sir Mix-a-Lot gang that hung out at the Milk King parking lot. They harassed Corey with backwoods raps and sent him riddles to find their hidden jewelry. Once Chad, aka Luscious Mike, flew a hang glider directly overhead and dropped propaganda leaflets all over Corey's area. Corey used the leaflets to dam up a small stream to prevent all but a few drops of water from trickling into the sunset.

Today the power was sent up from his rivals, in the form of diesel fumes and lawn clippings, and he fully intended to take advantage of this. He was giddy with the thought that they had made such a terrible mistake. Tonight would be a terrible night for a curse. Tammy peered out of her Rayband sunglasses and into the open chateau of a field where Corey had set up shop. Corey, in the meantime was frantically summoning all variations of deities including Saladin, Nunecaz Liducier, Therion Brax, Jeff, and Danny Devito. The time was nearing, and dependable forecasts were able to be estimated. Clouds formed in and around the place, enveloping all but two of the rabbits in the area that sprinted at the extents. The life force was struck from them (to zero) and the concussion of wave was moving to new areas. Tammy raised her left arm, placed it under the barrel, sighted Corey in, and blasted him with a 60 caliber Soviet gift. Corey burst into a blood storm and lay in his own shadow. Tammy went down and retrieved Corey for his taxidermy destiny. Tammy, of course, was a hunter, just recently awarded the tag to shoot forest goers in the deep north woods. The newly developed program assured all violents that their bloodlust be satisfied in lieu of public schools, more parks and short walks to the supermarket. She listened to Lady Gaga as she drove the carcass to Sons of Taxidermy. These are the times we live in.