A Clockwork Groyper (Chapter 1)

It was us frens - that is Groyper, Honkler, Marv, and Apu. And we were sitting in the Brittany Venti milkbar plotting on what to do with the evening. Each of us were taking inward our share of Milkies Plus, which contained Frenocrum, Horntaset, and Brapsclin - all to sharpen us up for a night of the ultra groyping. And sharpen us it did, oh my groypers, that it did.

After a few quick glurp glurp of all the sweet, sweet milkies you can plot, we left the Venti bar with spirits high. Viddying the dark cool streets, your most thoughtful narrator found an NPC hollering away into the night and singing ear-splitting verses from Childish Gambino picturing the country as racist and rotten.

"How goes there, sin-singer of the daily warts? Why is thou singing into the open air?" I said grinning down at the NPC half-drunk on its own song.

"Because this is America, where it's always been rotten and stinking," said the NPC shivering in its own slimy filth.

"And oh, what's so rotten about it, fren?" said your humble narrator.

"It's rotten because it lets the Chads get over on the virgins. It's rotten because it doesn't pay women the same for doing half the work as men," said the NPC bum. "Trump is destroying the earth. He's a Russian puppet. There's no longer any respect for earthly law and order anymore."

Then, oh my groypers, the sweet bliss of fists and kicks on this poor city sap of the night. We kicked and punched him as he sang out his tired sad song.

We plucked a car about a quarter mile down the road and went out speeding into the sweet dark. My frens laughing and hooting as I played 'groyps of the road' with other vehicles of the night. Oh, my groypers, it was a real horrorshow ride screaming fast down the dimly lit streets.