WLC

Note: I've spent the last month or so inactive, and since noone was yelling and pointing the members towards our next objective in my abscense, most of them stopped checking our super sekrit board for updates. Since I don't remember who all is in the group, we are disbanded until you bastards wander back to the board, or I find my member list and PM you with instructions. --Priz 19:41, 24 May 2007 (BST)

"I slapped a man in Shearbank, just to watch him cry"--Some random chick

We're Like, Cool!
Abbreviation:	WLC
Group Numbers:	4 or 5 nutjobs.
Leadership:	I play a damn good sax, but I wouldn't call myself the leader.
Goals:	WWJDD?
Recruitment Policy:	Didn't get love as a child? Were you voted most likely to murder a hooker with a pipe? Then welcome to the suck.
Contact:	The same way you'd communicate with a fish

Kill Counts

Yes yes, we kill many people. Or will. They will forever be disregarded as numbers in this section.

Total: 76

We Like Chaos: 33

Just random people we felt like shooting.

We Love Columbine: 12

People we've killed in various schools around Roftwood and Pimbank, our old home.

We Loath Commies: 24

USSR members killed during "Kill A Commie Week!" (from March 7th to March 15th). In Soviet Russia, cliched phrase uses you!

We're Lowering Costs!: 8

People killed in and around a certain mall.

In the Beginning

God created the heavens and the earth. I guess he got bored, cause he abandoned us pretty quickly after, and we had to evolve our way up from monkies. Stupid fucker. Anyway, we went from monkies to this, and I can't say it's a huge improvement. But I digress. Around the 80s and 90s, two individuals were born. They didn't and still don't feel too much guilt for things that alot of people think they should. I personally blame the 80s and 90s. If they weren't so gay and boring, we'd all be better for it. Anyway, these two got dumped in Malton. They joined big, helpful groups of survivors and worked hard to make the city a better place, yadda yadda. They had their cake, and they ate it too. Eventually, they both decided that it would be cool to not only have their cake and eat it, but to be able to also kill the hooker who pops out. Sort of a What Would Jeffery Dahmler Do thing. So they each went off, gaining a little bit of fame and killing alot of cake-wenches.

WLC FTW!

Eventually, they got tired of killing the same old people over and over. One of them had robbed a bank earlier, which didn't work that well, as he ran out of bullets and the vaults were empty anyway, and suggested they could do alot better if they teamed up. So was born WLC. What does it stand for? Not telling. But I will tell you one thing: I thought FTW meant "fuck the what?" for the longest time.

Members

mem·ber (měm'bər) n.

  1. A distinct part of a whole, especially:
        1. Linguistics A syntactic unit of a sentence; a clause.
        2. Logic A proposition of a syllogism.
        3. Mathematics An element in a set.
        4. A limb, such as an arm or a leg.
        5. The penis.
  2. A part or an organ of a human or animal body, as:
        1. A limb, such as an arm or a leg.
        2. The penis.
  3. A part of a plant.
  4. One that belongs to a group or an organization: a club member; a bank that is a member of the FDIC.
  5. Mathematics The expression on either side of an equality sign.
  6. A structural unit, such as a beam or wall.

And since a certain Russian babe asked me to put a word in for them, fairies are pretty damn cool. I mean really, they're basically sexy bugs. Think about it.

Goals

Another name for points scored in a soccer match. A common misspelling is gaols, which is middle english for jails.

What does that have to do with it, you ask? Well, like I was saying before you interupted (kids have no manners these days), our goals are our own. We do what we feel like, when we feel like it (but we always wipe). Common goals include shooting things, shooting things, and ocasionally, even shooting things.

Why You Should Join Us

Who the Hell else are you gonna join? The NMC? While they also have a 'C', they just arn't as lush as us, and they don't get to rape and pillage.

Beautiful Stories for Ugly Children

The circus was burning.

It was me, Bingo, Foo Foo, and Joey Punchinello from the street. Foo Foo stole the keys to the Dart while Bingo grabbed Addy the Freaklady and some of our best pups. I got the booze out the ringmaster's trailer when he was watching the big-top burn. Joey Punchinello just lay low. Everyone knew he was always wiser to things than he was saying, like when that midget got drowned in the horse trough last winter. We figured we'd go 'til either the gas or money ran out, and if we could, swing back for Bingo's gig in the suburbs next day. Whatever. Not a damned thing about the fire on the radio so we blasted the tunes and shot west doin' 95, teasing the dogs and taking turns with Addy. In the back seat, she was anybody's freak.

Just outside Scaulderville, Foo Foo spies this big hairy dog we just gotta have, so we throw it in the back and Addy dumps her bourbon on it and we all get a pretty good laugh. Bingo swallows wrong and gets the dry heaves, and one of the pups gets his tongue in my ear.

At the light, we get stares from the bus people and I tell Joey Punchinello he should moon 'em but he's sucking back his bottle pretty good and kind of staring off at the horizon like he don't hear. Bingo and Foo Foo are all over Addy in a private-like moment, so me and the pups give 'em the finger.

We pull into this 7-11 to let the engine cool and get another case of long necks, and Foo Foo goes to this strip joint next door to check the talent and maybe get us some riders for a kick. Meanwhile, that new dog's really starting to stink with that bourbon all in its hair, and Addy whines that it's making her sick, so me and Bingo go in for the beer and get some hair remover as well and douse the dog in the parking lot. And man, we almost lose it when we see this big hairless thing standing there after we finish, buck naked. Then we heard the screams next door.

Seems Foo Foo met up with some bikers at Rico's, and I'm telling you, if the clown has a natural enemy, it's bikers! So this body comes flying out the door and I say, "Hey, that looks like the Foo," which it was, and then there's all these guys kicking and running toward us with knives. So I fire up the Dart and gun for the thick part of the crowd. I don't know if I got any of 'em, but we slide to a stop right next to Foo Foo and drag him in real quick and split. Whole time Joey's letting out these shrieks of laughter like I never heard, and Addy's crying. I figured it was on account of Joey Punchinello freaking out, you know, 'cause I couldn't see nothin' through the dogs. Then I see Foo Foo.

Needless to say, those bikers did quite a number on the Foo, crushing his face pretty good and what not, but we figured most of the bleeding was goin' on inside, on account of he kept splitting up blood even after his lips stopped bleeding. It was a bad scene all around, and Joey starts swearing non-stop, laughing real weird and not even looking at Foo Foo, which really sets Addy off and she kinds of hugs herself because nobody else will at this point. She used to be wild for those bare-knuckle clown fights behind the tents after hours, but this was different to her, I guess.

I got us out of town pretty quick, and by this time it's late. So we spend the night behind this fill-up station with some real low types who hassle us about the dogs, who were howling real strange like I never heard 'em do before. The rest of the night we sometimes catch each other's eye, and nobody says anything but we all know the dogs are wise to something, and no one wants to take a guess. Then we wake up next morning and there's Foo Foo, slumped against the dumpster, dead in the early sunlight. And there's Joey next to him just laughing like he don't know what's goin' on. Just laughing.

Next thing I know, Bingo's up on the dumpster doin' this little dance like we hit the jackpot, walking on the edge with his yellow umbrella like business as usual. Me and Addy don't say nothin', and Joey stops laughing and pulls his knees up tight to his chest and grins real big at the dogs, who sort of walk around looking at us like, "Yeah, now what?" Bingo was closest to the Foo. Been with him since Coney and the bust in '66.

I figured it'd be best all around if we got a bottle in Joey and headed back the way we came for Bingo's gig. The pups ain't eaten since we started so we stop and get 'em some fries on the way. That's when we saw that stinking mime, acting like he's in some box that ain't there and leaning against some phony wind. It hit us at the same time that he should die! It was everything about Foo Foo, I guess, and when I gun it out of that drive-thru, the crowd around this idiot scatters like a dream and BAM! - Bingo smashes a bottle of scotch in his face and sends him flying, and we tear off down the highway listening for sirens that never come. No one says a word for about twenty minutes except Joey, who's singing, "Do You Know the Muffin Man?" to himself, but he's not really singing as much as growling.

Finally, Addy says we should probably bury Foo Foo somewhere out of respect, and anyways he's a bit conspicuous, tied to the bumper and all, so we pull off at this ancient reservoir and dig a grave for our friend. Bingo says a rhyme and marks the spot with his umbrella and I take the plates off the car and bury 'em as well. All the while Joey Punchinello's just sitting there in the blazing hot car with his make-up starting to run and his clothes all dead with sweat. Bingo and Addy start drinking pretty good and petting real heavy, and we're down the road half an hour before we notice three of the dogs are missing. We get to Bingo's gig and he's lit like the Fourth of July. It's some kid's birthday and he stands to make about twenty-eight bucks for two hours. Me and Addy wait on the curb outside and take turns checking on Joey. I was starting to think it wasn't just Foo Foo getting trashed that set Joey off. I was starting to think it wasn't such a good idea to be riding with him either.

Well, wouldn't you know it, Bingo's so far gone he ends up puking on the living room carpet in front of the kids and they stiff him for the dough and toss him out. When this lady sees me and Addy on the curb and all, she gives us this look like, "Go to hell, freaks!", then slams the door. No doubt she was gonna call the pigs. Bingo's crying like a gusher. I could see it was lots of things at once, and Addy sort of holds him close and rocks back and forth real slow, whispering in both his ears.

That's when something in me snapped and I was kicking the front door in before I knew what I was doing. Screaming kids, running crying.... And that woman standing there with her big fat mouth open on the phone like she seen the devil himself. I grab a couple bottles off the counter without so much as a thank you and they all know not to come near me. It was the first time I ever saw someone scared of me, and I got off on it. I stared 'em down and strolled out real slow. Never burn a clown.

We hit the road and I don't know which way we're heading, just that we're moving fast. Joey Punchinello's starting to smell funny and the naked dog won't go near him. But he's still giggling just the same, and when I catch his glance in the rear view for a second, I chuckle myself. Bingo and Addy just lay there, not saying anything, staring at the flat ugly landscape racing by. They had something, I knew, and I felt warm and happy and sick all at once. And Joey's sitting next to 'em there, rubbing his legs and snickering like someone told him something dirty.

We pull into this abandoned Shell and everyone gets out but Joey. That's when Addy tells me she and Bingo want to get married, which doesn't surprise me. She always liked Bingo best, it seemed, and I couldn't figure how they'd be any worse off than any other married couple. Bingo asks me if I'll do the ceremony and I say yeah. We have a secret rite that sticks as good as any legal one and saves the usual hassle with outsiders. And as far as I know, no one ever breaks our vow.

So I marry them in front of a busted Coke machine and it's pretty beautiful. Bingo says, "Love makes the world go 'round," and I leave and find some rope on the ground to tie Joey Punchinello's hands with. He don't even know me at this point - sitting there clapping his fists together, making these awful noises that made me wish I had more rope.

Well, ever since we buried the Foo, I been looking for a chance to get out. Anyway, I figured Bingo and Addy would. want a honeymoon and all, so the next town we hit, I pull in for gas and give Bingo the keys, for good. He don't say a word, he just knows. Addy gives me a couple of kisses and says, "good luck," like I'm the one who needs it. I don't even look at Joey, but can hear him humming this little tune he used to sing in the show right before he'd get the seltzer in the face and everyone would laugh. And the stupid thing is that all this time, all I'm thinking about is that big bald dog and how's anyone going to take him seriously without hair....

They pulled out and headed south, and I figured they'd be okay wherever they ended up. Everybody loves a clown.

That was the last I saw of 'em. Years later, I found a postcard they'd sent to an old address. It was a photograph, actually, of Addy and Bingo wearing sombreros and sitting on this donkey painted like a zebra in Mexico. Said they were "happy as clams," working a new act in a sideshow with the naked dog, who was a big hit, they say. They also told how, on the way down, Joey Punchinello chewed through his ropes and jumped out of the car on the highway. The last they saw him, he was running straight into the desert screaming. They looked for him but never found a trace, so they moved on. I should stop by if I get down that way, they said. They'd be easy enough to find.

Like I say, that was years ago, and there's no way I'm going to Mexico. I got this steady gig at a used car lot handing out balloons to kids and waving customers in off the sidewalk. The boss man treats me fine because he knows a good clown is hard to find, and I think that deep down I make him nervous. Real nervous, which makes me laugh. I laugh all the time now and sometimes think of Joey and maybe someday going to look for him. But I figure it probably wouldn't do no good, bringing him back. He was never really happy like the rest of us.

Snakes probably got him by now anyways.

Well Yeah, Anyway..

You missed the point. I had a point you know. If you want to have fun, rape some cattle, stampede some women, and just have a hell of a time, maybe you should join us. Just "Drop us a line" on our talk page, and we'll work something out.

Whoa Whoa Whoa, Not so Fast! You Forgot The Rats!

Oh yeah. Rats are BFI.