Tyler Durden's blog: "Brass Knuckle Poets Society"

I'm an eighties baby; I never really got to find out what significance Destro's genetic make-up was, in comparison to the other COBRA.  So... I just took control of him... and savved him out.

I'll yoke you out, like an albino boa; rear naked choke from Destro,

latisimus dorsi flex, like a king cobra.

Trapezius corded, no spectacles awarded - instead, afforded it's the Red

Hand of Ulster.

Nature's color-coded.  The more spectacular the markings,

the more potent the poison. 

My copperhead stare polar, but so much

colder.

I got that anaconda coil, bone-breaking serpentine swag at my

disposal.  So, heed the warning soldier.

I'll reproach you wit' venom - you get no

cold shoulder.  The general issue can't soil my order.

Approach a master seargent and get shown no quarter. 

I'll hug you 'til your bones are broken and your wardrobe soiled.

I could just go viper and bite your fuckin' face off; leave you caroded, 

and spoiled.  The tactics, formless cause chaos and disorder. 

You're walkin' uphil, approachin' a boulder.  I don't call the rollers,

S-A-double-V'll bowl you over. 

My detonator'll tear a whole through your border, the frequency

recorded.

I walk away, like mission accomplished...

after I trigger the plastique, nails and mortars.