Golden Arms

A Story by Abishai100

A 'colored' adaptation of the iconic Guy Ritchie 'portrait' of inventions-imagination behind 'street-intuitions' of affable (if dangerous!) 'treasure' fiction (for a bureaucracy-reading).

My epic 'adaptation' of sorts of that groundbreaking crime-comedy style-colored film Lock, Stock and Two Smoking Barrels (Guy Ritchie). Thanks so much for reading,

DISCLAIMER: This work of 'fanfiction' contains images/references with no commercial/explicit ties to any representative person(s)/body and is therefore cast as purely a 'personal' expression of creative language-arts (for 'open' material).

----

====

Amlan and his two friends decided to perform a swap of a collection of special/valued gold-embossed weaponry from a bloody-gem baron in Euro-fortune investor circles (Ion-company) but wouldn't think such superstition for masked bandit-lore, originally beginning with cool investor chess language, would yield many forms of laughter and flares for Earthling-incompletion (with 'mixed' fruition for Facebook-jokes).

AMLAN: My friends of Earth, this is great weaponry-life for insurance-IQ and it makes us a magazine/fanzine/cyber culture friendly joking gang for motions in high-frequency 'objects' (albeit gold-embossed buns for superstitious lore); me thinks we'd become special Facebook-culture super fans of cinema's special bureaucracy-flare (or divisions!).

BARON ION: "This trio wants to watch my 9/11-doc at my pad and have me boast my guns for them while they showcase ('claimed') rumored conflict-zone gems (from some Swiss-store or something!), and I make some racer-company investment 'expression' on social-media, and there's lots of drink involved, so it's good for antiterrorism marketing (me says) for this upcoming Super Bowl Patriots initiative with my (Ion) company (sure)."

The trio, Amlan/Marcus/Ezzy, from varied parts of Earth, now 'stationed' in New England, marched to Switzerland, entered the Ion-pad and had toy water-guns filled with acid (injected into an inserted thin-glass tube in the shooting-pistons) to burn the Ion house-vault box and swap his (actual) conflict-zone gems with their own (brought) fakes after Ion fell drunk-asleep and would leave a note, "Post on social media the lifted golden-guns and placed replicas in your burnt-box/safe for an insurance joke that will draw (Interpol-relation?) eye(s) concerning our masked/anonymous circus-team that will (ironically) draw you out of blood-diamond 'dilemma' as long as you keep this all secret (for a bureaucracy-kaleidoscope in chemical-warfare for Ion-company field goal interest!).

MARCUS: You were brilliant.

EZZY: True, but now Ion's after us, and we're to dart for Brussels/Belgium.

AMLAN: We simply pin the task on a rival company and claim we're hirees.

MARCUS: So Ion comes out half-washed, and we're to dart-fast for the deed.

AMLAN: The alternative is we look like Palestinians interested in chemicals.

EZZY: Very poor Facebook-joke, friends (good).

Well, the trick was working nicely, and the trio made dash for the Swiss-flight to Belgium with the guns, 1 sold and 2 melted down for gold-value and the rest a social-media 'vigilante' legend-laurel in the underground facilitating their 'street-aura' fanfare for their new (anonymous) Brussels sprout eatery-dive capitalist venture in capitalism-race chess-stalemate thinking. Well, perchance all matter of Earthling woe doesn't yield simply depression and sometimes the high soft laughter of 'worldly' theater-liars (for a photo-synthesis in inventive street-gossip!).

MARCUS: Think there's Ion-goons at the airport-terminal; any beard's perfect.

EZZY: Yes, please, I'll take this Swiss-wristwatch, merchant.

AIRPORT MERCHANT: There's two 'gents' staring at you, darling.

EZZY: They're in for a rude-shock when varied agents become mocked (now).

AIRPORT MERCHANT: Lovely...did you want that in a gift-box?

EZZY: One in a gift-box with note ("Ion's bound"); the other in a bag (for me).

MERCHANT: Thanx.

How'd the trio make it to their Brussels sprout base with this cool funny 'trick' for guns and funnies for underworld 'darkness' (ironically)? Perhaps Ezzy's guiding-brain and her ultra-knowledge of Western fortune readings history for applied street 'science' chess made for a nice hands-on erudition for the 'golden-arms' of capitalism's worst hospitality-face --- incomplete-distances to treasure-materialism lines (wow).

BARON ION: Did you believe my rivals were at the airport tying up my men?
ASSOCIATE (Minion): It was a circus-knot, bad-baron; all water-gun street-chat.

BARON ION: Funny traffic made by the minds of 'theater-folks' for us, pal.

ASSOCIATE: Perchance we make for a retreat and post-deed investment (toys).

BARON ION: Good (bureaucracy-line).

EZZY: What're you going to do now?
AMLAN: Marry you...write a Facebook-culture 'reflection' novel (Gold Guns).

EZZY: Ion doesn't know who we were, Amlan Satan.

AMLAN: Who cares...for bureaucracy's a photo-album in this time, Ezzy.

EZZY: Good for fictional dialysis.

The eater-venture proved fruitful, following some (Interpol-relations) commission-exchange(s), and Amlan began writing his novel and hoped to find some nice street-pedestrianism 'fashion' culture faces for personality in an adapted story about the quality of work in capitalism-weaponry seizures for the street 'princes/princesses' of Earth-traffic bureaucracy-innocence.