The cache of KGP-9s in the lock-up in Minsk is just the beginning.
All round the globe, teddy bears slit their plush bellies with straight razors,
retrieving Astra A-75s, slamming home full clips of 9mm ammo,
drawing a bead on the family mutt.
Picnic's over, motherfuckers.
Screams before breakfast - little Timmy
slumped against the chest of drawers with his skull ventilated.
They hide under wheel arches; they pick off SWAT teams
and vanish like childhood.
Do they win?
Does a teddy bear shit in the woods?
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