Three days have passed and all of the quail are dead. We found a george forman grill so we decided to eat the them. They were as tastey as they were futile and i regret nothing. This has left us with the quail's lair which was just a hallowed out log in the trees. This has come in handy while we adjust but we must move on. If we're going to be fighting crime we have to get to the source of it, the ghetto. In fact ive been contemplating leasing a crack house of late but my credit is aweful. Therefore the only option left to me is to take a crack house by force. There were a few to choose from as the pet store was in a rather bad part of town. We made quick work of the recon and picked out a perfectly fine crackhouse, the windows were boarded up and there were already a few colorful charicters hanging around.
As we came through the door the room went silent. Its not every day a group of tucans bust down your door but these people had the pleasure. The pleasure was to be ours though as we had some badass shit up our sleves. The situation was critical and i had to do something quick. They came over to shoo us out and i pulled out my blade and cut that son of a bitch. They were so shocked they couldnt move, i stood on the table and began to tell them. If anybodys got beef then bring the ruckus, wu-tang clan aint nothing to fuck with. The strangest thing happened next, they respected me for it, i still had to kill them but i had their respect. My blade was cold and swift, they went down as easy as quail.
Their crackhouse and all its contents were now mine, and my life of crime was off to a good start. Me and my fellow tucan had a shifty trap house in the bad part of town and this was basically a massacre. It struck me that i had set out to fight crime and have commited a very large share of it in my short time away from that shop. I must remember to fight crime with my crime, and before i forget RIP to the ol dirty bastard. Also RIP all the former inhabitants of my house.