Night Seven
The three bumbling room mates pressed through the crowd, tonight they felt more confident about their position. Their targets seemed to be busy trying on masks, and by the time they realised the peril they were in, they'd already be dead.
One of them got distracted looking for his murder mocassins, while the other two bickered over who would strike the first blow. They drew too much attention to themselves and the crowd pounced.
They'd kill them later. Sex was on the table.
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Taylor Swift was out looking for love in another starlet's bedroom, but the world's least talented platinum recording artist was waiting for her with his guitar at the ready and his awful, gravelly voice set to stun.
Had it night been for the timely intervention of an older, wiser head, she'd have died.
There was no saving her from the second attempt upon her life, though. The one person with the power to kill her stepped in and made her her bitch.
Jason Maher is dead. He was Taylor Swift, Temptation Aligned Man Eating Piece of Country Ass
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The hip hop starlet was likewise out on the hunt for blood, but found her path crossed by a woman with some good quality Patrón and a saucy smile.
She was no Rita Ora, but she'd do in a pinch for a bit of scissor action.
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The renowned alcoholic and the liver of another renowned alcoholic got on the turps together.
They were joined by a Swedish hooker with one leg and no front teeth, a Bohemian lesbian who insisted on drinking her Schnapps from a shoe, and an amorous midget. Good times were had.
Ignoring the noise the party was making in the rec room, the greatest sniper in American history lined up his shot and tried once again to put an end to his (apparent) mortal enemy.
She wasn't going down that easy.
Taylor Swift is not dead. She is Taylor Swift, ??? Aligned Good Girl of Country Music
A bullet couldn't put her down, but the throbbing love muscle of Jupiter sure could. She was no carrying his quasi immortal child.
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The man with the hat and the scowl permanently painted onto his face hated night clubs, but he found himself gagging on the stink of Lynx and vomit as he scanned the crowd for his target.
Was she the one doing jelly shots while her baby sat atop the bar playing with lemon slices?
"Even I'm a better parent than this bitch," he growled as he took out his piece and fired. He was jostled at the last moment, however, and blew the kid's head off instead.
Partycles is dead. He was Partycles, ??? Aligned Son of the Cougar
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It is now day. With 24 remaining and 22 able to vote, it is 12 to lynch
