Three Chords and Forsooth!<p>A criminal thug guy bleeding on the street, his empty revolver falling from his dying hand. The last thing he sees is a vaguely rectangular figure, frosting covering nearly all of its front, three holes through its torso oozing strawberry goo, apparently with no effect on the creature. The last thing he hears: "You picked the wrong tart to pop, asshole."</p><p><a href="https://infosec.exchange/tags/microfiction" class="mention hashtag" rel="nofollow noopener noreferrer" target="_blank">#<span>microfiction</span></a> <a href="https://infosec.exchange/tags/technically" class="mention hashtag" rel="nofollow noopener noreferrer" target="_blank">#<span>technically</span></a> <a href="https://infosec.exchange/tags/nojudging" class="mention hashtag" rel="nofollow noopener noreferrer" target="_blank">#<span>nojudging</span></a> <a href="https://infosec.exchange/tags/shitpost" class="mention hashtag" rel="nofollow noopener noreferrer" target="_blank">#<span>shitpost</span></a> <a href="https://infosec.exchange/tags/poptarts" class="mention hashtag" rel="nofollow noopener noreferrer" target="_blank">#<span>poptarts</span></a></p>