Vice City, the city of vices, if you will, calls to me across this modern wasteland of America, telling me that there is a world of nefarious activity just over the next horizon, specifically in the direction of said city, while simultaneously whispering "Crime does pay."

Sometimes, you could say the city doesn't sleep, and why should it when so much crime is going on -- real serious crime, like murder and car theft, but curiously, never rape, and children seem non-existant -- crime that the cops seem unable to stop even though they violently drive into the offending criminals with wonton disregard for any innocent civilians that may, or may not, happen to be in the way of the previously mentioned police officers.

Dat wuz de day of dizgust- A day dat Bernie wood neva foget, a day dat he wud woo in infamy fo de res of hiz life and it wuz all becaz of dis city.

In this city, survival of the fittest is the most important way to think or you'll be left out to dry by the gangstas and thugs that want what little money you have and the raggedy clothes off your back so they can sell it to some unsuspecting passerby who will inevitably get ripped off and robbed of more money by getting his ass kicked by that gangsta.

It began like many other nights begin in this city of vices where things occur and people get hurt; hurt so bad that they no longer remember the reason why they got hurt in the first place or what they were doing the night before.

I made this bed and now I was going to sleep in it, for I am the gang banger prince of Mafia town who is doomed to fight the great war for the turf for drug trafficing against the mexicanos gang who hates me due to my killing of that one hot chick in their group that I slept with.

The Wankers were out in full force - their intentions black and full of malice. The city was their playground, their brothel, their punching bag. Only Bonky McConky, from the northern isles of Scotland, can break the Wankers' hold on the city. Using his Scottish charm, and the power that only a man wearing a kilt can posses, Bonkey will achieve the Scottish dream. And this time, he's not wearing any underwear!!!

Here is the music for the trailer: 

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2rUB8TcNKX0

Los Santos, City of Saints, has changed in the last decade -- not in the way it crimes, but in the way it smells; Gs walk the streets same as ever, cappin' fools, pimpin', hustlin', but there seems to have been a consensus amongst the soldiers of Grove Street that personal hygiene is important -- now the air in Grove Street shimmers with a haze of weed smoke, sweat, cheap perfume from the whores, and Axe body spray from the green-clad street-cats -- a heady mix, but not as heady as the mix I'm here to pick up.

That's pretty terrible right?

In a world where criminals and politicians decide the fate of the people, where the law has no meaning, where prostitution and murder are among the few viable ways to survive, where the American dream is all but dead, basically where a lot of bad things happen and rather often; one man will rise to the top- a man named Grant Theftauto.

Oh, and Grant has a goatee. 'Cause he's real, man.

It was dark, not as dark as it could have been but dark none the less as Ato T Grantz, named after his mother's aunt's brother, stared out to the crime ridden, laden, filled, and overflowing streets, while he looked in to himself and taking note of the similarities between himself and the street (no, they weren't both made of cement but they had both been touched, some would say molested, maybe even corrupted, what priest would call possessed, chefs would call untasteful, dancers would call it ungraceful, cats would call it too dog like, dogs would call it too cat like, by crime) he realized why it was that his girlfriend, Petunia - who surprisingly did not enjoy flowers of any sort what so ever (no, not even petunias (not even the prettiest of them)) had been so drawn to him: she had loved to frequent these streets, and as it was mentioned before, he and these streets were alike (rampant with crime (although now they also had a girl in common (meaning that him and the street were now even more closely and tightly related to each other (because of Petunia's association (even though there didn't seem to be any reason why she would have associated herself with either the street or Ato (except, that is, for the fact that she was obviously attracted, drawn, pulled in by, enticed with, entranced by, lulled to sleep by, caressed by, tickled pink by, held by, cared for, and hopelessly in love with danger)))))) even though both her association with him and the dirty, filthy, unclean, smelly, rotten streets of this city and its drug driven economy which led to her being taken captive by the biggest drug lord (not big as in fat but big as in he held power over the majority of the city) and that is why Ato was about to debark on the most epic and dangerously noble adventure in order to rescue his sweet Petunia.

Jazz, that sentence started so horribly I can't bring myself to read it right now. Bravo.

@Jazz Five layers of parenthesis? *starts a slow clap*

*joins in the slow clap, increasing speed just slightly*