Gangrenous

I'm on the street, right? and from "out of nowhere"
comes this guy with a paper bag over his head,
yelling and mind you, he will NOT stop, "I'm gangrenous!"

He's coming straight for me and I take a newspaper off some stand, (I felt bad, later because I didn't pay) and put it up in front of me, you know, like a shield but the guy just keeps on wailin' his tune running on like some psycho so I pull the paper bag off.

Goodness gracious that made him mad, this poker playing ruffian with an eye patch and a gangrenous face is now stark red and up in my business facebook style.

"Crape?" I say, handing him my lunchbox but he just says "gang green house" and slaps it down like it didn't take me ten minutes to make at home in my personal kitchen.

I'm fed up with this freak so I pull out my shotgun I've had under my coat the whole time and shoot up the entire place, probably sending ten or so people to the great below; whatever.

Damn, I'm hot now, cop sirens buzzing around in my head and probably right behind me chasing my running ass, and, right then, I get the tremendous need to take a crap; can you believe that?

With all this commotion I can't hit up a restroom, you know that, so I just let it all go in my dirty blue jeans and keep racing through back alleys and churches and schoolyards.

When I get home I sit on the couch next to my mom, relieved to be alive and well and with a clean conscience. I think I'm home free until my mom looks over and says, "what's that god-awful smell?"