He yanked the kid by the collar. He let black smoke billow from his tear ducts, "Do I look like I'm kidding?" Two Old Blue Hairs at the next table were staring at them. "Stop crying smoke, you are so embarrassing me!" The kid held the menu in front of his face. "Get me a cheeseburger with nothing added or I'll puke." The cafe was now smoked up and all the other diners were shedding tears of their own (real liquid tears). Paul, 2 seats away, began to get frustrated because he was in the middle of using his FoldingStory app. Finally, he had an idea for a killer line. Slim Whitman was his role model. This diner was full of people unwittingly giving him ideas for the next stories he folded. Paul jotted down something about the screaming baby at the next table who had bitten his finger instead of his french fry, but when he found the note later, it was illegible. Still, Paul was not concerned with whatever the note's author had wanted to communicate to him. His mind had ascended to another plane of existence, leaving his mortal body behind as a mere shell. A shell that was busy collecting parking tickets under the new Trump Traffic and Parking Laws regime. It was a class C felony under Federal law to park an unattended mortal shell near a fire hydrant. Lawmakers thought a dog might mistake the mortar shell for the hydrant, pee on it, and cause the shell to go off. The cop ticketed the shell, which exploded as soon as he stuck the ticket on. Fortunately, though he would later lament it was unfortunately, the cop survived the incident. He did however lose both his legs in the process. Due to the latest advancements in cybernetic enhancements, government surgeons were able to rebuild his legs from steel and wires. His legs were fixed and he was feeling vengeful.

 

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