It was Friday and muggy. He kicked off his

It was Friday and muggy. He kicked off his shoes, loosened his neck-tie and poured himself a whiskey. Just as he sat

down the phone rang once, then stopped. It had been happening at 4:20pm every day since he moved back to town and he was

scared of the dark. So he lit a match and looked around. He saw a pair of eyes inside the

that despite his greying temples, forest of chest hair and voice as deep as Johnny Cash, he had peed himself. Now he

waddled his way towards the crowd of onlookers, unabashedly, and took his place among the children who would sing his praise while holding their noses. Dignity. That's what he

demanded. So he held up his hand to silence the crowd. With one swoop he picked up all the peanut shells off the ground and flung them randomly, shocking everyone. At least

those unfortunate few who were blinded by eye lacerations as the shells ripped through their corneas like Oprah Winfrey into a bag of Ruffles when Dr. Oz wasn't looking. The others

screamed in delight, hoping that the chips would catapult her into some crazed "Favorite Things" episode. Their expressions changed when she turned, gazing at them voraciously and

with the vacant stare of one who had indulged in too much reality television. The madness had seeped into her heart, her blood, her very soul. But I still loved her, always.