He rolled up his velvet sleeves and stared

He rolled up his velvet sleeves and stared into the stage lights. His manager pleaded that it would ruin his health, but he had to do it... Thrash "Misirlou" on a 12-string ukulele

drums. As he pounded out the beats, unwashed hippies began to gather. They moved in jerky motions, as if they could not control themselves. It was all going so well until

the hipsters started to arrive. Now, I'm not sure if you know how much hippies appreciate skinny jeans and asymmetric haircuts, but it's not a lot. He continued to play,

an endless version of "Dark Star," and to his chagrin, the hipsters began ironically appreciating it. "The Dead are sooooo underrated," said a guy in ladies size 0 jeans and Chucks

hot pants. Chuck adored hot pants. He crammed his billowy and skin-tagged stomach into these screaming tight and shiny hot pants. He'd made one hold on the side so a little

bit of pudge, or "muffin top" if you will, hung over from his left love handle. This was the objectively sexiest option. Under this fold of fat, he tucked his .22, and made his way

ponderously down the candy aisle toward his intended target; a middle-aged clerk obliviously polishing her nails with a partially-packaged screwdriver from the shelf behind her.

all of the sudden she fell some how and landed on the screwdriver and

blood was everywhere but luckily she was a doctor and put a bandaid on the wound to stop the bleeding while she was rushed to the hospital. She lived and went to bed. THE END