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The sun was setting in the sleepy little village of Millexensburg, and not a soul seemed to mind that the one-lunged bastard hasjust galloped into town. His was a tale of personal failure, having sought the sacred Bread of Greenwich, only to find the Cupcakes of Despair. Three nights and five days had he traveled to the Hills of Splendor, Only to find a vacuous wasteland of Jive-talking Fancypants. His latest endeavor, a tooth said to be leftover from The Last Supper, had brought him into this delapodated iceberg of a city, barely able to keep his wrinkled , bloodshot eyes peeled open. His tongue hanging loosely from his lips, he hadn't water for three days and was forced , at times, to drink his own urine. Though pasty and |
| bittersweet, his own waste had kept him alive so far. His blackened eyes scouled the countryside looking for a sign of the tooth that beckoned his soul. He thought he saw a penguin smoking a switzer sweet cigar, but it was only a small rat gnawing on an old shoestring. Then he collapsed. When he awoke, he found himself naked in a bed of the town Gayman, Lord Fiddlestix. Unable to lift his weary head, out of the corner of his eye, he saw a man wearing overalls prancing about the room. "Where am I and what are you s'posed to be?" mumbled the irate drifter. "Splendid! You have awoken! Weee!", the homosexually-inclined man exclaimed with much enthusiasm and a pinch of joy, as he floated to the bedside. "I have bathed you and between you and I, you really must begin washing under your penis, for I had to scrub for quite some time before I could get the stains off." The one-lunged man's eyes widened as he pulled himself from the bed and grabbed the Lord around his tiny neck. "Grrr!", Frankensteined the drifter as he popped the gay man's neck like a candy cane. "Grrr!". Lord Fiddlestix was tossed around the room like a rag doll until his homosexual body was but a shell. The one-lunged man stuffed the corpse into a cupboard and |
| looked about the room. There was a bathroom in the corner where the drifter spent the next two hours bathing and drinking a bottle of vodka he found in the gay man's mini bar. Suddenly, there was a knock on the door. "Lord Fiddlestix! It's me! Your Goldenboy! I just got back from the clinic, and we have Aids! Let's make love with that vodka bottle again!" Quickly, the one-lunged man leaped from the bathtub and spat out a mouthful of vodka. Taking a close look at the bottle, he noticed some smearing around the lip of the bottle...some brown smearing! The two gay gentlemen had been using the Vodka bottle for anal intercourse, the same bottle he had been sucking on for two hours! Two days later, the drifter died of Aids in his only lung. He was buried and, in the corner of his coffin, wedged into a piece of the wood, was a tooth. Perhaps the tooth from The Last Supper. |  |
