Post by TFP on Mar 13, 2008 14:06:42 GMT -4
Chris is walking through the local mall in Reno with Johnny Fame, and he's holding the lower part of his stomach that is just above his groin. His stomach has been hurting all day and through out the week he decided to be a little slack and just eat nachos made by a store in this mall. As they're walking down the long stretch of the hallway, Chris stops and doubles over, moaning in pain. Johnny looks back and stops, then walks back to Chris.
"You alright, man?"
"Yeah, I just need to drink like... a bunch of fiber."
"Be more specific, how much is a bunch?"
"I don't know... tons."
"Gotcha, I'll go get tons of fiber. You sit down."
Chris nods his head and goes to sit down on a bench as Johnny walks away to a nearby Pharmacy to get some fiber for Chris' probable constipation. Beside Chris is an old couple, not that it's weird to be sitting by old people on a bench in the mall, they make the most interesting of conversations, but these two are the most critical of the world's living old couples. Poking fun at the stores and people who walk, and now they glance over at Chris and his beard... they stare at his beard.
"What's that thing hanging off your chin there, boy?"
"Facial hair."
"You look like a damn gangster.
"Come on Marty, beat the living crap out of him. He's on dope!"
"I would, Dawn... but he'll probably shoot me and all that nonsense. He's a gangster."
"Gangster? I'm wearing shorts and a Chevy truck shirt."
"You're a gangster."
"No I'm not."
"Yes you are, gangster."
"I'm not, old man."
"Shut up, gangster."
"Hmm?"
"Gangster."
"If I was able to, I would crap on your bald-spot right now. So you can either shut the Hell up or I'll super-glue those damn false teeth together, you got it?"
"Is that a threat, Mr. Gangster?"
"Alright, I'd like to know why you're calling me a gangster. Could you please tell me why?"
"You're walking with that friend of yours who looks like a damn hippy. He's a hippy! And you... you're a gangster. You're both hipsters and gangpies."
"Hipsters? Gangpies? I might as well be a hipster considering I have a REAL HIP, jackass. And the only gangpies I see around here are those liverspots in clusters on you and your lady over there."
"Alright, that's it, boy. Do you want to throw down right here in front of the bread bakery, gangster?"
"Actually, I'd be better off fighting bread. It's more tough than you."
"That's it, gangster! Now could you tell me what's so big about you? I bet I'm tougher than you."
"Tougher is my last name."
"You mean middle name?"
"No, it's my last name. I'm Chris Tougher, coffin-stuffer."
Annoyed, the old man rises to his feet. But he's too late because by the time he's up all the way, Johnny has come with the fiber and left with Chris and that was about ten minutes ago. With a bottle of water in his hand filled with the fiber, Chris takes many sips of it and starts to stumble around since the pain in his abdomen is extreme. He staggers into a Wal-Mart entrance with Johnny and the two walk to the electronics section. Johnny's looking at the action moves while Chris is browsing through the Seinfeld box-sets, totally wanting to buy them. He shakes his head and starts to stumble away, then a worker goes up to him.
"Are you drunk, sir?"
"No, no. Just drinking the pain away."
"Depression? Stress?"
"No, no. I got pain that this stuff can take away."
"Please don't drink alcohol here."
"I'm not, I'm not. It's... Metamucil! Yeah."
"Sorry, sir. Don't lie."
"I'm constipated! Why won't anybody believe me?"
"Constipation doesn't make you stagger like that."
"It's loosening the solids up. So..."
Chris turns around and pukes on the floor. He drops to his knees and drops his water bottle, then he throws up a couple more times into the pile of puke. It starts to get more chunky and thick every time until somebody the worker stares at what Chris is throwing up, then he notices something wrong... really wrong.
"You're puking up your own crap! What the?!"
"I told you that I was constipated, but you didn't want to believe me!"
"I... do you need any help? Medical assistance? Because I can go and call for some."
"No! Just let me puke up my own... poop..."
Puke.
"Ummm... I didn't know how serious it was, Chris."
"Well I'm not Chris B Seriously, I'm Chris Tougher."
"I think we better go, now."
"Good idea."
Chris gets up and him and Johnny walk away from Tougher's mess of puke.
"Now imagine that in Hi-Def."
"You alright, man?"
"Yeah, I just need to drink like... a bunch of fiber."
"Be more specific, how much is a bunch?"
"I don't know... tons."
"Gotcha, I'll go get tons of fiber. You sit down."
Chris nods his head and goes to sit down on a bench as Johnny walks away to a nearby Pharmacy to get some fiber for Chris' probable constipation. Beside Chris is an old couple, not that it's weird to be sitting by old people on a bench in the mall, they make the most interesting of conversations, but these two are the most critical of the world's living old couples. Poking fun at the stores and people who walk, and now they glance over at Chris and his beard... they stare at his beard.
"What's that thing hanging off your chin there, boy?"
"Facial hair."
"You look like a damn gangster.
"Come on Marty, beat the living crap out of him. He's on dope!"
"I would, Dawn... but he'll probably shoot me and all that nonsense. He's a gangster."
"Gangster? I'm wearing shorts and a Chevy truck shirt."
"You're a gangster."
"No I'm not."
"Yes you are, gangster."
"I'm not, old man."
"Shut up, gangster."
"Hmm?"
"Gangster."
"If I was able to, I would crap on your bald-spot right now. So you can either shut the Hell up or I'll super-glue those damn false teeth together, you got it?"
"Is that a threat, Mr. Gangster?"
"Alright, I'd like to know why you're calling me a gangster. Could you please tell me why?"
"You're walking with that friend of yours who looks like a damn hippy. He's a hippy! And you... you're a gangster. You're both hipsters and gangpies."
"Hipsters? Gangpies? I might as well be a hipster considering I have a REAL HIP, jackass. And the only gangpies I see around here are those liverspots in clusters on you and your lady over there."
"Alright, that's it, boy. Do you want to throw down right here in front of the bread bakery, gangster?"
"Actually, I'd be better off fighting bread. It's more tough than you."
"That's it, gangster! Now could you tell me what's so big about you? I bet I'm tougher than you."
"Tougher is my last name."
"You mean middle name?"
"No, it's my last name. I'm Chris Tougher, coffin-stuffer."
Annoyed, the old man rises to his feet. But he's too late because by the time he's up all the way, Johnny has come with the fiber and left with Chris and that was about ten minutes ago. With a bottle of water in his hand filled with the fiber, Chris takes many sips of it and starts to stumble around since the pain in his abdomen is extreme. He staggers into a Wal-Mart entrance with Johnny and the two walk to the electronics section. Johnny's looking at the action moves while Chris is browsing through the Seinfeld box-sets, totally wanting to buy them. He shakes his head and starts to stumble away, then a worker goes up to him.
"Are you drunk, sir?"
"No, no. Just drinking the pain away."
"Depression? Stress?"
"No, no. I got pain that this stuff can take away."
"Please don't drink alcohol here."
"I'm not, I'm not. It's... Metamucil! Yeah."
"Sorry, sir. Don't lie."
"I'm constipated! Why won't anybody believe me?"
"Constipation doesn't make you stagger like that."
"It's loosening the solids up. So..."
Chris turns around and pukes on the floor. He drops to his knees and drops his water bottle, then he throws up a couple more times into the pile of puke. It starts to get more chunky and thick every time until somebody the worker stares at what Chris is throwing up, then he notices something wrong... really wrong.
"You're puking up your own crap! What the?!"
"I told you that I was constipated, but you didn't want to believe me!"
"I... do you need any help? Medical assistance? Because I can go and call for some."
"No! Just let me puke up my own... poop..."
Puke.
"Ummm... I didn't know how serious it was, Chris."
"Well I'm not Chris B Seriously, I'm Chris Tougher."
"I think we better go, now."
"Good idea."
Chris gets up and him and Johnny walk away from Tougher's mess of puke.
"Now imagine that in Hi-Def."