“I made boom-boom in my pants!” The well-dressed retard wailed.
Jesus Christ! What the hell did you do?
“I boughted candy!” the retard shrieked, throwing a fistful of blister packs into the air.
No kidding. How much of this shit did you buy?
“It’s chocamalatey and good! I boughted all of it!” The retard grinned, drooling chocolate-like substance, then went bug-eyed. He doubled over as his bowels made a wretched, wet ripping sound. “But I don’t feel so good.”
This… this isn’t candy… this is fucking Ex-Lax! This is a fucking laxative! How much of this crap did you eat?
“Much as I could. We all did,” the retard whimpered, waving a greasy, stunted hand behind him. In the shadows were dozens of well-dressed retards with brown-stained pants, quietly crying. Flies, maggots and roaches swarmed around piles of shit that the retards had shoveled under tables, couch cushions and rugs.
Son of a… have you retards been eating anything BUT Ex-Lax?
“Nope! It tasted good!” The retard frowned and began to silently weep. “But now I’m sticky and sick. Can you help me, mister?”
Well… I guess… all right: first of all, you’ve got to throw out the Ex-Lax –
“No!” the retard shrieked, “We spented all our money on the candy! You buy the candy from us!”
Are you fucking reta… never mind. What the fuck am I gonna do with a half-ton of fucking Ex-Lax?
“But the candy makes us sick,” The retard whimpered, “You buy the candys from us so we have moneys again.”
Look, just forget the fucking Ex-Lax, all right?
The retard squinted, then grinned widely. “Boom Boom!”
Jesus Tapdancing… Look: you’re stuck with the damn Ex-Lax, okay? You were stupid to buy it, but there’s nothing I can do about it. Now, I’m gonna bring you guys some yogurt, and some cheese to eat… maybe some fucking tile grout and joint compound at this point. Okay?
“No! You gives us moneys! We’ll gets go-gert!”
Do you even know what yogurt LOOKS like?
The retard bit his lip and squinted while he thought. Then he smiled and grabbed a blister pack off the floor. “Like dis!”
Look retard: I would take an exasperated deep breath if I didn’t think I would get fucking cholera. Fine: here’s some money for food. So long, asshole.
“Wait!” The retard shrieked. “What about our house? It’s DIRTY!”
Yeah? It’s your fucking house. Why is it my problem?
“We needs moneys to make it pretty agin!”
Fine. I’ll send some guys over to clean it up. While I’m at it, I’ll send another couple of guys to make sure you stop eating this crap, and maybe fit you with some rubber fucking pants, or maybe some form of an asshole bung so…
The retard put his hands over his ears and began pounding his head into the wall, dislodging buts of feces and sending flies buzzing. “NO! NONONONONONONO – ”
STOP that, Goddammit! What the hell is your PROBLEM?
“Stranger danger! Stranger danger! No strangers in OUR house! Aunty Ayn said!”
Fine. YOU clean up this fucking mess. Have a blast, spastic.
“Gimme moneys to clean the house,” The retard said with a big, empty smile.
You’re the one who fucked it up! Why should I pay for this?
“Bugsbugsbugsbugs,” the retard chanted, “The bugs’ll get out, mister. They’ll go to yer house. Roon yer house.”
Fine. Tell you what: I’ll BUY your fucking house, drooler. Looking at this fucking sty, I’ll probably have to burn it for the insurance and sell the filthy dirt it sits on at a loss, but if it keeps you from fucking up MY shit, it’s a small price to pay.
“But…” the retard said past a quivering lower lip, “Where are we gonna go?”
I’ll tell you what: you can go FUCK yourself. How’s that sound?
“No!” the retard shouted. “Dis our house! Not yers! We is spechal! Bestest and britest! You can’t buy our house!”
Wanna bet, shitbag? I can bring the law in here now and get this place condemned in about ten seconds. I can buy it off the city for a song and clean it up on the cheap, make it look more like a proper house and less like a free-range bacteria and booger ranch.
“But… that’ll make yer house cheeper. Then the Chineeze can move in like they been wantin to.”
…You’ve got a point. Okay. Fine. Whatever. here’s the deal: here’s some money. I want you to use it to clean up this shitsty, get yourself a balanced diet, and then shut the fuck up and live like NORMAL PEOPLE.
Because if you don’t, I’m coming back here with your deed, a padlock and a blowtorch, and you can chug Ex-Lax and squirt Hershey down by the river for all I care.
The retard grabbed the wad of bills with a gleam in his rheumy eyes. “Wutever. Dat’s what the last guy said. Den he gave us moneys for candys.”
Yeah, well, I’m sure the last guy fit right in here. Doesn’t matter. Just clean this place up, retard. Don’t make me come back here.
After the door closes, the well-dressed retard shouts, “We skeered him off, fellas! Now who wants to have some candys?”
[tags]Financial Crisis, Wall Street Bailout, Mortgage Crisis, Wall Street Crash, dark humor, satire[/tags]
