Ned's patience was wearing about as thin as Mona's old flannel nightgown that she wore when she paraded around the streets after 10:00 p.m. She used to spend her mornings flinging her wares and her bitterness until she decided that the party only got started late at night. Mona's flannel nightgowns had to be at least forty years old and did nothing to conceal the two flour sacks that sagged all the way down to her knees. Plus you couldn't help but see her great big fat ass; but how the hell could you miss something as wide as a cement-mixer and as white and as pasty as a bag of alabaster?
"I never saw this guy before. He does not look as though he's from around here." Ned ignored Percy's frothy phlegm ringed disapproval as another cigarette burned its life away. Percy's non-smoking stuff was getting to be a real pain, and all that stuff about second-hand smoke was pure bullshit as far was Ned was concerned.
"Yeah, he looks like he is from far off place, you know (no I don't know you stupid clod Ned fumed) and it's like, you know, he just dropped outta the sky or something. It's interesting though as to what would bring him to these here parts (what parts, private parts you fool?) because he looks like he is, you know, some exotic guy." Percy berated his grandchildren for speaking poorly but privately he envied the way that they never say they go, and that like word sure has its uses.
Ned wanted to stuff the dead guy's left man boob into Percy's big fat yap. Why can't Percy ever say anything worth listening to? What was that old saying again that if you are a complete idiot, then shut the fuck up? Well, that's the way it should be.
Percy's phlegm needed to find an escape hatch. While he spat and gagged and retched, Ned's stomach started doing the herky-jerky. This disgusting fool might even end up spitting on the dead guy! Strange, why was Ned feeling the need to protect this dead guy? This poor fat bastard looked about as pathetic as the soggy seaweed. Probably some stupid drunk that fell off a boat in the middle of the night; no doubt the toxicology report would come back with proof of some vile mixture of rotgut that crippled what little brain cells this guy had.
"Ah, ah ah ah! Much better to get those hair balls out!" Percy's face had transformed into a putrid shade of purple-red that was slowly beginning to recede back to pale and pompous Percy. "So are you gonna call, you know, someone about this? I mean, it's like, someone should come out and deal with this properly since it's not like, you know, you can do this kind of stuff anymore."
Damn that Percy and his uppity playing with himself brand of self-righteous arrogance. Ned's smoking increased in need, as though this was the last thing he would ever wrap his lips around.
Just like the dead guy, and that odd ring around his mouth.
to be continued...
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