Mr. Saggs was being a bitch. Not only was he insisting that he didn't need any help, but he wouldn't take his pills because they made him, "feel bad after the effects wore off." Shut the fuck up. I self-medicate daily with a bottle of Jack Daniels, a pack of cigarettes, and a few unmentionables. Do I ever feel bad? Hell yes, I feel like shit in the mornings. But I do it anyway.
I have a history of getting angry and doing irrational things, and old people just make me even angrier. So when I tried force feeding the pigdick some pills and he smacked he with a cane, shit got real.
I punched him in the face, blood went everywhere. I threw him out of the wheelchair I forgot to mention to you guys he was in and spit on his dead body. It was then I realized the magic that was done.
He looked like a deformed horse. Exactly like a deformed horse. Somehow I had broken his bones so precisely that he looked like a horse. Laughing with glee, I started biting his fingers off like carrots. I then tried to recreate the horse-face on other people, but it wasn't working. I was getting angry, and went of a rampage, punching every old person I saw in the face.
Then I realized something. The horse-face wasn't something you could recreate. It was special, something I had to cherish. After pissing in some IV bags and farting in some oxygen tanks, I knew what I had to do.
As I hung Mr. Saggs' head above the fireplace, I thought to myself, what a day. What a fuckin' day.
