I don't own JTHM blibity blibity bloo...
FREE AT LAST
Johnny C. forgot how much he loved food. His eyes arched in contentment as he sunk his teeth into a piece of Mr. Chickey Lickey's Orange Chicken Lumps.
"I'm glad you're eating again, Nny,"
Nny waved his fork around in the air. "Mmm, I got to hand it to ya Reverend Meat, you were right," he said with a full mouth. "I loves me some Chicken Lumps!" The chubby rubber burger man stared at him unblinkingly from the other side of the table.
"Your rehabilitation should be over soon, you're sleeping again, you're eating, still not bathing though..."
"Hey, that's due to a perfectly logical fear of running water. I mean, it just keeps going and going and going!"
"Nevertheless Johnny, pretty soon you won't be needing me anymore."
"Yeah, I've been meaning to ask you about that. What happens after I'm 'fixed'? What will I do?"
"I supposed you'd go back to your normal life, before the doughboys."
"Maybe I should start painting again..."
"That's very well a posibility. Now that you have full control of your conciousness again, you should have no problem tapping into your natural creativity. You're no longer chained down Johnny. The sky is the limit!"
"You're right tiny burger person! MY LIFE BEGINS TODAY!" Nny exclaimed as he got up, put one foot on the table and took a heroic pose. He sat back down at the table with Reverend Meat.
"Right after I finish these curly fries..."
Nny left the Chokey Chicken doodling on a napkin. It was a very detailed sketch of a cowboy riding a hot dog while being chased by mustard Indians. He entered the parking lot to find a group of young men dressed in very baggy clothes smoking and sitting on top of his rusty, grey, compact car. He approched them with a smile on his face.
"Excuse me gentlemen, I believe that's my car you're smoking on. If you've lost yours, I'd be more than happy to help you find it." Nny said, being nothing short of friendly and polite. A man wearing a dew rag and plain white shirt that reached his knees looked at the man sitting next to him on Nny's car.
"Shit son, that skinny fagizlle talkin' to us?"
"Yo dawg, I ain't understizzood a wizzord he jus' sizzaid,"
"Yo, nizzle! You frontin'?
"This mutha fucka needs to get gooooooooone!" a man with a backwords cap, and baggy jeans that literaly sagged down to his ankles.
Nny's face broke out into a psycotic grin, "WEEEEEEE! I GET TO KILL YOU NOW!"
The men looked at each other in confusion.
Nny held a finger out, "Now, don't get me wrong. I'm ending your terible, terible lives under my own accord, and not because I'm being forced to by a pair of painted styrofoam standees."
The men looked even more confused.
"AND BECAUSE IT'S FUN! WEEEEEEEE!" Jonny whipped two very large, very sharp knives out from behind his back and proceeded to butcher the men for no other reason than his own enjoyment. He cackled as he gutted, dacapitated, maimed, and de-eyballed the hooligans. When he finshed, he wiped off his blades, dusted of his jacket and walked away whistling.