Rooster Toot stumbled hoot owl drunk into the meeting a few minutes late. Eyes twitched but jaws did not drop. This sort of thing was pretty much the norm. The fuckers were discussing parking spaces, which did not concern Rooster Toot as he did not own a vehicle. He was the drunken buffoon pedestrian about town, sexy in a silly ass way in his custom made t-shirts and boxer shorts. Because Rooster Toot was impotent, thus never turning his boxer shorts into obscene pup tents, he was allowed to gallivant around Smoky Valley in his underwear. Back to the custom made t-shirts: simple, really…Rooster Toot would buy basic white t-shirts, cut the sleeves off and write words and phrases on the front of the shirts in black permanent marker. This particular evening Rooster Toot was wearing a shirt emblazoned with TEDIOUS, jellyfish boxers, dirty yellow socks and mismatched running shoes (one was blue and yellow, the other was red and black).

“My god, people. There really isn’t much room for error,” Sugar Wallace said.
“That’s easy for you to say but I drive two different cars and both are high profile, consequently invoking envy and rage,” Harry Coolio said.
Lester White and Nadia Lincoln exchanged smirks.
“The big picture is blurry, out of focus,” Loretta Collins said. Her fingernails had never looked better. She was wearing a smashing new rayon dress that accentuated her perky breasts and hips, which were exactly the right size, conveyed the correct idea.

“Bullshit!” Rooster Toot screamed. He jumped up on a chair and pulled up his shirt, exposing his nipples and belly button. Vanessa Childers laughed but she was in new in town. She didn’t know anything yet.