It was 12:45, and Anus Stevens was dead. The sidewalk was his canvas, and he had painted it a dark shade of red.
The evening, which was morning in Anus' world, had been like a Backdoor Babes porno: unvaried and full of assholes. Anus awoke at 8 pm, surrounded by four of Dirk Crotch's goons. They had guns and sneers, but no breakfast.
"Wake up, Anus," said Fuckles Dugg, one of the Crotch goons. "Wake up, you son of a bitch."
A pistol whipping to the face hardly made Anus more responsive. He knew the minute the goons found out what they wanted to know, he'd be eating a slug of lead for breakfast. Luckily, he slept with a gun under his pillow for just such an occasion.
"Give us the gun you've got under your pillow," said Fuckles. "We know all your little tricks."
Anus handed Fuckles the gun and sighed. So much for that idea. Luckily, he slept with a loaded gun taped to his groin for just such an occasion.
"And give us the gun taped to your groin. We know about that one, too."
Anus sighed again, and handed it over. There went plan B. The goons looked relaxed, and their sneers had turned to smiles. They felt comfortable. That was their first mistake.
"Whaddya want, Fuckles?" said Anus. "I've got a date in an hour to teach your mother how to fellate a horse."
Fuckles gave Anus another pistol whipping, and grabbed him by his Adam's apple. The other goons had their guns at the ready. It seemed they might not wait until they got the information they needed before serving Anus his breakfast straight from the barrel.
"We want to know about your involvement in the warehouse job," said Fuckles. "We know you were there. That job had Anus all over it."
"I dunno what you're talkin' about, Fuckles," said Anus. "I was at the cemetery all night."
"The cemetery? What the hell were you doing at the cemetary?"
"Skullhumping your dead grandmother, you flat-footed son of a bitch."
Fuckles threw Anus across the room by his neck, sending him behind the breakfast island in the kitchen with a heavy thud. This was not going to be a good day. The goons surrounded the breakfast island as Anus stood up. He was in a tough spot, but luckily, Anus slept with a greased .45 magnum up his ass for just such an occasion.
As he bent over and began pulling the powerful handgun out of his prison entrance, the goons just stared in awe. Whether it was disgust or arousal that overcame them, Anus didn't know.
"You guys are lucky," said Anus, with a chuckle. "You get to see my favorite gun. I call her, 'Brown-eyed girl'."
With that, Anus shot two of the goons in the chest and ducked behind the breakfast island, just missing the bullets headed his way. Shots ricocheted left and right. Anus waited for a pause and rolled out from the island, shooting another goon in the leg. As his fierce, fancy firefight with Fuckles forged forward, Anus caught a glimpse of the goon he had just injured reaching for a gun.
Anus grabbed the goon by the leg and thrust the barrel of his gun into the wound. As the goon let out a scream, Anus dragged him into his arms, pushed him above the table, and watched as Fuckles mistakenly fired six rounds into him. The goon slumped over dead. His face looked like swiss cheese covered in spaghetti sauce.
Which is delicious.
Fuckles tried to quietly reload his gun, but fumbled with the bullets and dropped a shell. It hit the floor with a ping, bounced sideways, and rolled slowly towards Anus before stopping. Both men aimed their guns around the corner of the breakfast island, not daring to show their faces. Anus quietly set his gun on the floor, picked up the dead goon he had used as a shield earlier, and tossed the corpse over the breakfast island, taking Fuckles by surprise.
The body landed on Fuckles' back, and he turned and fired twice, but only one bullet came out. The second pull of the trigger only produced a click. Anus stood up to kill Fuckles, but he was also out of bullets. Fuckles laughed hysterically.
"I wouldn't laugh if I were you. You're about to go out my window," said Anus. "Your face is going to go splat on the sidewalk."
"The only splat tonight is going to be the one coming out of Anus," said Fuckles, grinning wildly. "You forgot to frisk your victim before getting rid of him."
Fuckles pulled a gun out of the dead goon's holster, and fired four shots into Anus' chest. Anus had barely stained the floor when Fuckles dragged him to the window and tossed him out towards the cold, clean pavement below. He landed on his face, a crude smile frozen forever on his lips.
Blood leaked out of Anus into the darkened gutter. So much had happened, but the night seemed unchanged from an hour before. The streets were still dim and the air was still putrid and dead. Anus' rotting corpse had merely joined the stench.
