Christopher and Simon were a pair of assholes. It had already been a tough morning for Malone, and these two pricks didn’t help anything.
For Malone, the day started on the rooftop of a building in downtown Los Angeles (actually a Canadian city doubling for LA). He was standing near the ledge, looking through the tourist lookout scope on the roof of this building; but he really could have been on any rooftop since most buildings in LA have a tourist lookout scopes on their roof. However this was the perfect spot for him to spy on a malevolent bastard. A very specific malevolent bastard who was dressed in a cheeky pinstriped suit.
"I’ve got you now, you lobulated pecker cheese,” Malone whispered with his mustache blowing in the wind.
Suddenly everything went black. Malone panicked for a moment, then realized he simply had to put another quarter into the lookout scope. The only problem was he didn’t have any more quarters. Instead he pulled the rifle case from his side and opened it up, but it was not a rifle in the case, instead there was a tin of Pringles chips. He began munching on the chips and then grabbed his sniper rifle which sat dangerously on the ledge of the roof.
As Malone stared through the scope at his target, he wasn’t sure if it was the weapon in his hand or the potato chip crumbs in his mustache, but something in that moment made his mind flash to a time in his past…
Malone was only eight years old at the time, so his mustache was not quite as filled-in back then. He held his father John’s hand as the two alphas strutted down the street in matching designer jeans. Just when young Malone was least expecting it, John got peppered with bullets and potato chip crumbs, before falling dead in front of the boy in a discourteously large pool of blood.
By the time Malone had snapped back to reality, he had lost sight of his target. He scanned the streets but couldn’t spot him anywhere. In a flash of brilliance, he punched out the bottom out of his Pringles tin and used it as a scope to scan the streets. It worked. He spotted the suit-wearing douchebag a block away.
Malone jumped to his feet and into action, charging at full speed with his rifle in hand to the ledge of the building, now remember what your mom told you about running with scissors? Well, running with a loaded firearm is way cooler! Anyway, he dashed as fast as he could, and leapt to the next rooftop. It was a close one, he barely made the jump, but he hit the roof running and could not slow himself down enough to avoid smashing into an antenna crotch-first.
“Now that’s Motrin pain!” Malone announced to himself while clasping his throbbing member and quivering. When he was finally able to climb to his feet, he ran at full speed again, only to be met by a steel door that a smoking employee opened right into his path. It was actually pretty amusing to see him fly head over heels after slamming into the door.
“Hey man, you okay?” the smoker asked.
Malone slowly got to his feet and yanked the cigarette from the man’s face. “Smoking will kill you,” he growled, then ran to the ledge of the building. He looked back at the dumbfounded smoker and added. “Oh yeah, and go frig yourself too.”
Malone leapt to the next building and was nearly in range of the suit, when he clumsily tripped over his shoelaces. This was clearly not his day, but instead of moping like a pathetic turd, he heroically double-knotted his laces and dashed to the next building where he crouched and lined up his target in the scope.
As he steadied his hand and got ready to squeeze the trigger, something hit him… it was probably the smell of his potato chips that made the memory of his past hit him hard, like a meat mallet to the testicles.
