Jigilo Hindenburg was a Russian spy.
One day, he was on the job when suddenly he got a phone call "We got a burn notice on you. You're blacklisted."
After that, he got fat and ugly.
Jigilo was sleeping on his rickety cot with pinstriped sheets and berry-winkle pillowcases in his 1 room apartment.
He was having a dream where all he could see was bright McDonald's yellow and the word 'yello' was being repeated over and over again in Bob Pincotti's voice.
Yello Yello Yello Yello Yello Yello Yello Yello Yello Yello Yello Yello Yello Yello Yello Yello Yello Yello Yello Yello Yello Yello Yello Yello Yello Yello Yello YelloYello Yello Yello Yello Yello Yello Yello Yello Yello Yello Yello Yello Yello Yello Yello Yello Yello Yello Yello Yello Yello Yello Yello Yello Yello Yello Yello Yello
He awoke in a cold sweat. The word 'yello' still repeating in his mind until he pinched his eyelid which snapped him out of his half-awake dream state.
"Dat was strange" He stated aloud, scratching his balding egg-shaped nogging and craning his head back and forth with wild excitement in paranoia.
He got up from his cot, his bloated ogre feet slapping against the dingy tiled floor as he made his way over to the rusty mini fridge in his apartment.
He cracked it open. A foul anchovy smell wafted into his nostrils and made his mouth water, he peeked inside only to see it empty except for a single Coors Light beer.
Jigilo snatched at it with a renewed vigor and he tilted the can back, only to realize it was empty as a single drop of old beer floated its way into his mouth, making his belly growl for beer.
"Wut!?! Nooo! I swear I just bought some yesta'day!" He said then he threw the can onto the old brown cow-steen couch and began to punch the can repeatedly.
"Give. me. more. beer!! Fill back up! C'''mooooon! Plllzzzz I neeeddddd itttt!" He cried, angry tears streaming down his bloated clown cheeks.
His knuckles began to bleed and crack from punching the can so hard that shards of aluminum became embedded in his wrinkled knuckles.
He gave the can a final head butt, a large chunk of aluminum embedded itself in the utmost layers of his forehead.
He flew backward on the couch from the impact, blood trickling down his eyes and nose, making him look like he was crying blood.
Then he tasted his own salty pig blood as it crept into his open gobsmacker. He hadn't tasted his own blood in 25 years.
He saw flashes of blue and a caveman dancing with a flamingo as consciousness left his inner being, the very recesses of his mind.
The deepest secrets sliding out of his brain like a knife sliding out of hot butter.
His eyes fluttered open, a faint memory of a giant dust bunny holding a knife fleeted from his memory as he strained to grasp it but it was too late.
It was gone.
His feet were tangled up in the couch cushions, his head neatly tucked under the arm of the couch.
He felt a panic attack coming on, it reminded him of being held hostage and being interrogated for information about the top-secret hindleburgen boutch beegen wristwatch.
He struggled for air, his face turned a bright cherry hew, his eyes turning into swollen melon ballers as waves drifted over his cranium and onto his tongue.
Toodilen Schmigerdingle, an ex-comrade of his, was standing in front of him, holding a bobby pin to Jigilo's eye.
Jigilo sunk his yellowed corn bucks into his parched bottom lip, breaking him out of his panic attack trance.
