A Few Off-Shades of Oranje

"When I was young, I knew I was special. There was this weird mark on my olecranal." The midgety, pimply teen bends his elbow in a chicken-wing, shows it to the old, musty man under the bridge, and in the firelight of a rusting trash-can slowly stretches his tongue out, passionately enveloping his orange-tinged wenis in his saliva. His eyes ease closed.

Little Tim-Tim knows what he must do to save himself and his parents and maybe a homeless dude, but can he?

Amidst the seeds of chaos some loser will... Uhm. Hm.