Super-Size Psycho

I was nestling into my new apartment in December, 2007, when I saw a man across the street. He was a super-sized, dirty, sloppy, loud, obviously ignorant jackass, with a severe appearance disorder. He was screaming, "Wrestling champion of the world! Blah, Blah, Blah!", in a rather jackassy tone. I have seen this man many times since then. He walks down the street screaming obscenities and flailing his raptor-arms around wildly, shaking his tits around like an over-worked hooker. He wears old, tattered t-shirts that are three sizes too small, and his belly hangs well below his junk. I just wanna say, "Dude, if I can see your belly, get a new fuckin' shirt. You're not a hot girl. You're a dickless load of monkey-sperm!" He waddles like he's got a corn-cob up his ass and drinks beer outside on nice days. I see him and tremble with fear. The fear that creeps up your spine slowly and then hits you like a ton of dookie. I'm afraid that one night he is going to slip through my window while I'm sleeping and sit on my face with his pants clear down to his ankles. I often have nightmares about this waste of skin; this drain on society; this ignorant pile of rat-dicks. Someone should really slap the piss out of this asshole and send him back to the zoo, where he belongs.