“Last night,” said Hupert the Hopeless, “I think Janey smiled at me.”

“Shut uup, you homo,” yelled Antoine the Black British Minority. “Janey would never even look at you. She hates you. You know what? I hate you too!”

Hupert’s pitiful voice questioned the pitiless hate. “Why did you say that?” Hupert whined.

“Because, you bloody little bastage.” His English accent accented the words. “You’re the most worthless, miserable, putrid, poor excuse for a friend wretch I have ever met. Does that answer your stupid little question?”

“Not unless you give me hotdogs.”

“What in the bloody… Mglrmfaa!” said Antoine the Black British Minority. Wolfhook had hooked A.T.B.B.M., on the shoulder and slammed him bleeding to the floor. He shoved his cruel foot hook, a wicked fisherman, into the miserable boy’s mouth! Wolfhook kicked upwards, the hook splitting his head. Blood and brains splattered like gory rain onto Hupert the hopeless. Wailing, his tears mixed with the crimson jelly liquid.

“Don’t worry,” said the cross between Rin Tin Tin and Lucifer. He turned his back and hooked something. It made a sickening squish, like stabbing a watermelon. “I have a secret to show you. I think you’ll like it.” He swiveled swiftly, thrusting forth his bloody hook. Hanging from it, dangling in the desert wind, was the smile he’d been hoping for. Blood flowed freely from Janey’s happy face, scarlet liquid shined as it seeped out from her clenched teeth, and past her rosy, upturned lips.

Hupert the Hopeless turned and sprinted, (like a really fast feces lizard). He never looked back, but the words screamed by the demon dog dove into his dreams until his dying day: “Run boy, run for your life. Hotdogs.”