Franklin tiptoed naked across the bloody floor, trying hard not to let his 500 pounds of pure love give his presence away. He’d been tracking the man who had been eating his Candy for about a week now, seeking out that elusive sonofabitch that smelled of Swiss cheese.
The butcher knife in Franklin’s hand was dripping the blood of the dude he’d just stabbed to death. The first attack, a puncture wound in the throat with the tip of the blade exiting out through the back of the neck, had been enough to kill that motherfucker. He’d stabbed him about twenty more times in blind rage, picking the body up and tossing it all around the room, laughing at the blood splattering the walls as the corpse hit with a thud, bouncing off and falling in a heap on the floor.
He’d come to his senses after about five minutes of that shit, realizing that the Candy Man, a nickname he’d attached to this motherfucker, might have been roused by the ruckus. He had to be quiet. He wondered who the motherfucker was he killed. It didn’t really matter.
Before entering the small brick house and killing the man sitting on the couch eating a Doritos Loco Taco (he could tell by the smell), Franklin had taken his clothes off and neatly folded them, placing them on the front porch. He didn’t need to get them dirty before work.
Tracking down the Candy Man had been difficult. Not too many people took the time to smell the slice of Swiss cheese he carried on him.
They thought him a nut–
Franklin sighed as he made it out of the living room to the hallway, gliding down the hall like a phantom to the first door on the right. Gently he opened the door.
“CREEEAK” went the hinge.
Nothing but an empty bathroom with a turd floating in the toilet bowl.
He’d found a waitress in a Waffle House down the road willing to tell him about the man that reeked of Swiss cheese. She didn’t even need to smell the cheese slice. Franklin had asked her if she’d smelled anyone like this before, pulling out the Swiss, and she’d nodded her head.
“How can I forget someone that smells like that?” she’d said. “The name on his debit card is Freddy Jones, and he’s a creep. He creeps me out.”
Franklin nodded his head, finished his waffle and thanked her with a two dollar tip. He walked outside, thumbed through a phone book hanging from a phone booth and spotted a Freddy Jones who lived less than half a mile down the road.
Franklin crept down the hallway to the next door and gently pushed it open with his swollen foot, glancing around the empty bedroom. He saw a Taco Bell bag on the bed and figured this was where the dead man slept. The room smelled of nacho cheese and Vaseline.
That left only one more place. He crept to the end of the hallway and gently turned the doorknob. His eye peered into the crack.
He could see the Candy Man on the bed, eating his Candy.
Franklin stepped inside.
“What THE FUCK YOU DOIN, MOTHERFUCKER!” Franklin screeched.
The Candy Man looked up from between Candy’s legs. “Who the fuck are you?” he said, his lips glistening.
“Franklin!” Candy screamed, sitting up, covering her beautiful breasts (BBs) with an arm.
“I been tracking down the man who been eating my Candy!” Franklin roared, raising the knife. “You bout to die!”
“Look, pal,” the Candy Man said, “it’s a free country. Maybe if you ate Candy more often, she wouldn’t come to me.”
Franklin reared back the knife and charged.
Jimmy M.F. Pudge was born and abandoned in the state of Georgia. He’s a lover and a business man of life. If any fine ass women looking for a big teddy bear, hit Jimmy James up at email@example.com.
Jimmy published some crazy ass books on Amazon, including “Bad Billy,” “Ice Cream Man,” and “Yo A$$ is GRA$$: Tales From a Rednek Gangsta.” He got some good reviews and some bad reviews, but it all good.