Tyrone Shoes satat his usual booth in the corner of "The Dirty Sanchez" drinking his usual shot of Johnny Walker Purple (a mix of red and blue) and thinking his usual thoughts. the words "girls in bikinis and men with martinis an old lady walking her dog, hikers hiking, bikers biking, death comes in on the fog" kept scrolling across his otherwise blank mind like the annoying ticker thing at the bottom of all the news broadcasts.
Tyrone's girlfriend, Clamidya Brown, a waitress at "Shooter's Steak House and Mosque" had been acting all wierd lately, ever since that bout of Toxic Shock. She would occasionnaly burst out a phrase in Estonian, even though she didn't speak that language and never knew anyone who did. Tyrone followed her around all day one day with a tape recorder, and managed to capture a phrase and bring it to a linguistics expert, who translated it. It turns out Clamidya's bursts of turret's in a foreing language were bits of a recipe for some wierd baked fish dish.
Tyrone waited with the patience of a coked up kid with a belly full of espresso the night before christmas. He had bought a lottery ticket, and he knew, KNEW he was going to win, he had a dream, a vision, a gut feeling, and his gut was never ever wrong, except that one time at that shady day-old sushi place....
150 million dollors. oh boy, what tyrone would do with that money. first off, he would get Clamidya whatever medical help she needed. then he would give her a million or two and tell her to never talk to him again. She was an ok girlfriend, but she had some quirks that rubbed Tyrone the wrong way. like how she always took her shoes off before getting into the shower, or how she always hung up the telephone when she was done talking on it.
Tryone had plans. he was going to buy a small town somewhere in asia. he figured with that much money, he could set up a free hosipital, throw a town wide fully catered party once a month, and be a benevolant dictator. all he would ask in return would be everyone's loyalty and for everyone in the town to fight to the death to defend him, if any government or whatever tried to get rid of him.
"that is where saddam hussein went wrong" thought tyrone. if that wacky arab had forgone just one of his 80 bazillion dollor palaces and given, say, 100 dollors to every citizen once a year, all the people would have been happy and not let him be taken out. they would have gladly put up with his frat boy sons and thier frat boy antics of raping and killing at will, or the occasional gassing of some kurds (really, who likes kurds anyway?) if they got free cash once a year. and tyrone wouldn't even kill or rape or any of that. he just wanted his own town. kind of like playing "Sid Meier's Civilization" only on a real life, 1:1 scale. and he could probably get laid by a hot and sexy asian chick, which would be a pretty fine bonus in tyrone's book.
tyrone thought about how cool it would be, what a great and loved man he would be, building schools and temples and libra ries and hospitals, and as he thought he mindlessly ate a complimentary bar pretzle, which he choked on. before anyone could get to him, tyrone suffocated and died.
the winning lottery ticket bunched up in his jeans was mistaken for an old recipet and burned with his clothes and no one has claimed that money to this day.
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