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Micro-Story: Frosted Flakes


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Frosted Flakes
a True Story

I'd slipped off to the pisser for a line when I heard the shots. Pulled my piece so fast the blow went everywhere. Tony was fucked. Blood was everywhere. In his fur. On the sidewalk. Four shots found their way into his torso. One in his lung. Tony the Tiger was fucked.

I can pretty much kill anyone. I know it all. Karate. Jiujitsu. Kung Pao. Shit you never even heard of. I'm a security expert. Ladies call me The Jackhammer. I think you know why.

Tony was smoking Camel Wide Full-Flavors in the rain when I slipped into the pisser. Now there's a ticket to flavor town. R.J. Reynolds knows how to make a cigarette. I grabbed one from his pack while pushing people away. One of them gets indignant about my bumming a smoke from Tony.

“I'm going to flavor town.” I said, giving him The Glance. He got the message.

I knelt beside Tony. A little man was administering first-aid. Didn't need to give The Glance. He knew. His hands were soaked in blood. “I have PhD in security,” I shouted to him above the panic, “I can pretty much kill anyone!” I can pretty much kill anyone.

Tony wasn't just a client. Tony was my best friend. We were the pinnacles of our respective professions. Lone giants twisted together by fate. He did Kellogg brand Frosted Flakes®. I did security. It didn't matter that he was a tiger. A man-tiger. I looked past it. I saw the real Tony. The real Kellogg brand Frosted Flakes® loving Tony. And some little bitch tried to take him away. Why? Because Tony was a tiger. Just because he was a tiger. A great tiger.

“I'm a multiple black-belt!” I shouted to nobody in particular.

The little man was asking if someone called the paramedics. Someone mentioned a veterinarian. Glance. I called Kellogg.

“Kellogg's customer service, this is Julia speaking, can I help you?”

“The Tiger is down, bitch. Put me on with Mr. Kellogg.”

She did not put me on with Mr. Kellogg.

“I'm sorry, I'm having trouble hearing you,” she said.

“I'm a multiple black-belt!” I yelled.


The cunt.

Tony was in bad shape. “I won't abandon you like everyone else, Tony,” I said to Tony, “I'm an 11th dan. That's Judo.” In Judo when you get over a black belt they call you a dan. Higher dans are better. I'm the highest dan. The best dan. The best damn dan ever to get to meet such a great tiger.

Somebody tried to push me away from Tony. I Glanced. He knew. Nobody would separate me from Tony.

“When's the fucking ambulance going to be here!” the little man with blood-covered hands shouted.

“Chicks call me The Jackhammer,” I replied. “I think you know why!”

Then I got it. What Tony had been trying to tell me all along. I began sobbing man tears as he wheezed his last wheezes.

“I'm going to eat Kellogg brand Frosted Flakes®,” I told Tony, “I'm going to eat so many Kellogg brand Frosted Flakes® you'll be proud of me. They're... they're...”

They're great.
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