Satan Burger Read Online Free PDF Page B

Well, it is actually just John himself, naked and on all fours, growling with foam.  A fat, bald, middle-aged man that thinks he is an attack doggie.
    Then, just as an attack doggie would, John flies toward the intruder, splashing the mega-drink between them.  And Gin screams out, flap-dashing down the street with the human doggie chasing him, barking.
    And Mort bends down to pick up the rent money settled on the ground just within the door, inside of an envelope with two flowers and a pencil and four paper clips and some breakfast, and the bills have little smiles drawn onto the president faces in blue ink.
    The naked doggie springs at Gin’s legs, thumping him to the ground, handing him a large number of claw-scratchings.
               The Abraham Lincoln midget comes to save the young man from further injuries, rapping John-doggie on the scalp with a rolled-up newspaper, which angers the wannabe doggie, turning to Lincoln midget and biting his pant leg, thrashing it about.
    Gin darts away.
    Mort, from a distance, gives a cluttered face – a confused spectator watching John chase Lincoln down the street, barking and biting at his ankles. 

    Back to me:
    I find myself reading a Mutilation Man comic book at a corner store/liquor store, and I’m not positive how I got here.  Mutilation Man swirls off the page and hides under the magazine rack, which looks more like a transformer in my eyes. 
    Christian and Nan are searching the shelves for nice cheap liquor.
    "What you want?" Christian asks, swarming his arm around Nan’s stomach.
    "I don’t know.  They’re all too expensive."
    "Just pick one.  You can afford it."
    "Well, you’re hasty all of a sudden."
    "Bite me."
    She bites him on the chubby part of his shoulder and he screams a laugh.  Then she grabs a bottle of Fork’s Gum for him.
    "Whiskey?" amazed at her choice.  She usually drinks butter almond rum.
    Christian takes it to the cashier, a brown-haired, blond mustache-bearing man, who has never slept with a woman under the age of forty, who is now reading a newspaper. 
    Christian puts the bottle and his ID onto the counter.
    The cashier looks up from his paper.  "Eight even," he says.
    Nan throws some crumpled bills.  The cashier glances at the cash and then tosses them back.  "Sorry, I can’t accept this."  He goes back to his paper.
    "Why not?"
    "I don’t accept American money."
    Christian and Nan stare at him for a few minutes.
    "How can you not accept American money in an American store?" Christian asks.
    "For your information, this store isn’t in America.  It’s in New Zealand."
    "No, it’s not.  It’s in America."
    The cashier slams the newspaper.  "Didn’t you read the sign?"
    "What sign?"
    The cashier jumps over the counter to the glass of the door and picks up a small piece of notebook paper with four words written in magic marker. 
    It reads:

    WELCOME TO NEW ZEALAND

    The he tapes it back to the glass.
    "Real funny," Christian groans.
    "I’m not joking.  The dirt underneath this store is owned by New Zealand."
    "Sure it is."
    "Hawaii’s not attached to the U.S., but it’s still considered part of the country."
    "Yeah, but Hawaii’s surrounded by water, not another country."
    "Hey, Mr. Man, I own this store and it’s going to be in whichever country I want it to be in!  Actually, I don’t want it to be in New Zealand anymore."  He crosses out New Zealand and writes in another country.
    Now it reads:

    WELCOME TO VENEZUELA

    The cashier is proud of himself.  "There.  Now we’re in Venezuela and you can’t buy that whiskey unless you have Venezuelan money."
    Nan comes in.  Her expression says I’m sick of this .
               She punches the cashier in the face.  He screams straight to the ground.
    "My tongue is broken," the Cashier cries.
    Nan takes the money and the whiskey, walking toward the door.  "What are you going to do, call the Venezuelan police?"
    The cashier bleeds.

    As we leave the