Pedolo once saw on TV a man with a tattoo that said, “Playing it safe kills your soul.” The man was good looking, well-built, adventurous. Pedolo figured the man probably had little trouble getting laid so he immediately came to idolize the man. He took the message of the tattoo to heart. For years El Crow and Lone Wolf had told him he had better get his condition checked, but instead he avoided the doctor until his condition became so bad he had live in an assisted living facility, with a curated lawn and a bunch of old people.

Pedolo also had a collection of DVD porn 12-feet tall in his bedroom (although the ceiling in his room is roughly 8 feet tall [don’t ask]) most of it Japanese anime-style, and a juicy, breathing sentient hole on top of his head that began as a tiny scab about the size of a dime whence a can of olives had fallen on his head while he was looking in the pantry for a snack to eat while watching some anime porn. But he kept picking at it (the scab) unknowingly cultivating the wound and creating a crater so big and foul and infected that eventually he had to be taken to the hospital and all the nurses and staff whispered amongst themselves of the importance of seeing “the freak” in room 203 “with the hole in his head.”

The rumor was you could see his brain, but Manny Furious don’t know how true that was.

“That’s a hell of a collection.” Furious said, observing the stack of porn while he unwrapped gauze from under his chin and around the top of his head changing his bandages with the self-conscious pride and satisfaction and self-pity of a war hero or a lone survivor of some sort of act of god.

“Taking care of myself physically would be playing it safe, brother,” Pedolo said. “As would not watching as much Hentai as I could in this too brief lifetime.”

Some of the pus and blood and mucous seeped through the last layer of the wrap.

“Just living the dream, Furious, Just living the dream,” the wound laughed with a Belorussian accent as Pedolo fed it a Dr. Pepper.

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