HighPitchEric walked down the Las Vegas Strip wearing a grey fedora hat, sweatpants, and no shirt.  His large stomach protrudes far past his waistline while a tuft of hair protrudes from the top of his crack in the rear, much to the displeasure of those sitting outside enjoying their morning coffees.  HighPitchEric usually wears a shirt outside, has but has just left the hotel where he purchased the services of a prostitute just an hour earlier and never put it back on afterwards.  "CHANGE ME" he had exclaimed as she walked into the room to find HighPitchEric lying on his back in a diaper, his legs akimbo preparing to be wiped.  Mutually ashamed afterwards, money exchanged hands and both left the hotel.  Maybe he left his shit back at the room.  He couldn't remember.

Suddenly, the otherwise peaceful morning silence was shattered by the sound of gunfire.  Heart racing and blood pressure high, HighPitchEric hurried clumsily around the corner to see what was happening.  Lying in the middle of the street, a puddle of blood growing beneath his head, was his beloved boss green.  HighPitchEric shrieked and jogged over to the dead body, cradling green's head in his arms as a crowd begins to form around him.  He looked up at the bystanders, nose running and out of breath from running.

"I COULD HAVE SAVED HIM" HighPitchEric shouted.  His voice was unusually and oddly high.  The crowd begins to laugh at his voice.  HighPitchEric began to sob uncontrollably (not because people were laughing at him, but because green died).  HighPitchEric wiped his tears and nose with his meaty, sweaty palm, inadvertently streaking green's blood across his face in the process.  Heavy salty tears left streaks in the blood as the crowd continued to roar with laughter at HighPitchEric's voice.

The End

(Author's Note: It was intended to say "Maybe he left his *shirt* back at the room", not *shit*, lest anyone thought I was trying to be crass)

Disorder had been out running. Training for upcoming fights was relentless and he was limbering up before taking on LuciusSweet as a new sparing partner. As he bounded down the strip with all the gazelle-like prancing elegance you'd expect from a 6'6" boulder, he noticed HighPitchEric sobbing uncontrollably and smearing their dead leader's blood across his snotty chubby face. One great lump went over to comfort another. Similarly weighted but very different in body shape, the two made an unusual coupling in the street. Disorder tried to comfort his friend.

"Eric, he's gone now. We've lost one of the great men of our time. Cut down before he even reached his prime. Its a sad day. But this is the life we've chosen and these are the hazards we face. You know this."

He pulled a sweatband from his head and tenderly mopped Eric's flabby tears. 

"There now big feller, we've still got the rest of the family. The good times will come back. FitzChivalry is a fine boss. He's hygienic, disease free and occasionally humorous. Not like old green was I'll grant you but few are. He's a good man, a strong leader and exactly the kind of boss we need to move forward. We're on the up man!"

Helping the lumbering mass to his feet, Disorder clapped his friend on the shoulder.

"Come on you obese bastard, we've got work to do. Your freakishly squeaky voice and dangerously overweight frame are going to help us get back on track. I've got just the job for you..."

Putting a bulky arm over a blobby shoulder, the two men wandered out of the street toward the office.

You may be new around these parts, Stu, but it would seem you knew green as well as any man.

I'm pretty certain that is exactly why he was gunned down.