Today is the day HighPitchEric is supposed to make his collections, going around the local businesses in Las Vegas and collecting the protection money, the casino skim, the street tax, for his Boss FitzChivalry.  Instead, he is sitting on the toilet, sweating profusely and groaning as his insides churn and sputter audibly. Between unplesant and high-pitched groans, he is devouring a chicken parm hero sandwich.  The sandwich is a custom job by a vendor down the street; 2 foot long roll, double meat, extra sauce, and extra cheese.

The toilet was fairly clean when HighPitchEric entered the bathroom and unwrapped his sandwich an hour earlier, at least the water inside the bowl appeared clear.  Clean enough that HighPitchEric cupped his hands and splashed some of the clean toilet water under his armpits.  He had been sweating a lot today and was particularly ripe, his body odor masked only from the horrendous smell emanating from Eric's colon.  "IS THIS WHAT MY INSIDES SMELL LIKE?" Eric wonders to himself.  He then remembers learning in school that it is not the smell of his insides he is taking in when he uses the bathroom, but merely the smell of the waste produced by his body.  Eric was never very good at science and often forgot this.

The door swings open suddenly, startling HighPitchEric.  Disorder enters the bathroom, his arm across his mouth and nose to keep from getting nauseous.  He leans inside and smashes an egg over HighPitchEric's head.  The yolk runs down Eric's sweaty brow into his eyes, stinging them.  "STOP IT!" HighPitchEric yells at Disorder as the rest of the crew howls with laughter.  "It smells like a fucking pasture in here," Disorder barks at Eric as he slams the door shut.  Eric was growing tired of the crew's bullying.  Just earlier, Scipio had been opening the door and poking Eric in the ribcage with a pool stick while he was sitting on the toilet.  It hurt and he was getting sick and tired of it.  He began to plot his revenge against Disorder. Sure Disorder was a brutish knock-out artist, in superior shape and chiseled from years of training and fighting, but HighPitchEric had a gigantic weight advantage.  If only he could get the upper hand on him he could...

The violent grumbling has started again, the vile gurgling sound from his stomach.  With his mouth full of chicken parm, Eric lets out a high-pitch moan as his bowels release violently.  His knees begin to tremble.  There is little to no consistency due to Eric's grease-drenched diet. How long had he been sitting here?  How much could he possibly have to give?  There was no toilet paper available, adding to Eric's anxiety.  He was late for his collections.  Panic sets in as Eric finishes what was left of his chicken parm sandwich.  He had a feeling he was going to be here awhile longer.

The door swings open again as LuciusSweet enters much to HighPitchEric's dismay.  "GET OUT OF HERE!" Eric whines.  "You smell like an elephant.  Hurry the fuck up,"  Lucius retorts in disgust.  "I'M TRYING!" Eric responds.  The door slams shut again.

Eric looks at his fingernails.  Is that suace from his chicken parm sandwich embedded in his yellow nails?  Or is that sauce from yesterday's chicken parm sandwich.  Eric digs his incisor tooth in between his nail and the fleshy part of his thumb, clearing out the blackish crud between his thumbnail.  He is still hungry.  Then he remembers... he has another emergency sandwich stashed under the sink for emergencies!

Eric reaches under the sink, almost toppling off the toilet seat at the same time at a most inopportune time.  He brushes the roaches from the sandwich and inspects the spicy ham, which has began to turn a grayish-green color with an almost glossy sheen, the disgusting stench from the toilet overpowering the smell of the spoiled meat from the sandwich.  He tears into the rotten sandwich ferociously, hardly taking the time to notice the meat is bad.    He would pay for that later, but for now Eric needed to focus at the task at hand.  His collections would most likely need to wait until tomorrow,  FitzChivalry would not be pleased. 

I think I'm nauseous...