Robbie stands there and takes it. Hes got onion in his hair and a pickle glued to his cheek. It looks like hes crying chipotle. When I run out a McDonald I throw everything I can, a computer mouse and a hockey puck and a beautiful geode rock. The rock knocks Robbie right in the ear but he doesnt do anything except blink even after the blood comes. Under his flab he looks just like a scared little child. Like us, like no better than us, and if thats true how are we supposed to make it? It makes me crazy sad and that makes me even madder but I dont got anything left to throw, I cleared a bald patch in the living room and now Im slipping around a big orange puddle a McDonald juice.

* * *

Im on my ass now with my drawers soggy with sauce but I pull the Grishnákh stuff out a my snowboots, fake teeth and purple ass face paint that wasnt the right shade anyhow, and I throw that too and it makes me heartbroken as hell cuz I had plans, you know? I had plans a doing that stuff up right so Dag thought I was smart and creative and now shes never gonna know, nobodys ever gonna see all the things Ive got imagined inside my head.

Shower

Shower

Last thing left to throw is my ninja stars and I feel Gwendolyns crusty blood on the stainless steel. Up pops a video in my head of me doing Robbie the same way, how his fat jelly neck slices open and black evil blood shoots out. But heres the question killing me. Does dropping Robbie have the same mercy to it as dropping a tick sucked doggie? Hows anyone supposed to know for sure?

* * *

Whole cribs full a noises I cant stand. Midget whining cuz shes spooked. Robbies stomach squirting cuz a all the McDonald. And me doing hiccups cuz Im a boo hooing bitch. I drop my ninja tools, all of them, and kick every single one into floor trash and use a sleeve a my jacket, the one that says <THEY HAVE A CAVE TROLL> and who knows, yo, maybe the cave troll is me, and I take that sleeve and wipe all the hot emotional goo off my face. Emotional goo wont get none a us nowhere. Doesnt matter what Dick Trickle said about crooked paths. Midget, Dag, Robbie, me, this is the path we four are walking. We better accept it. This is the path and one a us has to step up, lead the way. Why not me? What else am I here for?

* * *

Walgreen bags are still sitting where I dropped them. I fish around inside and pull out the deodorant and mouthwash and cologne Dag got and I throw them at Robbies feet.

* * *