Update: Head have Gertrude?, no!! Circus in shambles, lots dead? Yes.

Two days after Gertrude?s timely death, little Billy was asleep at the table in his home. He had been crying for those two days, trying to get his hand out of the mashed potatoes. The poor thirty-seven year old bastard was beginning to talk to himself. The mashed potatoes had gotten to his head and after spitting all over them in an attempt to soften them, he had given up the fight, selling out like he had forgotten the hood, yo. Well, poor little Billy began talking to himself and I walked in, casin? the joint. I was gonna rob the kid blind, but I?m not a thief by profession and was not trained to deal with my victims properly. Five minutes into my job I found myself listening to Billy in his delirious splendor. ?My girl left me when I was twenty-four?, Billy mumbled. I cut off Billy?s left arm to compensate for the chair that hadn?t four legs. This was my first opportunity to use the pocket knife my mother had given me when she learned of my new profession. I quickly learned how ineffective the knife was when dealing with human flesh. I had to hire several children in the neighborhood to continue sawing Billy?s arm before I could actually put it to use under the chair. So I pulled up my newly fixed chair and began patting Billy on the back. He continued talking. ?Did you happen to notice, while having my arm severed that my other arm happened to be stuck in a bowl of mashed potatoes, mister (now attempting to make quotes without hands) burglar?? ?Yeah, so.? ?Well, didn?t it seem a little bit strange?? ?What do I care, I was just tryin? to steal your valuable possessions.? ?So you don?t even care to ask me how I got to be in this position?? ?Not really. Hey, I?ll see ya later OK. I really don?t have time for your pathetic complaining, all right.? Well, I?m still the narrator so I don?t really get to leave. Little Billy realized that he had a long tongue and began to lick his forehead. This amused Billy and he did it repeatedly for the next twenty minutes. Meanwhile, Billy?s father walked in. He was wearing a donkey suit and smiling like a llama. ?Hey, Billy! You got that twenty-five cents you owe me? I just saw the ice cream man go by and I need the?? ?Dad, you know I don?t have the money.? Father of Billy then noticed Billy?s bloody arm under the chair and began to scold Billy. ?Billy, whose idea was that? Just give me the name. As a kid, I mean, I understood you kinda bein? impressionable and all. But, come on Billy. You?re forty-six years old. What, you don?t know how to tell a friend ?Hey, leave my arm alone. It isn?t a toy.??? ?How ?bout you go get your ice cream, Dad.? ?Yeah, well I?m not the one who let the Jirafa Mafia control my life, punk!? Father donkey then walked out of the house and rolled in the grass. It was now morning once again. The circus was being taken over by the Jirafa Mafia. All the animals were slain. The Nissan Sentra became a nursery for the baby giraffes. The Mafia began building the facilities necessary for an efficient manufacturing plant of robotic giraffes that would grow a succulent meat unheard of in third world countries. George, the man who had decapitated Gertrude, thought to himself how in two months, this place would be worshipped by all the children in the neighborhood. He took out his tooth and laid it on Gertrude?s body to honor her part in the making of a national monument. Little Sylvia, who had played with Billy three days earlier was now running away from her family with her pillow case, a spot of blood on her finger, and sheep jerky which she would occasionally tear at with her canines.

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