[i]Piss off. I'm still drunk.[/i]

The sun is shining, the birds are singing, and this soggy bitch is kicking me in the chest. I reach over and fling her leg away, but it comes pinging back and hits me. "Fuck off, hen!" I yell at her through the curtain of hair protecting her from the outside world. She mutters and thrashes the covers around creating a messy Thunderdome of sex. Sex, I enjoy, this girl taking up my fucking bed, I do not. She sits up and shouts something at me which I drown out by shouting back at her. [i]Cheeky slag,[/i] I think to myself. She crawls out of bed and by the time I get back from the bathroom she's dragged her shite out of my hotel room. 

It's a mediocre hotel, a nice enough place that does what it has to. Cooks me breakfast, dinner, cleans the shite stains off the tub. Everything it has to. I put on a suit I got from some high-end highstreet retailer and headed to the elevator. A middle-aged woman with her acne-scarred makeup-caked puss stood like a board waiting for it to arrive. I hunched against the wall, head bowed in defeat of the mighty vodka, hands massaging temples and covering eyes. The stiff bitch cocked her head at me, smug look on her canvas. "Rough night?" she asked. "Shut your cakehole you scabby whoor," I softly reply, the same smug look playing satirically on my face. She looks at me with a look of horror, pure, complete, unfiltered horror. How [i]dare[/i] someone speak to such an elegant woman in such a fashion? I burped and blew it in her direction. "I'll piss in your cornflakes hun, I am not in the mood to deal with your clenched-arse style today." She walks away from me and the elevator to the staircase with as much dignity as she can muster when her trembling lip makes her look like a kid who didn't get a cheese string in their lunchbox. 

The walk along the drizzly streets of Chicago were the best he had felt all day so far. The sky was grey, the people were timid, and the birds had shut the fuck up. It was a grim day, if anything were to describe it. I thrived in this atmosphere, and strolled down the centre of the pavement, cleaving through the crowds like Moses and the Red Sea. My sunglasses block me from glaring at an old lady who didn't shift her arse out of my way quick enough, so I bawled her out instead. "Move, saggy tits. I am an important man, with important places to be. Do not let me be stopped by your shitty knees!" I hysterically yell, the old lady with a look of nothing more than surprise on her aged face. [i]She could be my gran, I like her.[/i] I feed off of the disgust and contempt of others. It loosens my clinching migraine so that I can now see clearly what is around me. I imagine pulling out a light machine gun and just letting loose, the whole scene plying out in slow motion with frequent slow motion shots of my angered face, spittle flying like shrapnel and empty shells being ejected out, the muzzle flash creating strobe lights. Then after that the camera would follow me as I step over a mountain of bodies, the blood slick in my hair like grease and the footsteps making splashing noises as they landed in puddles of blood. I sadly awake from my daydream when a dog barked and I nearly kicked the little bugger too when I noticed that it was actually a very pretty dog, so I didn't. 

As I turned the corner I could see the ever handsome Juan walking down the road. Their beloved leader. The charming, beautiful face of this intrepid crime squad. I stopped just in front of Juan. "Morning Juan. Lovely day, isn't it?"