I got bored and decided to try this thing that I found at http://nickkocher.com/2009/03/my-album-cover.html

For being a random thing, this is a pretty awesome CD cover.

A Natural Death- by Jimi Raffety

I remember my days in Paradise.
My mother and I, walking in the sugar-cane fields.
Eating the sweet sap in joy-
But Paradise was fleeting.

I remember my father- he loved us, I know.
Yet he loved another even more.
He never said to me “good night,”
Before his lover kissed his arms to sleep.

They said that it was a natural death.
Peaceful.  Painless.  Sorrowless.

I remember nights spent talking with my uncle.
Yet life is a frail tree, leaning in the wind.
He never said to me “good night,”
Before the hurricane ripped him from his roots.

They said that it was a natural death.
Peaceful.  Painless.  Sorrowless.

I remember my aunt with no place to rest her head.
She had felt the sorrow of a brother lost.
She never said to me “good night,”
Before her lover kissed her arms to sleep.

They said that it was a natural death.
Peaceful.  Painless.  Sorrowless.

I long for the days of Paradise.
To lap at the sweet sap of the sugar-cane.
Yet in my heart I know-
I am no longer in Paradise.

They say that it will be a natural death.
Peaceful.  Painless.  Sorrowless.

A natural death.  A natural death.

What is natural about death?

So I called it in and they told us that they would be there sometime tonight to clean it.  I went ahead and mopped the floors, thinking I might as well do them now, while I had the chance.  The dude shows up at nine with this giant hose and runs it all the way through the shop.  And it’s covered in mud.  Like, caked-on grease mud.  It gets all over the floor, and I’m like, “Balls.  I just mopped that.”

So this guy goes into the back and opens up the trap.  Nothing I could have done would have prepared me for this Pandora’s box of unholy smells.  And it looked worse than raw sewage.   Have you ever seen raw sewage?

This is raw sewage.

It looked worse than that.  And smelled worse.  My brain could not comprehend how offensive the smell was.  The smell was so offensive that it was making fun of it’s own mother (“My mom is sooo fat” jokes are the new trend, now).  Never mind the ramifications of a grease-trap having a mother, or having the ability to talk.

So after about 13 minutes, I immediately stepped outside for a breather.  This strategy, all though well-intentioned, did not, however, come with any effect.  You know how when you put Vicks Vapo-rub under your nose and you can smell it all the time?  It gets caught into your nasal pores and you fall asleep having pleasant dreams of unicorns and fields of double-mint gum.  Yeah, it was exactly like that, except with something that smells worse than sewage.

I got a little bit light-headed and my nose started bleeding.  When I reached up to confirm that my nose was indeed bleeding, I found that it was gone!  It had temporarily retreated to my large intestine, favoring the smell over the current predicament.  Which is funny, because that’s where my poop comes from.

I have no more slightly clever ways to describe the same thing.  Let me just end by saying that I had to sweep and re-mop a huge portion of the cafe, including ground zero, right next to the grease-trap.  It smelled bad, I guess is what I was trying to say this whole time.

Yeah.  Neither do I.

Well anyway, for those analytical minds out there, I am going to provide you with a timeline of everything that ever happened.  To me.  Minus all of the stuff I did not include.

As you can clearly see, I have only been a member of the Chicago Outfit for 8 years.  I will now turn you all loose to debate about this in the comments.  If you want, you can create fan-fiction based on my life, but just remember, I will not canonize it unless it makes me look totally awesome.

That being said, we are rather unorganized at the present date.  The Outfit of the 2000′s is not nearly as focus-driven as the past.  With prohibition mostly said and done with, and ever since we murdered Cupid at the St. Valentine’s Day Massacre, we don’t have much to do these days.  I’m setting out to fix that.

As you could probably guess, this is where sidewalk theft comes into play.  You may be thinking, “Sidewalk theft? Are you insane?”  Yes, quite.  But that is unrelated.  Let me anecdotealize you a little bit.

So I was walking on this sidewalk this one time, and I thought, “Wow.  Without this thing, I would be on the street.”  I slowly began to put two and two together.  “On the street” is a common metaphor for being homeless.  Without sidewalks, everyone would be “on the street,” and thus, homeless.  Of course!  If everyone is homeless, then we can steal all of the real estate and money in all the world!

I stumbled and hit my face against the concrete in anticipation of the execution of my brilliant plan!  I probably broke like, three nose bones, at least.  I don’t know.  I’m not welcome at most hospitals ever since the incident with the bears (Grizzly AND Chicago.  That was an incredible footbear game).

I got up and brushed myself off, bleeding profusely from the nose and most of my face and upper face.  I ate some Neosporin and immediately arrived at the Outfit’s headquarters 13 hours later.  I shared my plan with the henchmen, the goombahs, the co-horts, the co-henches, the hench-horts, and the koopa-troopas.  They all thought I was a genius and crowned me the superking immediately.  Except for Gary.  I freakin’ hate that guy.

I decided there was no better time than the present to execute the plans of the present.  We set off for St. Louis, to a quaint little christian college (they have the best sidewalks, you know).  We arrived at St. Louis Christian College at 8:30, and at least three different ways from Sunday.  What is the official gear for robbing sidewalks?  The same as for robbing banks.

I am quite certain that I am going to single-handedly cause the apocalypse.  When the homeless converge, they become radioactive, or so I hear.  A small price to be crowned “Superking of Everything in the world-town, USA!”