You know that $2000 government grade Kush that creepy camera dude sells to the dad in [American Beauty]? Well, Johnny obtained an ounce of that shit and spent the duration of last night distilling it into a clean THC tincture via alcohol and lipid osmosis; now in a syringe, he leaps out from around the corner and plunges the needle into Solinis’s neck while simultaneously depressing the plunger. It pleases him to see the demigod from the fourth crumple onto the floor, letting out squeals like a pig whose jugular had not fully been severed and is now rampaging around the barnyard, leaking life fluid in circles for the flies and maggots to feast upon at some later date.
“Can you stop bringing this man into my home?” Johnny requests. Some premonitory crawlng of the flesh pulsed through his scrotum in warning of the demon’s pending arrival.
“Darling, it’s my job,” Elle purrs, nudging the flailing Solinis out of her path with her toes as she makes way for the boy. “If you ever want to leave the realm of the timeless and the undead then you’ve got to learn how to get along with him. It is not his fault that Hangul took a bite out of your face.”
“I HATE MARIJUANA!” Solinis shrieks. Outside, a palm tree slips into an evergreen and then bursts into scintillating pink flames of renown with no Moses to appreciate it. Flopping over to Elle, he claws at her sleek sepia gown with feeble fingers. “C-Can we go to Amsterdam RIGHT NOW and get me a full blood transfusion? PLEASE?”
“Of course,” his guardian assures him. “Just let me finish saying hello to Devon.”
“I take it we’re not going to be having dinner together tonight,” the man in question mumbles, trying to glean some of the hatred resident in his son towards Solinis but failing.