"Trouble in Paradise"

One afternoon, when Bobby was getting out of the shower, he heard a din-- a ruckus-- out in the street. Blinking because he couldn't find his glasses, dripping wet because he didn't have a towel, he lifted a pair of underwear over his bulging belly and walked out into the grungy, clutter-scattered living room where he peeked through the blinds and out the sliding-glass door. He couldn't quite see what was going on, but he could hear the sound of angry screaming and the icy crash of shattered glass, like someone was getting murdered. As he stepped outside to squint and investigate further, he swore he saw a group of Mexican kids fighting with this eight-foot transsexual in a black strap dress. The she-male was hefting a boulder over its head and bellowing, about to crush the skull of the 5' 4" Mexican kid spread out on the ground as his Spanish-speaking friends chattered like magpies.

Hayes stepped outside yelled "Halt!", but they kept going at it.

Then he ran back inside and called 911.

The dispatcher sighed, and didn't want to hear" prank calls" because the police were "very busy" in that neck of the woods-- what, with all the meth labs and domestic abuse going on with that particular strata of Jerry Springer low-life society. Bobby begged for understanding, and the dispatcher gave him a brisk, curt laugh. Finally, he threatened to call the governor and report her dispatching station if she didn't send out a car right away. She gritted her teeth and told him to stay on the line until the authorities got there (-- presumably to haul him away to the nut-house).

Bobby rummaged frenetically through his "muskrat hole" of filth & slime for a weapon-- suffused with the kind of sickly-sweet decay that coated every surface and made your skin itch-- and came up with his trusty .44 Magnum.

Finally he stood out on the patio, holding the offenders at gun-point wearing only his underwear in an isocoles triangle stance and squinting like "Dirty Harry" because he didn't have his glasses. Then police pulled in, took stock of the situation, and commended Hayes for his quick-thinking.

Now, if he could just find his utility belt. . . . . he'd hold his sweatpants up (-- and be a superhero!).