Every bear for himself. God against all.

Hannity forced a shovel into my hand and demanded that I “dig.” I was in no position to deny his request, after all, it was I and not he, who, in a fit of GreenFinch ™ fueled rage had beaten a local Kearny, Nebraska weather man to death with a plastic “most improved player” trophy. Hannity and I were on a cross country road trip to sell a ton of “drugs and shit” Hannity had lifted from Fatsy Pope in order cover assorted gambling and legal debts but had gotten caught up in Kearney when Hannity insisted we enroll in the local high school in order to score some “Decent pussy. Farm pussy.” I had relented and Hannity and I rented a 2,000 square foot house in a new subdivision (Kearney’s housing bumble remained utterly unfilled) for under 400 dollars a month.