Novelist Victor Gischler has posted “Eleven Silver Johnnies,” a horror story, on the net, that begins like this:
I knew this guy, Johnny Christmas, from the garage. Of all the grease monkeys, he was best, a big, thick-necked, hammy-handed man, and he could spit and smoke and cough up phlegm like it was a career. He farted and swore and laughed, and he could bring down a charging rhino with his salami breath. That was Johnny Christmas.
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