As for that sniveling, snotty-nosed, drooling, gap-toothed, nit-ridden, maggot-tongued, pimple on the fair face of the human race, Shame McBride -- without the crutch of cheap beer he can barely face his image in a mirror much less a firing squad. I can picture it:

Shame is dragged into the yard screaming and crying by six sunken-chested, anemic guards. He is tied to a post so that he can remain upright instead of sliding down into the pile of human mucus he is. Not only does he accept a blindfold, he is the only person ever granted the privilege of a full body covering after he smokes his last cigarette and begs for more.

Still whimpering and cringing from the inevitable, he hears the commands:

"Reeeeeady!"

"Present!"

And Shame screams, "NO! NO! I'm too pretty!"

"FIRE!"

And fingers squeeze the triggers and the rifles fire. The body hood is ripped from Shame and blinking in the sunlight he sees a flag reading "BANG!" sticking out of the barrel of each plastic toy gun.

The OC of the Firing Party throws back his head and laughs, until a slight change of wind brings him the odor which betokens Shame's response....