After Matthew was physically keelhauled (other disciplinary forms of punishment in the Financial District include water boarding, 10 minutes on a Catherine’s Wheel, losing a digit off of your pinky finger, etc.) for his lack of diligence, he was simply in such a high dudgeon that he accidentally-on-purpose ate a Big Mac, Filet-o-fish, Quarter pounder, French fries, icy cola, thick shakes, sundaes and apple pies. This stress-relieving binge session was not complete, and after he bought out a deli and ate everything within it (including a deli cat and the rats it had ingested), he moved onto the entire contents of a neighboring hot dog cart. And although his subsequent 700-lb weight gain, was physically disgusting and quite unfortunate, it was also his golden ticket out of the Financial District: he was given his very own reality-television show in which he had to lose weight by outrunning endangered animals (which are scientifically proven to be angrier than non-endangered animals).
In a state of elevated dudgeon, Richard hooted, hollered, yelped, and yammered–his barks bouncing off the distantly clinquant buildings of the Manhattan skyline–and though I was on the brink of keelhauling the shit out of him, I had to refrain for he proceeded to sniff, squeeze, and release the shit out of himself, rendering a stinking pile for the roaches to play in and my attempts at discipline useless.
The bum that couldn’t find his filthy bottle of Jack Daniels earlier today was in such a dudgeon that his self-righteous indignation played itself out in an attempt to kick me as I passed. If I had my wits about me I would have given him a good ol’ fashioned keelhauling for his unmitigated violent near-attack…but I didn’t because I had drank all of his whiskey.