Ick!

Crap! Sorry for the mild profanity. Li'l Bo Bradley showed up again with his posse, so I had to make a hasty retreat. That man has "gats" and "nines" and such. I can't tangle with him. I guess he had just left his seat to go buy a funnel cake in the lobby. He just made eye contact with me, and I saw 187 in his glassy corneas. So I'm hiding out here in the bathroom. I can hear cheering from the theater. What am I missing? Dagnab and doggone. Sorry, more mild profanity. Can't help it. So sweaty.

Jack Nicholson was just in here, pinching a loaf. The man's excreta smells like death and scabs. Ick! Get me out of here. I'll try to sneak back into the balcony in a moment. Give Li'l Bo Bradley time to dig into that funnel cake and forget about the 187.