“Where’s Mandy?” the fat man growled. His chins jiggled. Malcolm was buzzed enough to find the effect hysterical. “I sez, where’s Mandy, cocksucker?” the fat man took a menacing step. The chins were bubbles in a lava lamp.

“What’s… your… damage… dude?” Malcolm snorted between giggles. “Who the fuck is Mandy?”

The fat man didn’t lean over Malcolm, though he did loom, bending as much as his girth allowed. He had little T-Rex arms and Malcolm wasn’t sure the guy could reach him. Malcolm began to giggle again.

“Mandy’s my girlfriend, you little shit. Her agent said she was here.” Turned out his arms did reach. Malcolm found himself dangling at the end of the Michelin Man’s arms. The Michelin Man was rank, like socks in a gym locker room.

Malcolm tried to think through the blur. Mandy? Agent? Fuck! The stripper! Well, said she was an actress, but, you know. This was her boyfriend? You had to be kidding.

Dude was going to be pissed.

Malcolm started trying to come up with a lie.