The man walked up the hill and a very strange thing happened. He saw a little talking flower.
“Where are you going?” asked the little flower.
“Up the hill,” said the man.
“You are one ugly motherfucker,” said the little flower.
“Well…why would you say that? That’s so…mean,” said the man.
“Because you have a big baby face with acne on it,” said the little flower.
“Well fuck you,” said the man.
The flower challenged the man to a swordfight and the man lost. The man had many red slits all over his body. They were red because when you get a slit in your skin, a little blood shows through and blood is red. The man went home.
He spent much of the day crying and nursing his wounds. He put salve on his wounds and went into the parlor to visit with his best friend who also happened to be his father.
“Papa…” sobbed the man.
“Please don’t call me Papa you fucking faggot. It’s dad. Or Jack. Anything but that fucking ‘papa’ shit. It’s for fags and Italians.”
“But Papa, we ARE Italian.”
“Good. Then go get me some spaghetti you fucking faggot.”
The dad got up shaking his head. He looked miserable as he went to fill his glass with more scotch. He was mumbling “lost to a fucking flower…a flower!”
The next day the man went back to the hill with the intention of telling the flower what an asshole he was. But the flower had turned into a big dragon. THe dragon picked up the man and chewed off both his arms and cauterized the wounds with his fire breath.
Then he stuck his sharp incisors into the stumps of the wounds, puncturing the cauterized tissue until blood squirted out and then recauterizing it. The dragon repeated this process exactly seven times.
The man went home even more disconcerted then he was the day before.
“Papa…” whined the man.
“You fucking faggot, don’t call me Papa,” said the Dad.
There was an awkward silence as the dad observed the wounds. The dad thought for a long time and finally said “Gomer Pile is on.”