Constantine Eastwood and the Electric Tambourine
Ben stumbled back to his college dorm. His long blonde hair would have been flowing in the breeze had it not been stopped by the wolf ears he was wearing. Nobody understood him. Not even he did. He hated his boss, the Boss. And he hated coffee. He hated the taste of vodka, and he hated his size 14 feet. He hated the French and he hated mustard. He tripped over a stick, and promptly began hating it.
It was a dark and stormy night. The wind hit him in the face like a wet shirt hits one in the face, except this was wind and Ben wasn't expecting anyone to take their shirt off for him.
There was an ominous looking lump in the street. It looked like a dead body. He walked over to it. Ben was disappointed to see that it was only a nearly dead body. The Figure, a particularly Dark Figure, stood up and looked at Ben.
"You look like you've just suffered an epileptic seizure." said Ben.
"I did." replied the Dark Figure. Ben considere