Years ago, some friends and I went to a concert. Since the concert was far from where we lived and we had nowhere to stay, as soon as it was over, we had to hurry in order to catch the buses and the trains that would take us home.
"Hurry Martin, hurry!" Martin wouldn't hurry. He was making this weird face like he had a cucumber up his butt and he walked slowly. Painfully slow. We needed him to hurry, but he wouldn't, he couldn't. He had a problem that impeded him from hurrying. He didn't want to tell us what was wrong, but we knew exactly what the problem was. Martin should've had his fibers that week and left the little monsters at home, but instead, he brought them out for a walk and from his facial expressions, the nasty little fuckers had sharp teeth. We wouldn't leave our good friend behind, so instead, we slowed down… and made jokes. Yeah, evil was our middle name. Martin’s middle name was The Hemorrhoid Walker.