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Fausto was back in the clinker out in the Land of the Dead. His car got a flat out in Dead White City in the Land of the Dead, and out that way, it’s illegal to get a flat tire apparently.

The Dead White City County Jail was crowded as hell and about as hot. Everybody in there was grumpy. They waited around for 666 hours. and 666 fights broke out, every hour on the hour, a skeleton vs. a ghoul, a devil vs. a dead, a demon vs. ghost, etc., etc., all more or less racially motivated.

Things were looking grim when all of a sudden there was a rumble and through the fuckin brick wall comes busting the goddamn motherfucking KOOL-AID MAN, no fucking lie, sweating like a bitch screaming, “OH YEEEAAHH!”

The prisoners ran through the hole in the wall as the guards frantically scrambled to open the cell door, a couple of them opening fire on the mass exodus of mid-flight jailbirds.

KOOL-AID MAN was strapped, let loose a spray of cannon fire on the porkos, laid all those piggies out like a plate of hors d’oeuvres slathered with cocktail sauce. The prisoners screamed yee-haw, whooped, ran off into the night.

Fausto ended up at Hector’s Pub over in South Dead White City, drinking jungle juice with KOOL-AID MAN, Chuck Freight and Riffs McGriff. They were fucked up.

Some KOOL A.D. came on, a joint off the new mixtape AZTEC YOGA. The joint was called KOOL-AID MAN FREESTYLE, it was fucking marvelous.

“This joint is fucking marvelous,” said the KOOL-AID MAN.

“I know, right?” said KOOL A.D., bursting through the wall.

Everybody was like: “WHOA!”

KOOL A.D. was like: “OH YEEEAAHH!!! Drinks on me y’all!”

The whole bar turned the fuck up.

KOOL A.D. signed autographs all night taking selfies with ecstatic fans. A real fuckin night to remember.