Barney sat on a cloud after eating the smack he stole from those two junkies back on Eager Street. He was surprised he could breathe as they watched the militant asshole walk down out of his Fortress of Assholeitude. A pimp and some geek squad refuge were standing in front of the van as if they expected to be picked up here, but not by the dying fat man that floated down out into the alley and the long-haired faɡɡot that was chirping, “Jack, he’s gotta big fucking gun and you don’t even have yours out.”

As Kersarge whined from the window of the rumbling conversion van, Barney levitated in an arrogant fashion, up to this ruthless, murdering, Black Muslim prick and spouted, “If it isn’t Black fucking Superman. Well, superstar, If I wasn’t in hospice I’d arrest your darkie ass for butchering those worthless nigglets and that poor bastard Arbese, who you fucking know didn’t deserve what you gave him, don’t you, you black piece-of-shit? So, Black Superman, I brought your van so you can turn yourself in. I even have a sissy, white driver. How about doing the right thing by Arbeese, because I don’t think I could draw down on you even if you—where the fuck is my piece, Jack—how do these junkies even manage to fall down? This shit is ridiculous."

There was a great rushing of river water as the last cataract on the Nile burst and sent his sarcophagus speeding down the Nile past the pyramids at the finish line, just ahead of Jimmy Johnson, the prick who lost him three bets last year alone…

King Kong was carrying him to his chariot—for apparently he was not dead yet—and the engineer that had designed his tomb and some Sudanese showboat dressed up like Monty Hall accompanied him on his outward journey. He was The Intercessor, after all.

King Kong admitted to the killing of Arbese—which must have meant he was friends with Black Superman the Improbable Nigglet Slayer. Black Superman—in the voice of King Kong—assured him that he was atoning for the sin of killing Arbese—who was his messenger to the Devil, who Barney was not thrilled to find out was a broad, as broads had always hated his ass and he was headed down there himself—by taking this escaped NASA twerp, being used by the CIA and HOS for some unethical purposes he does not agree with, to a park where they will meet some Albanian, whore smugglers for some poorly thought out attempt to hide from Uncle Sam’s prying eyes.

What was a real hoot was that Kersarge was having a cow about the entire thing all the way up to the point where they entered Leakin Park and that the asshole pimp was really named UNICEF and had somehow forgotten his carton for the donations.

Perhaps, if he still had a liver and didn’t look like a turmeric-covered Chink chef already, a few shots would help him organize all of this improbable bullshit—and here they were, feeling kind of right, and floating down out of the van to meet with the very evil pricks this geek had been trying to escape.

As the geek dove—suspiciously well for a geek—off the side of the drive into the weeded ditch and Kersarge began screaming like a bitch while two federal Tac-Goons in body armor lit up the poor, bearded faɡɡot, who would never write Barney’s biography with that many MP4 low velocity rounds impacting his scrawny whimpering body, Barney got mad for the first time since he had been taken off the force by the ultimate Internal Affairs traitor—Cancer.

Into the murder plain Barney Mancuso shuffled, with his shit-snub-nose thirty-eight against the two douche-soldiers that had killed his biographer—a hand howitzer roared over to his right as Black Superman engaged the agents in charge of these two—and it didn’t hurt at all. That's right ϲunts, I'm bullet proof!

All of Barney’s career he had been afraid of how bad getting shot would hurt, but nothing had ever hurt half as bad as tackling Ricardo-fucking-eat-my-green-card-you gringo-bastard-you-Jimenez behind The Latin Palace in 2008. The MP4 rounds were definitely impacting, making him giggle. But after he stood, took easy aim and popped that handsome bastard in the nose and watched the blood squirt out of his ear—Only one ear, what the fuckhe really started getting stitched up the left side. Worried that he would soon be discontinued by this really enjoyable video game, he tried to take in a deep breath, but nothing happened other then blood splashing in his face, his blood—he cut loose, empting the cylinder like the Lone Ranger at the asshole who had emptied his entire clip and took one in the neck courtesy of Barney Goddamn Mancuso.