Death of a Munchkin

I had been contracted via the callous malice from Dallas, a hare lipped dwarf that trolled the Puerto Rican prostitutes that dwelled above the Frisco wharf. I was summoned to his seaside circle jerk but blacked out after his absurd accusations involving our Bosnian bookie or the artistic merit of Limp Bizkit's "Nookie".

I awoke, finding the malevolent midget between mittens most malicious. He quite dead, I left the scene with a schism in my sciatic nerve and a calculated curve in the nexus of the rotted solar plexus I had received from a cancerous carcass in Texas.