What’s up, you guys! It’s me, the homeless guy who’s always screaming profanities in your neighborhood at 2am. I’m the guy who causes you to lose a lot of sleep, call the police every now and then, and feel horribly racist whenever you laugh at a couple of the ethnic slurs that I scream into the night at the top of my lungs. I know I might seem completely batshit crazy, but there’s actually a much, much simpler explanation:
I’m being followed late at night by a giant, evil leprechaun. I say "giant" because he’s about as tall as me, which is considered giant in leprechaun terms (I know some other leprechauns, and they have confirmed this fact). The problem is not so much that he’s a leprechaun, or that he’s gigantic, or even that he’s evil. The problem is that he’s a complete idiot. A lot of people think that leprechauns are supposed to be clever and mischievous. Take it from me, your local homeless guy who interacts with them on a daily basis: that’s a load of bullshit. This giant, evil leprechaun that follows me around every night has the mental capacity of a Beagle puppy. He’s constantly trying to get into garbage cans, mess up people’s rose bushes, and shit on the sidewalk (yes, that was him last Thursday, not me). The only way for me to control him is to use a loud, stern voice in order to get him out of the neighborhood with minimal collateral damage.
Of course, there’s another, larger problem with this evil retarded leprechaun of mine: his name is "N**ger". Don’t ask me why, because I have no idea. I didn’t name him. He just showed up one day, shortly after I got off the juice, and told me what his name was, and then started humping the front bumper of a Nissan Sentra. All I could do was try my best, and yell as loudly as I could, in order to herd him out of the neighborhood.
Under normal circumstances, I would just travel to a place where I could manage my giant evil leprechaun stalker without having to worry about disturbing people or whatever. But I have a suspicion about your neighborhood: if a large, retarded leprechaun frequently appears there, then I’m led to believe, as per the leprechaun legends of ancient Ireland, that there must be an equally large, equally retarded pot-o-gold buried somewhere in the vicinity. I must locate the treasure, as it would be a huge step toward my goal of becoming a millionaire, opening a recording studio, and becoming the next Lil’ Wayne. This equation should illustrate my intentions perfectly:
So the next time you wake up suddenly to the sound of me screaming profanities and (what appear to be) racial slurs late at night outside your window, just try to remember that I’m protecting your neighborhood from a giant, evil, dim-witted leprechaun while searching for an enormous, mentally retarded buried treasure that will jump start my music career. Who’s crazy now, huh?!