Mr. Sludge had been hoping for an amazingly super day. In fact, his beloved palmist had guaranteed it after whisking away the last of the coins in his pocket with a big grin on her face. What he got instead was a frighteningly large amount of sharp objects rather too close to his softer bits for his liking.
"Please gentlemen, be reasonable," he wheedled unbecomingly. "How was I supposed to know that owing money to a loan shark indicated any ulterior motive other than the charitable endeavor of establishing banking rights for the underprivileged?" Violent mutterings rained down on him from the small crowd of viciously unwashed people around him, their collective stench washing over his delicate nose so overpoweringly that he felt his lungs threatening to collapse out of sheer resentment. "I'm sure we can all agree that if the loan shark knew about the way you assume people would slander the untarnished valor of his business by associating him with unremitting brutality he'd be very disappointed in you. Let's settle this with words like civilized gents, my good men, not violence."
It turned out the gentlemen were some heretofore unknown definition of 'civilized' as of yet unwritten in the dictionary and after being intimately introduced to several, rather sharp gentlemanly objections via his internal organs Mr. Sludge decided that palmistry was a load of hogwash.
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