Greg Madden

“Oh looka that, you dumb dork!” The Kid exclaimed. His tone was one of great outrage. Suddenly the .45 was pointed at Trash, its bore as big and dark as an ocean liner’s smokestack. Trashcan felt his groin go numb. He thought he might be pissing himself, but had no way of telling for sure. “I’m gonna venilate your thinkin-machine for that,” The Kid said. “You done spilt the beer. If it was any other kind I wun’t do it, but that was Coors you spilled. I’d piss Coors if I could, you believe that happy crappy?” “Sure,” Trashcan whispered. “And do you think they’re makin any more Coors these days, Trash? That seem very fuckin likely to you?” “No,” Trashcan whispered. “Guess not.” “You’re fuckin right. It’s a dangered spee-shees.”
― Stephen King, The Stand