Another ficlet. Short and not so sweet. It helped referee the match in which I kicked the absolute shit out of Writer's Block. Feedback is always welcome. Enjoy. - Reaper

It was a sunny day in Empire City as a beautiful (busty) news reporter stood in front of the camera to deliver the day's headlines (and the daily dose of partial nudity). She was in the middle of explaining the newest increase in drive-by shootings (and shockings) when she was suddenly pushed over and crushed under the feet of a rabid, screaming mob.

Another normal day in the fucked up city.

But, for one individual, the day was about as sunny as Satan's ass crack. Walking along behind the fleeing maniacs was a familiar fuzz-head dressed in yellow and black. Yes, as usual the masses fled for their lives from the city's infamous badass, Cole McGrath. But what made today different was the fact that they were not running in fear of his hot temper or his electrical grenades and shockwaves, or even his godlike ability to summon crackling death from the skies. No, today they were on the run from Cole himself.

Or, to be precise, his stench.

That's right; the feared lightening man had come down with a serious case of Reeks-O'-Death. And there was no cure. Weeks of blood, garbage, Reaper vomit, roasted flesh, and various other elements had accumulated into a reeking mess on his body. And he had no way to get it off. He might have stood a chance against the disease of funkyness…

…if only he could bathe without frying himself.