Huey Long looked at the peculiar chain in his hands and felt concerned.

He walked over to the window and reflected on his divided surroundings. He had always loved tense America with its fantastic, flaky freedom. It was a place that encouraged his tendency to feel concerned.

Then he saw something in the distance, or rather someone. It was the figure of Jack Reed. Jack was a smart syndie with blonde fingers and thicc thighs.

Huey gulped. He glanced at his own reflection. He was a malicious, vile, whiskey drinker with ruddy fingers and feathery thighs. His friends saw him as a pleasant, pickled politician. Once, he had even revived a dying, Louisiana.

But not even a malicious person who had once revived a dying, Louisiana, was prepared for what Jack had in store today.

The drizzle rained like walking dogs, making Huey unstable.

As Huey stepped outside and Jack came closer, he could see the proud smile on his face.

Jack glared with all the wrath of 5177 intuitive knowledgeable kittens. He said, in hushed tones, "I hate you and I want broken chains."

Huey looked back, even more unstable and still fingering the peculiar chain. "Jack, the only good syndie is a dead syndie," he replied.

They looked at each other with afraid feelings, like two gleaming, grated guppies sitting at a very callous election, which had piano music playing in the background and two brutal uncles talking to the beat.

Suddenly, Jack lunged forward and tried to punch Huey in the face. Quickly, Huey grabbed the peculiar chain and brought it down on Jack's skull.

Jack's blonde fingers trembled and his thicc thighs wobbled. He looked shocked, his emotions raw like a crazy, cool chain.

Then he let out an agonising groan and collapsed onto the ground. Moments later Jack Reed was dead.

Huey Long went back inside and made himself a nice glass of whiskey.

THE END