Black Jack is Angry

Old Black JackMcGuire stomped into the house. Old Black Jack hated when things went wrong. And things were very wrong right now. In the mind ofBlack Jack things were always wrong. He never understood why people didn't do the things they were supposed to do. Why was that? All Black Jack wanted was for someone to serve him beer when he wanted it. Why was that so hard? Why did those people feel it necessary to stuff him, Black Jack McGuire, into a taxi and send him home? Did they think he didn't have money for the beers? Didn't they know that he had plenty of money? Why, Old Black Jack could buy and sell all those people ten times over if he had too.

Black Jack at Home

Old Black Jack continued stomping around the house. He stomped into the bedroom, and took off his jean jacket he always wore. Underneath, Black Jack was just wearing a torn undershirt. He stomped into the kitchen where he removed a six pack of beer from the fridge. That would show all of them. If they didn't want his money that would be fine with Old Black Jack. He would do his beer drinking the privacy of his own home. He slammed the door of the now empty refrigerator and stomped towards the living room.Black Jackremoved a pile of clothes from the couch and threw them on the floor. He popped the top off the first can of beer, put the can to his lips and drank. With the foam still on his mouth, Old Black JackMcGuire fell soundly asleep.