A Grub and a Grouch [Grubby's Work Thread]

Here we go again, boys and girls. Guess what time it is? Nope, it's not fuggen story time, it's Grubby's fuggen broke and needs a shirt that isn't a damn shower curtain time. So I went and blew all the damn scratch I made turnin' scrap into somethin' a little more polished on stupid shit like this juice. Y'know, one thing fuggen bugs me. I bought juice, juice, but I ain't know what's fuggen in it. Didn't say. Well maybe it fuggen did but I can't read so I decided to roll dem bones, y'know? Besides, suckin' down ash makes a gob thirsty. But on the other foot this shit might be hot sauce fer all these fuggen weirdos drink. ...y'know what fuggit, I need a goddamn drink.

*Gulp... gulp... gulp...*

Huh. Tastes sour, but kinda sweet with a bitter drymouth kinda- fuggen shit it's goddamn crab apple juice. These crazy motherfuckers made crab apple juice! What is fuggen wrong with these twisted motherfuckers!? Okay, fuggit, ain't fuggen with the juice no more, gotta save that shit fer later. Might ferment it, make some crab apple wine. Can't taste worse than that halflin' swill. So what was I doin' here again? Besides wallowin' around in the gutter drinkin' fuggen crab apple juice like I lost all my damn marbles. But nah, I'm doin' the rogue thing. No no, I ain't turn to stealin' just yet. 'Sides, you ain't steal in the Slums, it's just common fuggen courtesy. That jagoff's just as poor as you is and probly twice as miserable. Nah, I'm doin' the rogue thing and makin' the best out of a bad situation. So I'm diggin' through the fuggen trash, right? People throw out all kinds'a goodies down there, they ain't even know. Ya ever turn a soup can lid into horse trippers? It ain't a good thing to do to a horse, that's fer damn sure, but anyway my point bein' that anything and ev-er-y fuggen thing down here is valuable to someone and that someone is me. Take this silverware fer instance, I just found a whole drawer of the shit sittin' on the street. They got books, too! Reeeeeaaaaal old ones. And clothes that... ain't in my fuggen size! Shit! Goddamn nothin's in my fuggen size. Really now, I gotta sew my own shit, s'why I walk around lookin' like a damn ball of yarn that a barn cat had an angry fuck with. But I digest.

There's a treasure trove of shit just lyin' around in old boxes ripe fer the takin'! Little toys I can turn into trip alarms, umbrellas that'd make a damn good tent, I gotta be the luckiest damn gob on the block! Or in the city. Or in the whole fuggen Plane'a Shadow, I ain't really worked that one out yet. So's I get stuffin' my pockets and pouches with the good shit, aaaaaall'a the shiney 'lil baubles and knick knacks and patty whacks to give a gob a- ah I don't think I can finish that one, ya ain't old enough yet. Let's just say Ol' Grub had a dagger in his pocket and it was feelin' sharp, that's how happy I was. I'm drapin' these old coats over myself like I'm the fuggen czar and chuckin' shit into this old box I got and I start struttin' down the street when I hear this asshole finally fuggen speak up.

"Hey man. You gotta pay for that." Some dirty motherfucker that looked like my nutsack on a summer day and smelled like it to callin' me out in the middle'a the road, hairy asshole too. Pops up straight outta the metal bin like a jack in the fuggen shit basket. Got all this green fur all over'im and he smells like a trash heap but hey, don't we all? I look at him. He looks at me. I look at him again. The fuck is this guy doin'?
"The fugger you talkin' about?" I asks him and this fuggen jagoff just glares at me.
"None of this stuff is free, idiot! It's a yard sale, you've gotta pay the price for all this!" Slimy bastard gestures around at what I honestly thought was just a damn pile'a worthless bullshit that I could turn into dinero.
"...ya fuggen serious, scruffy?"
"Yes I am fucking serious! I got all this rare treasure here and it's worth a good price, so either buy it or give it back. End of story." I drop the box'a bullshit to the ground, straighten'in up as tall as all four feet'a me can get. I look left, I look right, and I throw my arms out.
"Goddamn, it's just a buncha useless shit that nobody wants no more! Treasure's shit like crowns and rings and gold-inlaid codpieces that got the spinners on'em where the nuts go!" Have you seen them fuggen things? They look stupid as hell but hot damn do I want one.
"All of this might be useless junk to you but it's not to me, it's treasure. And I'm not getting rid of my treasure for free."

So then I gets an idea. I'm suckin' my teeth as I think, noddin' at the green bastard 'fore I slink up all casual-like to'im.
"Ya really think all this shit's really worth somethin'?" I asks him.
"Without a doubt I do! Everything here is precious."
Hooooooo whee do I got a plan! I get in close enough so's he can smell the tobacco on my breath, smilin' real wide like a fuggen maniac, ear to ear.


"Just what are you getting at...?" he asks me. I just keep grinnin' and noddin' like it's the coolest shit in the whole damn plane of existence.
"Got a whole pile'a shit just like it I can sell ya."
"Really?! You'd be nice enough to give little old me all that?"
"Not give, jagoff. Sell. All this shit's worth somethin', remember? How 'bout you help a brother out?"