Sure, Jay was a bit vulgar in public, especially after he’d had a few beers in him, but at the restaurant with his friends, he’d been completely caught off guard by the five year old kid who’d walked past with his parents, while he was in the middle of cussing up a storm, and turned toward him and in a voice loud enough for the whole place to hear, say to Jay, “I don’t like you–you’re a potty mouth.”

Jay turned to look at the boy, but found himself locked in place by the kid’s eyes. “Oh god–Michael, he’s doing it again,” the mother said to the father, who was just staring, grim faced. Jay, however, wasn’t listening–he just got up from the booth and marched back into the bathroom.

His clothes vanished as soon as he’d entered, and he gagged and coughed as something sprang up out of his throat–a metal tube which expanded into a funnel, the last thing he saw before the seamless leather hood grew up over his entire head. He fought with it for a few moments, before his hands were forced back behind his back by some unseen force, and he knelt down in front of the restaurant’s urinal, just another potty mouth to be used.

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