And Fifty Cents For Your Soul
...And Fifty Cents For Your Soul 'Mad Dog' Jansen stomped down the polluted beach, kicking driftwood and whatever else got in his way with his size 14 combat boots. He smiled for a moment at the memory of how that pansy quarterback for the Saints had looked after he'd 'accidentally' snapped his throwing arm, the pain in his eyes before he'd passed out. It had been a clean hit but Jansen knew he'd angled himself to inflict the maximum amount of damage. The ref couldn't say anything...