Is Garfield dead?

"Jim,Jim!' I hear SHorty's plaintive cry as I scamper down my street, ducking between cars and hiding in alleyways , in my never ending quest to  elude our persevering bum, Shorty.
"Jim, I know you always tell me you got all that musical shit up there in yo studio but I tell you, I GOT to  lay down some rhymes and some beats, know what I'm sayin'?" "Me and my homie here, Garfield, we got  some dope ass shit that's gonna make us rich!" 
"Shorty,  no way. Uhh,nice to meet you ,Mr. Garfield,I, uh, have heard a lot about you. SHorty speaks very highly of you". Garfield is silent, he's lying in a wagon that SHorty has fashioned out of an old shopping cart. SUnglasses perched rakishly on his cat head. I think to myself,"he may actually be unconscious, I've got to  get these people out of here".
"Jim,Jim,Garfield, see, he's sick or somethin'. I don't what the hell, last week he takin' craps all over  my  bed instead of the litter box, I  mean, what the fuck is that? He jus mad cause I was gonna pop a cap in his ass. You know I'm shittin with you, G?"
Garfield says nothing.

"ok, Shorty, and Mr. Garfield,You have one hour to  lay down some beats and rhymes,we cool?"

"Jim, Jim, oh thank you,you ain't gonna regret this, this  shit is gonna POP! Now jus help me get this cart up them stairs, Garfield is all fucked up, I think he was smokin blunts already this morning and he always all backed up from that fucked up lasagna he eat up all the time. Grab one end of this cart."


SO there we are, dragging the supine Garfield up the stairs into the studio to  lay down some beats and rhymes.


"Look, SHorty, if you guys are going to  lay shit down, I think Garfield can't be laying in an old shopping cart, unconscious. See my point?



"Jim,Jim, he gonna come to. C'mon G,quit the fuckin around, we got into Jim's crib with all the musical shit, we gotta lay it down! Now!


"Uh, Shorty, I think he's turning blue, I mean as much as cats can turn blue but he is fucked  up. You'd better do cpr or something"


"Sheee-it, I ain't kissn' no damn  cat!"   I  take Garfield out of the cart, I can  feel a heartbeat but it's pretty weak.


"Shorty, call 911, we're losin' him!"


"Awwww, fuck, Jim, we can't be losin' G! C,mon G, snap out of it!" As Shorty starts to  beat and slap Garfield's face. Nothing.


"Look, you dip shits get the fuck out of here, I don't want the cops up here snoopin around with a fucking dead cat laying in the studio. Get the fuck out!"

So SHorty piles the near lifeless body of our other hero,Garfield, into  his makeshift wagon and carries him down the stairs and out onto the street. "Help! Help! I gotta dyin' cat on my  hands! SOmebody, PLEEEEEZZE help me save  fuckin G!"

As the street is jammed with  people that SHorty has pissed off over the years with  his incessant begging, no  one comes to  his aid!
"Hey, I got motherfuckin' Garfield here and he's blue in the face! SOmeone, PLEEEEEZE do  some cpr shit on his azz befo he die!"


Well, the people seeing that it is thee Garfield in danger, they stampede down the street plowing over Shorty, the bum, much in the same way he was  trampled last week by the pcp addicts he had sold drugs to.


So there lay Shorty, in the street, trampled and bloodied. Garfield on the gurney, happily hooked to an  IV , receiving oxygen and being petted and cooed over by his adoring public. As it turns out, Garfield had smoked one too many catnip blunts earlier in the day.  As they put Garfield into the ambulance, Shorty says,"hey, what about me? i'm all fucked up over cuzza you  fuckers tramplin me to save Garfield!" The crowd turns and yells, "Fuck you, SHorty!", throws old Subway wrappers and assorted cans and chicken bones and returns to  their shwarmas and pricey shots of Rumchata, leaving our persevering bum to lie unconscious in the street, yet again. The end.