Bosley was miserable at the loss of some of his best men; he returned alone and sulkily slid into his mansion in a foul mood.
"Boss is that you," yammered one of his men in shock.
His boss looked like he rolled around in a pig pen as he was covered in mud and stank to the heavens. In truth Bosley had fallen into the manure that Nana had planned to use to fertilize the garden.
Disgruntled, he said, "of course, it's me. Were you expecting someone else?"
"No boss," he answered.
Bosley snapped, "Will you move out of the way you are blocking the door."
His underling scurried out of the way like a mouse getting out of the way of a crafty cat. The last thing the underling wanted to do was cause something that would draw the boss' ire. He still had images of the boss bashing his friend in the head causing his death.
