Upon returning from the short stay at the hospital I found my shower had been turned to shambles. There were rusty razor blades lying around, Geisha whores walking about in an all too familiar daytime malaise, and a trail of heated spoons and crank leading to Safeguard the bar of soap and several dead prostitutes.

The first thing I did when I saw this was roll safeguard the bar of soap onto his side. Then came the all too familiar task of disposing of dead hookers. I decided to cut them into little hooker pieces. Next I began a night ritual of feeding several hooker pieces to the neighbor's dogs and keeping the additional morsels in the industrial size "hooker" freezer in my basement that I had previously filled with saw dust.

After several hours Safeguard the bar of soap woke up, crying and clawing at the base of my shower. I closed the curtains and washed my hands.

I wasn't sure quite how to deal with this I couldn't believe that the same soap that has kept me so clean in the past could have gotten himself into all of this filth. Each day thereafter led me to a new clue about the life of Safeguard the bar of soap.

He was involved in underground dogfights. They called him "The wham" there and he was always known for his cool demeanor and steady hand. He was a renowned pimp always knowing when to smack a hoe for not acting right or when they didn't know how to listen. He owned a pair of real Oakley sunglasses, the ones you buy at American eagle at the store, they weren't any kind of cheap sunglasses.

The deeper I sunk into his mind the more I wanted to get out, the more I tried though, the harder it got. Turns out he has a family still waiting for him back in Wyoming. He apparently fled after one of his underground milliner rings got busted up by the feds.

After all but too much information on Safeguard the bar of soap came up I told him that it would be best if he just went ahead and left the shower, I had helped him out enough so far and he left one hooker too many hookers dead.

Days went by and still no word from Safeguard the bar of soap, I was almost certain to find his name in the paper under obituaries.

Until one day, there was a rapping at my door. It was Safeguard the bar of soap, he had come back. He had nothing but a handkerchief and a mans left shoe on his person.

He explained to me how he would donate blood 2 or 3 times a day for the cookie and 15 dollars, an that for a quick fix and 5 bucks he would rub up against any man lonely enough to pay the price.

I could tell, the little inner bevel of "Safeguard" was nearly worn off, he'd had a hard couple of days, and so I let him in. I felt so foolish for letting this thing back into my house, but I entertained myself with the thought he might have changed. Hopefully he has.