He always wandered around with two or three sharp carbon filament needles secreted on his person just incase an opportunity arose where he could shove one of them through the fleshy part of a limb of some close friend. Sometimes one friend in particular, but often just whoever might be around.
He would occasionally single out a particular needle for a particular friend. He might spend hours honing it to perfection, making its edge the perfect companion for the contours of the intended limb.But in his more lucidmoments Johnny knew thiswas all about defence anddeterrent. A needle too sharpand specific was just tooperfect an offensive weaponfor that role. It became adoomsday needle that he hadto destroy.
But the only way he knew to destroy them was by eating them. They were too sharp to simply discard in the trash.They might hurt a child or a seagull. So Johnny would carefully chew each needle into dust. This process would take four or five days of constant chewing. He would glut himself before this endeavour because he wasn’t able take in any food or fluids until he was done. There would be too much risk of swallowing a chunk of the filament. Even after the five days, when he swallowed the masticated carbon it would scratch his throat. He would cough up blood for hours afterwards.
He would cough this blood up onto a large treated canvas.He would take swallows of various flavour koolaids at intervals to add hues to the blood. The end effect was sort of a cross between Munsch and Pollock. He never gained more than local renown for these paintings, possibly because he was overeager to discuss their process of creation during interviews.