There was always something in his mouth. If it wasn’t a paint brush, it was a wooden pipe. If it wasn’t a wooden pipe, it was a punchline.
Under the right conditions, you could witness all three in the span of mere minutes.
Soon, people stopped. Stared. Some even whipped out their phones to take a picture. Kirk O’Hara wasn’t Kirk O’Hara anymore.
He was Paintmouth.