Monday, September 24, 2007

And at long last we reach the conclusion my friends. When we left off the story of the tumultuous weekend that Q and I shared as our alter egos (Rod Ecstasy and Skip McBoner) the sound of approaching sirens could be heard outside of the blood spattered warehouse where we found ourselves. Skip was kneeling over the headless corpse of Barbara Bush sobbing uncontrollably, and apparently under the mistaken impression that she was Lady Bird Johnson. So I give you the thrilling and heart wrenching conclusion.

Part 24

The Big Send Off

We'd been set up and I knew it. The events of the past 36 hours swam through my head in a dizzying blur. Possibly it was the after effects of the mickey that I was still feeling. Regardless the feds were closing in and it was a perfect trap. We were done for. I tried to get Skip to help me figure something out, but all he could do was whimper and keep repeating, "I'm so sorry Ladybird. You're a hero to me."

I steeled myself for what I knew I must do. I could hear the brakes squealing outside and the cars coming to a stop. Any minute they would be storming inside. I walked around the room and slowly pulled the police issued Beretta M9-92FS pistol from my waist band. I placed the barrel to the back of Skip's skull and thought momentarily about Of Mice and Men. "Don't worry Skip. We'll raise bunnies, and there won't ever be any trouble," I whispered. The gun recoiled sharply as I unloaded 5 quick shots into my friend. Then quicker than a greased panther I placed the gun into what was left of his burned and mangled hand.

As the federal agents burst through the door I threw up my hands and yelled, "Don't shoot. Don't shoot!!! He was crazy. Murder suicide!!! Murder suicide!!!! It's real popular now a days!! So that's what he did! Blame video games not me!!!" Unfortunately as I raised my hands the tattered remains of my Kevlar vest lifted far enough for the feds to see the plastic explosive that I still had strapped to my torso. My last few moments on earth were spent thinking how Butch and Sundance went out better than George and Lennie and how I wish that had occurred to me earlier. The bullets riddled my body at that moment and my meticulously chiseled physique was torn asunder. It actually might have been torn some other way, but I don't any other way in which things are torn, except asunder.