I think the FUNNY GUYS of the world are retaliating against me for that last article I wrote, since they seem to be crawling out from under places that even the roaches snub to come talk to me and be REALLY FUNNY.
That's fine, motherfuckers. I'm armed now. And the next guy who cracks a joke like "I feel like roadkill on the Information Superhighway HA HA HA HA" ("Information Superhighway " is a term used exclusively by people who aren't actually on the Net) is gonna find the "I" in his Fila shirt dotted by an entrance wound from a .45 slug.
Take the guy I nearly killed at Rabba Fine Foods the other day.
So I'm unloading some groceries, clearly as at the front of the line as you can get. Suddenly, the FUNNY GUY comes dancing in, carrying a watermelon.
No, I'm not writing about an LSD flashback. This happened. This Tweedledee comes in with a watermelon from the produce display outside the store. He is dancing. Not really with the watermelon per say, just dancing.
No obvious sign of drug use. His eyes looked okay, no needle tracks on his arms. I didn't smell alcohol. This was either his way of being charming, or he was just plain crazy.
He dropped the watermelon next to my groceries. I didn't do anything. It was a large watermelon, and since even small watermelons are notoriously difficult to shove up someone's ass, he was able to dance out of the store after this was all over, and not walk funny out of the store.
The free cashier next to me called him over so he scooped up his watermelon and danced over there instead.
When he got there, he was charged whatever price for the watermelon, and this shocked him. I mean, he looked like he'd been told his mother had been shot. His eyes bugged out of his head. Ever see those silent movies where everyone overacts every emotion? How about when a cartoon character sees someone coming at him with an axe? That's what he looked like. Sadly, no-one actually was coming at him with an axe. Mine's up at the cottage.
So he danced over to a stand away from the cash with that stunned expression, where a stack of flyers was sitting. He unfolded one and indicated the watermelons pictured in the flyer. He spoke not a word, he just pointed at the watermelon as if he were in a musical about the four food groups. He just jabbed a finger at the watermelon over and over.
...until there was a triple clap of thunder from my trusty steel defender, and three slugs punched through the paper, slamming into his skull, digging through bone and brain.
.no wait, I imagined that part. Damn.
The cashier, displaying the patience of a Saint, clued in. The price was different from the one in the flier, our mime wanna-be was trying to communicate.
"Those prices don't go into effect until tomorrow," she explained.
"To.mor.row?" He spoke! Badly.
He didn't seem to speak English well. I can picture some evil bastard at home telling him that while he's in Canada, he should dance around happily at all times to endear himself to the jolly Canadians. No doubt this same bastard also told him he should pinch the butts of anyone wearing a blue uniform and carrying a gun, which is the traditional Canadian manner of greeting people in authority.
"Tomorrow," said the cashier firmly. She kept a straight face, but you could tell she'd be bitching about this to her friends later that night. By the way, if you began singing "Tomorrow, tomorrow, I love you tomorrow" congratulations! You're a FUNNY GUY, and I am going to hunt you down.
"To.mor.row?"
Honestly I felt the urge to murder him. If I had had a gun, his relatives would all be sobbing "Why?! Why?! He was so young and full of life!" and I would be sitting in a jail cell awaiting trial.
I would have racked my gun and pointed it to his watermelon and said "You want to see what a .45 slug will do to human head?" and blasted the watermelon. Then I would have said "You want to feel what a .45 will do to a human head?"
Eventually he caught on, bought his watermelon anyway, and left the store. He just danced out on to the street WHEN SUDDENLY AN OUT OF CONTROL ARMORED CAR RAN HIM DOWN AT TOP SPEED, CRUSHING HIM LIKE A SKUNK IN THE HEADLIGHTS OF AN RV ON THE HIGHWAY.
...no wait, I imagined that part too.
Damn.
In retrospect, I don't know if he was trying to be entertaining, or just being his naturally loony self. I wasn't alone in my annoyance (maybe my homicidal rage, but my therapist says I'm making progress). Nobody had a polite smile. Those that weren't looking at him like he was some idiot dancing through Rabba with a watermelon were looking at him as though he were trying to catch one helluva beat-down.
Sigh. Gotta have a license to own a gun, but they'll let anyone buy watermelons.
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