Korin
Terrarian
Like pumpkin pie on a cold winter's day. I felt the familiar, warm sensation of my dog Biscuit's flat tongue over the width of my bare abdomen. Then I had an epiphany.
What makes the carousel go 'round, Mister? I asked.
Why, the clowns, my dear boy.
The clowns make the carousel go 'round.
How do they do it? I replied, curiously.
You've seen the red noses, have you not? He inquired.
I had to think a moment. "I sure have!" I jumped.
Those red noses. They're communists, the carouselman had stated.
Communists, mister?
Communists.
My mouth flew open. I was dumbstruck. My visage a photo of hysteria. I wet my pants and threw off my shirt. Those commie bastards had to pay. They had to pay with their BLOOD. Quickly I slipped a hand into the back of my waistband, pilfering a bit of excrement from my earlier "accident" at the cotton candy machine. Sliding those fingers across my cheeks I was ready for battle. No glare of the sun was going to distract THIS patriotic do-gooder. I scanned my surroundings.
Cautious.
Analytic.
Observant, even.
For my desired quarry.
Diving under another picnic table, I waited. Patient, like a hawk watching its prey. Not a moment after taking my perch, I had spied one of the communist clowns. Squeezing a rubber horn at passersby, barking about free pretzels with extra cheese.
The time for action was now.
The time... For vengeance.
Scurrying out from under the table I gripped my dual flip flops. Deadly as they were, there was always a hint of doubt in the back of my mind. That they wouldn't be enough for such a menacing foe. I shrugged off the feeling. Rearing back for a preemptive strike against my target's soft, be-speckled underbelly. I struck. And it was a mighty blow. The communist bastard fell to his knees, eyes glazing over in his last breath. He vomited, spraying bits of chunked pretzel and diluted cheese all over the fairground.
I knew I had won the day.
I had won the day for freedom.
For righteousness.
For LIBERTY!
The End
What makes the carousel go 'round, Mister? I asked.
Why, the clowns, my dear boy.
The clowns make the carousel go 'round.
How do they do it? I replied, curiously.
You've seen the red noses, have you not? He inquired.
I had to think a moment. "I sure have!" I jumped.
Those red noses. They're communists, the carouselman had stated.
Communists, mister?
Communists.
My mouth flew open. I was dumbstruck. My visage a photo of hysteria. I wet my pants and threw off my shirt. Those commie bastards had to pay. They had to pay with their BLOOD. Quickly I slipped a hand into the back of my waistband, pilfering a bit of excrement from my earlier "accident" at the cotton candy machine. Sliding those fingers across my cheeks I was ready for battle. No glare of the sun was going to distract THIS patriotic do-gooder. I scanned my surroundings.
Cautious.
Analytic.
Observant, even.
For my desired quarry.
Diving under another picnic table, I waited. Patient, like a hawk watching its prey. Not a moment after taking my perch, I had spied one of the communist clowns. Squeezing a rubber horn at passersby, barking about free pretzels with extra cheese.
The time for action was now.
The time... For vengeance.
Scurrying out from under the table I gripped my dual flip flops. Deadly as they were, there was always a hint of doubt in the back of my mind. That they wouldn't be enough for such a menacing foe. I shrugged off the feeling. Rearing back for a preemptive strike against my target's soft, be-speckled underbelly. I struck. And it was a mighty blow. The communist bastard fell to his knees, eyes glazing over in his last breath. He vomited, spraying bits of chunked pretzel and diluted cheese all over the fairground.
I knew I had won the day.
I had won the day for freedom.
For righteousness.
For LIBERTY!
The End
