The Block Party: Part 8

Muse—“Black Holes and Revelations”

MoTW—“Oldboy”

“Roadkill?” I asked yet again, never one to let something go.

Yes, ROADKILL!” shouted Spunky in an exasperated sort of way. “Dead
animal flesh, flattened fur, whatever you want to call it!”

“And now?”

“And now……..ENTERTAINMENT!” he said, jiggling the branch even
faster, the furry things now jumping, prancing, bobbing, bomping and
bumping like nothing ever seen before.

Josie ran into the mass of shuffling people trying to shove away those
that had shuffled close enough to reach out for a little pet of the
roadkill puppets, but everytime she shoved one far enough away, another
would take its place.

Suddenly a shot rang out and one of the shufflers went down, it’s head
blown completely off its body.

“Got me one!” I heard someone shout from behind me.

When I turned around, I found myself looking down the barrel of a
shotgun held by a dumpy man with tobacco leaking from the corner of his
mouth, seemingly coming from the huge wad located between his cheek and
gum.

“Boy, you might want to get down or else you’re gonna get hurt,” he said
as the five other men surrounding him raised their shotguns and pointed
them in my general direction.

“So, you’re retard killers?” I asked as I debated whether or not to get
down.

“They’re not retards damnit!” screamed Josie as she tried,
unsuccessfully I must say, to stem the flow of blood from the downed
shufflers neck.

“Call ’em whatever you want, we call ’em good, easy hunting,” said the
dumpy man.

“Hello? What’s this? New guests?” And with that asked, Spunky threw
cereal at the new arrivals.

“Aim at the stick, men! Got some animals crawling up that fishing line
so they can attack the clown!”

All six men fired simultaneously and the branch disintegrated, leaving
Spunky holding a tiny sliver.

“ATTACK!” yelled the dumpy man, and all six men ran into the shuffling
bunch, knocking a few unfortunate ones this way and that way with their
shotguns.

Quite quickly they had the motionless roadkill surrounded and with the
command of “FIRE!” from the dumpy man they emptied their shotguns into
the small piles of stapled together fur.

“My collection! What the fuck did you do to my collection?” shouted
Spunky as he ran to the ladder.
“Maybe they’ll forget he came on the trip? Yes, I’ll just tell them that
he never made it to the bus and they’ll just think he ran away from the
home,” said the sobbing Josie as she rolled the headless corpse towards
the latrine trench.

COMING NEXT: The Block Party: Part 9

Stephen Johnson

The idea of building a website with Bob came from Stephen in the days of message boards and chat rooms. We settled on the name TheWeirdcrap.com and the rest is history. Retired since he hit the ripe age of 25, he spends most his time doing odd-jobs around the house and digging thru trash bins for "stuff that's still good." Stephen has contributed several short stories and hosted the "Lunatic Ravings" column since the beggining. The idea of writing weekly columns (blogs didn't exist yet) also came from Stephen. So I guess that makes him the creator of the "blog" phenomena.

https://theweirdcrap.com

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