Bob sat up.
“Where am I?” he asked.
“My office,” the HR lady said, quickly hiding the needles behind her back.
“Wow,” Bob said, rubbing his head with logged fingers. “The last thing I remember is getting repeatedly shot in the head with a machine gun.”
We moved closer to hear more.
“Yeah…..I remember the bullets hitting my head, turning it into a pulpy mess. I also remember fondling the pulpy mess because it hurt so much. There was also someone standing close to me, wearing a white dress, but it was turning red for some reason.”
“Maybe from your pulpy messed head?” asked the HR lady.
Bob looked at her and his eyes widened.
“YOU!” he exclaimed.
“Me?” she asked.
“YES! YOU! We were getting married that day. It was at our winery. It was our dream ever since the first grade!”
“Huh?” asked the HR lady.
“You birthed our quadruplets and then they were shanghaied by our evil stepmother and forced to work in the pin factory when they were only five years old. They all died from inhaling those noxious pin paint fumes and she never forgave us for that and vowed vengeance!”
“’Pin paint fumes’?” I asked.
“Yes, yes, YES! You think they come out silver? No, they’re painted silver! We threw ourselves into building a winery, sure it wasn’t a good winery, as a complete matter of fact it was the worst winery ever but we had to forget those quadruplets somehow!”
“Sure?” said the HR lady.
“Then we decided to get married at the winery because if we wanted more children we knew that we had to get married so they wouldn’t turn out evil like the last batch, just begging to be shanghaied. That’s what evil bastard children do!”
“Go on!” we all said together.
“Oooooooooh, yes! I’m standing on a stack of crates since I’m sooooooooo fucking tiny and we’re getting to the bit with the vows when an El Camino comes roaring thru the two paid members of the wedding party splattering them every which way and then the car or truck or whatever the hell it is comes to a stop and our wicked stepmother jumps out of the driver side holding a machine gun and our four presumed dead children hop out of the back of the vehicle and they’re all holding machine guns and they all start shooting!”
“WOW!” we all gleefully said.
“Then all those bullets hit my head and that’s the last thing I remember,” Bob said.
“Amazing!” I said.
Bob looked over and saw me.
His eyes widened again.
“YOU!” he yelled, pointing at me.
Lunatic Ravings is posted each Saturday.
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