By Bob Senitram
Bringing the nonsense to light…
That night, Cannibal Hector escaped.
A daring escape involving cunning, patience, blood, gore, and the eating of faces.
Not really.
Actually, he leaned against a wall and that got the whole ball rolling.
It was the shoddy construction that went into the temporary prison. It was made-on-the-cheap years ago.
An abandoned ICE concentration camp that the state refurbished. Built to hold non-criminals, people who would never try to escape. Basically plywood and two by fours. They hired ex-ICE officers because they could pay them less.
Anyways, after his meeting with Bob, Hector requested a BLT.
“Light on the mayo, no tomato. No lettuce.”
The guard stared with a blank look.
“So…bread and bacon?”
“With a touch of mayo. I have standards.”
When the guard got the call that the sandwich was ready, he left Hector unattended.
Hector leaned against a plywood wall.
The wall creaked.
Hector pushed his hand against it again.
A nail popped out and rolled across the floor.
“Well what have we here?” he muttered.
He gave it a good shove with both hands and the wall fell outward.
Then, he just walked out.
He made his way to the fence, climbed, and ran into the woods, one hand clutching his oversized pants.
Sure there were some guards outside, but they were on a smoke break.
They watched as Hector climbed the fence and ran off.
“Damn, ain’t that a fine how-do-do?” One guard muttered.
“Look at him run, he looks silly don’t he? One hand holding his pants while he runs.” Another guard commented.
“One size fit all, my ass!” The first guard added.
“Should we shoot ’em?” The other asked, eyes a-glow.
“Naw, we can’t do that anymore. Can’t pursue until the alarm goes off or the escape is officially reported.”
“Who does that?”
“The prisoner, I think.”
“The prisoner writes the report?”
“No, the prisoner trips the alarm. We write the report.”
After the last cigarette butt was put out, the alarm went off.
They walked over to the fence only to see his silhouette getting smaller and smaller.
“Huh, looks like he got away.” The first guard said.
“Yeah, not much we can do about that now. We better file a report and turn off the alarm.” Said the other.
And they did just that.
A few days later the captain was reviewing the reports for the week,
“Now what have we here, ‘one missing mop, a burnt out light, an escape report, and someone thinks the pudding is too runny.”
He pauses for a moment.
“Escape report? He goes back and reviews Dr. Hector’s escape.
“Hmmmm, that explains the body they found a few days ago.” He sighed as he picked up the phone to call the Governor.
Dr. Hector was never seen again.
Back in Virginia, Bob got word of Hector’s escape and thought, “Damn, to bad about what’s-her-face… Oh yeah, the case files. I totally forgot.”
He flipped through the pages, muttering, “There must be SOMETHING here, but what?”
Then he came to a page with a map. It was the city where Hopalong lived.
“I knew it, I knew something was here! God I’m so stupid!” Bob said while hitting himself on the head with the files.
When he was finished, he put the map back down on the table and looked at it.
There he found a house, circled in red crayon about 15 times. Above the circles was a handwritten note:
BOB, THIS IS HOPALONG’S HOUSE. BE CAREFUL!
Bob stared at it.
“Why red crayon?”
He picked the map up. He turned it upside down.
“This means something? Darn, I just can’t put my finger on it.”
Then he put the file back on the table, his hand resting on the map.
One finger, right on top of the words “HOPALONG’S HOUSE”.
AND NOW YOU KNOW!!!
Because now this is just plain stupid!
Song in my head:
COMING NEXT: Concealed Weapons!
Start From the Beginning, Part 1…
Crap Considered is posted each Friday.
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