Of Love and Rusty Trowels
It took hours, but Robert finally succeeded in turning an empty beer can inside out using only his pinkies and thumbs.
"You know what the trouble is with falling in love with a woman you can't have?" He asked, turning to Bentley.
"It makes you want to kill people with a rusty trowel?" Bentley replied, easing away and covering his throat.
"It makes you want to kill people with a rusty trowel." Robert confirmed. And if Bentley was happy to have answered it right, it certainly didn't show.
"Hmmm, yes. Well there you have it I suppose." Bentley nodded, rubbing his jaw contemplatively, praying that was a neutral response.
"There you have what?"
"You know..." Bentley's knees started to tremble. "There's the rub and stuff. It's like a Catch-22 and whatnot--hey I wonder if there's anything good on TV!"
"Catch-22?"
Bentley knew this wasn't good. Neutral responses elicited non-committal shrugs and the eventual switching of subjects. They weren't supposed to result in tensed muscles and a feral glare. He took a deep breath and tried to un-dig his hole.
"Well, it's like, a guy falls in love with a woman he can't have and then in his agony he ends up killing people with a rusty trowel--a natural response."
Bentley glanced at Robert, trying to judge the effect of his words. Robert's face was a mask and his fingers kept on bleeding.
"But women are, like, horrified by guys who kill people with rusty trowels and stuff."
Bentley paused, hoping that would suffice. Robert seemed to expect him to continue.
"Yeah, so like, now he can't have her even more than before--that is to say, now he really can't have her 'cause he's killed people with a rusty trowel and so his agony redoubles and he kills even more people with a rusty trowel and then, see above, now there's even less of a chance, and on and on and then eventually his trowel breaks."
Bentley ran out of air and had to stop talking.
"Yep." Robert replied, gutting Bentley with a rusty trowel. "That sounds about right."
7 Comments:
Another masterpiece. This is a bit obscure, but apparently Ghengis Khan has something like a million direct descendents, so there may well be an evolutionary explanation for the rusty trowel syndrome.
What an unfortunate way to die...
But I guess it was inevitable once he went down the path of non-commitment.
Now then, Bentley, the next time.... Oh, well, I guess there won't be a next time. Scientists would call this "too bad."
Helga Von Porno is on to something, I've heard that 1 in every 200 people is desended from Ghengis Khan. Do you think that 1 in 200 people has ever felt the need to murder with a rusty trowel? I don't doubt it.
I suspect in Mongolia, where this statistic jumps to 1 in 12, the number of incidences like this may be much higher.
A rusty trowel to the gut is better than a splintery chopstick up the nose and into the brain, I say.
I always feel bad for the good men who die at the hands of psychopaths in your stories...
And Trevor and Helga might be interested to know that in the DNA sequence there is a genetic flag that pops up over and over again in about 8% of the male population in the areas once terrorized by Ghengis Khan. It is transmitted on the Y chromosome from male descendant to male descendant almost perfectly preserved from generation to generation and seems to point back an extremely rapid spread of a single genetic source not quite a 1000 years ago.
Yes Helga Von Porno, Genghis Khan was indeed the original broken-hearted homicidal psychopath. (Or OBHHP if you will.)
Yeah, I guess so Monkeypotpie--probably.
Yeah Old Hoss, scientists call lots of things "too bad." Including my pleas that the straps are too tight and I need a drink of water.
Do you know that at certain distances your thumbnail image is 3D Trevor Record?
And yet Amandarama, for some reason both take a very distant back seat to a cup of hot coco and a blowjob.
I do too Paula. But Bentley wasn't a good man--he had no sand and never once stood up for himself. Bentley's genetic flag resembled that of a cowardly manatee. And now he's dead and shall sire no sissies.
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