Run Jheti Run (A Lack of Commas)
Jul. 13th, 2007 06:20 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
jheti
Hahahaha. Perchance to dream.
So, right, I'm Charlie Sheen, and I'm the honored guest of a quiet, composed, and indeterminately Asian fellow who likes to garrote people that answer him incorrectly.
"I don't have," I says, tearing open the cabinets to prove it, shattering wood and nicking concrete, "any fucking gun. Not here, not there, not anyplace. Tell your goddamn boss I don't have shit."
"So sorry," he says. The nylon glistens in his hands.
I watched him do the others. This will go quickly, if I let it. I think I'm going to be a shit and loosen his teeth with my knuckles first. Sumimasen, domo, domo. So sorry. You excuse, please.
He starts toward me. The building ripples on its foundations and the lights go dead.
Right now, I could kiss the motherfucking terrorists.
And, do you know, on our way out, through the screaming and decimation and into the daylight. They point and laugh.
"Lamers!" Rich white kids pitch designer stones. Daddy will get them another phone. "You guys are such dorks!"
Grenade in my right thigh pocket. It's been chafing a hole in my leg as I flee. I oughta detonate someone.
I don't have the fucking time; the building is coming down.
"Get out of here!" screaming at the top of my voice, hands a-wave. "Get the fuck out!"
They crowd around, laughing, throwing things and insults, and we all die.
God bless America.
So, right, I'm Charlie Sheen, and I'm the honored guest of a quiet, composed, and indeterminately Asian fellow who likes to garrote people that answer him incorrectly.
"I don't have," I says, tearing open the cabinets to prove it, shattering wood and nicking concrete, "any fucking gun. Not here, not there, not anyplace. Tell your goddamn boss I don't have shit."
"So sorry," he says. The nylon glistens in his hands.
I watched him do the others. This will go quickly, if I let it. I think I'm going to be a shit and loosen his teeth with my knuckles first. Sumimasen, domo, domo. So sorry. You excuse, please.
He starts toward me. The building ripples on its foundations and the lights go dead.
Right now, I could kiss the motherfucking terrorists.
And, do you know, on our way out, through the screaming and decimation and into the daylight. They point and laugh.
"Lamers!" Rich white kids pitch designer stones. Daddy will get them another phone. "You guys are such dorks!"
Grenade in my right thigh pocket. It's been chafing a hole in my leg as I flee. I oughta detonate someone.
I don't have the fucking time; the building is coming down.
"Get out of here!" screaming at the top of my voice, hands a-wave. "Get the fuck out!"
They crowd around, laughing, throwing things and insults, and we all die.
God bless America.
