Fisticuffs in Traffic

It is dark in this place and wet. Well not wet but moist, moist as a sweaty belly button on a hot summer day at the pool, or perhaps even the beach, you know, whatever you like. Anyway this place, which is like a sweaty belly button, holds a very special place in my heart. It holds a special place in my heart because this one time this guy named Jim, who is a good man, was talking to this guy by the name of Terry, who is one of those guys we all know who wears overalls with nothing underneath.

Now Jim asked Terry this time I am talking about, if he wanted to square up, for reasons I cannot remember, and told Terry he would decline if he knew what was good for him. Well apparently, Terry had no idea what was good for him, and he ended up squaring him up outside this place on the sidewalk and saying, “Come on you rat bastard, come take a bite of my ass!” Unfortunately for Terry, Jim didn’t take a bite of his ass but did proceed to throw him into oncoming traffic.

Now what happened after that, as you can imagine, was Terry’s entrails decorated the street and the sidewalk, because of the fact, that he in fact, had been halved, or in other words, been cut in half like you would cut a steak in half with blunt force trauma.

Now Jim, who no doubt is a good man, booked it out of there faster than a man who has had too much cheese the night before, books it to the bathroom in order to grip the rails and let loose a hail storm from hell that most certainly will pepper the toilet bowl with a confetti of human feces. It is at this point, when I feel like we should give a little background to both Jim and the place where he murdered Terry and possibly even the driver of the vehicle that hit Terry’s body as it was flung through the air. Actually lets start there, lets start with the driver. The driver was driving a F-150 Raptor truck and unfortunately for Terry, due to the large grill of that particular vehicle, he hit that thing like a prepubescent young girls chest hits a soccer ball, flat and hard, which caused him not to roll over top of the vehicle, but instead to be halved and splattered all over the road, as previously mentioned.

Now the driver of the car was a woman, yes a woman, who was driving her truck home from picking up her six kids from school. They went to a Catholic school. Man aren’t Catholics the best? I mean their beliefs go all the way back to Jesus, that’s pretty special stuff, I mean ALL THE WAY BACK TO JESUS, sweet mercy they must have the truth or something, if the gospels are to be trusted that is. Everyone should look into the Gospels if you ask me because if they are true, well they are true, and that’s pretty crazy stuff. Anywho, now she herself was a Catholic, a good Catholic women, who, since she was Catholic, did not practice birth control with her gun wielding, carpenter’s son husband Ralph. Therefore, she had birthed through her birth canal, as many kids by her current age as nature intended. Nature, and some would say the Good Lord, had intended 6 kids.

Now if you know anything about Raptor trucks there is hardly room for 3 kids, much less six on the inside, so the young gals and pals were riding in the truck bed at the time of the impact with Terry. Now, the woman who was driving slammed on the breaks when she hit that poor man, and therefore her kids went flying over the top of the truck into the street.

They ended up fine, at least physically, because they landed on their feet, given their athletic nature. However, emotionally things were not so good because, besides athleticism, what helped break their landing was the still warm body of Terry. One of the children fell to his knees and screamed, while he waded in Terry’s stomach fluid, “TERRY, MY GOD, TERRY YOU POOR, POOR BASTARD, WHATS HAPPENED TO YOU. I AM JUST A BOY! I AM JUST A BOY, I SHOULDN’T SEE THIS. TERRY! TERRY! I WAS JUST A BOY WHEN I FELL INTO POOR TERRY, IF YOU KNOW WHAT I MEAN, HO, HO, HO, TERRY YOU’VE BEEN HALVED AND THAT AINT SO BAD IS IT TERRY? IS IT?” Now, I don’t know if you can tell from my writing, but this young boy, struck by inspiration and the absurdity of the scene, had started writing a song, and as he wrote the song, his brothers and sisters started dancing some type of sick jig on the remains of Terry’s halved body. Now, Jim was watching all of this with a case of mild amusement……… (to be continued)