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  • That's What It's All About...



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  • This is my Blog...There are many like it, but this one is mine...

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        Wednesday, September 17, 2008

    That's What It's All About...

    The big man threw his contract into the basement room, and followed him in. He was carrying a CD player with cassette capability. His contract scanned the room with frantic eyes...he thought he could get out, escape. The big man was having none of that, so he drew one of his Peacemakers and idly pointed it at him. His eyes focused on that hand cannon, and he settled down.

    "So, let me tell you how things are gonna go..." said the big man. "You murdered the guys daughter. Her favorite song was 'the Hokey Pokey', and he wants you to dance to it until you can't dance anymore, and then I kill you. Personally, I'd beg me to shoot you right now, before this gets any uglier. So, which is it? Bullet? or dance til you drop, and then bullet?"

    The contract croaked "Dance..." and the big man shuddered, knowing the torture he was in for.
    So, he set the player on a table he had brought in, slipped the little girl's favorite tape in, and pressed 'play'. "You put your right hand in, you pull your right hand out..." and so on. Ad nauseum. And this fucker was doing all the moves...he worked with kids a lot. Well, he used to, anyway.

    The big man said to himself, after a bit, 'fuck, I'm never gonna get this song out of my head'. After a while longer, he started thinking about killing the guy right then and there, but he had never violated a straight up contract, and never would. Then he thought about just shooting himself, but he didn't have enough of the right kind of bullets. So, he listened to the Hokey Pokey, and watched it being performed, and after a while, when he saw his first stagger, he dug out the video recorder from a deep pocket of his duster, because the father wanted a record of the end.

    After a while, it came. The guy staggered and went to one knee. He struggled to stand, and the big man was filming it all. He couldn't get up, and stayed there on his hands and knees, whining and drooling like the rabid dog he was. The big man filmed above the gun, and shattered his skull into dramatic pieces.

    He turned off the camera, pulled the tape out, and blew the player into thousands of pieces. He allowed himself a shudder. This contract had been one of his toughest, ever.