No one was as shocked by James’ death as James himself. He was a good man, who gave generously to charities, worked at soup kitchens, and was kind to everyone he met.
It was unfortunate, then, that his appearance was so similar to that of a mafia street soldier so despicable his own boss had a contract put on him.
As James walked to the soup kitchen he volunteered at, a thug stepped out of a dark doorway.
“Hey buddy, got a light?” the thug asked.
When James turned to look at the man asking for a light, he was bludgeoned from behind with a baseball bat.
His last thought was “What did I do?”
Monday, December 11, 2006
Friday, December 08, 2006
Meet Mr. Stanley
Indeed, the butler did it. I can tell you, because I am the butler. My name is Theobald Hieronymus Stanley; Mr. Stanley to you.
My former employer, Mr. Stephen Thackery met his end last week. I killed him, with a pistol, as he drank his coffee in the parlor.
Mr. Thackery was not the first of my employers to die at my hands, but I certainly took more pleasure in killing him than I did with the others. The man was a bastard.
The abuse Mr. Thackery heaped upon me was unforgivable, and probably would have led to his eventual demise, but what he did to Melissa demanded an immediate and messy termination.
Melissa was one of our new maids. She was, and is, a pretty young thing, just out of school and on her way to better things. One morning as Melissa was cleaning, Mr. Thackery made a most inappropriate advance. Melissa refused him, and he flew into a rage. He grabbed her broom and hit her with it, hard enough to raise a lump on her head.
I will not stand for such treatment of my staff, so that night as he drank his coffee I crept into the parlor with my .454 Casull and shot him. His head burst like a gelatin dessert with a firecracker in it. I must admit I chuckled as his carcass slumped out of the chair to the floor, still clutching his coffee cup.
Happily, I know none of my former staff will have to clean up the mess he left behind. Dying was the nicest thing he ever did for us.
Now I need to find employment elsewhere but, luckily for me, there are a great many rich boors looking for help.
My former employer, Mr. Stephen Thackery met his end last week. I killed him, with a pistol, as he drank his coffee in the parlor.
Mr. Thackery was not the first of my employers to die at my hands, but I certainly took more pleasure in killing him than I did with the others. The man was a bastard.
The abuse Mr. Thackery heaped upon me was unforgivable, and probably would have led to his eventual demise, but what he did to Melissa demanded an immediate and messy termination.
Melissa was one of our new maids. She was, and is, a pretty young thing, just out of school and on her way to better things. One morning as Melissa was cleaning, Mr. Thackery made a most inappropriate advance. Melissa refused him, and he flew into a rage. He grabbed her broom and hit her with it, hard enough to raise a lump on her head.
I will not stand for such treatment of my staff, so that night as he drank his coffee I crept into the parlor with my .454 Casull and shot him. His head burst like a gelatin dessert with a firecracker in it. I must admit I chuckled as his carcass slumped out of the chair to the floor, still clutching his coffee cup.
Happily, I know none of my former staff will have to clean up the mess he left behind. Dying was the nicest thing he ever did for us.
Now I need to find employment elsewhere but, luckily for me, there are a great many rich boors looking for help.
Wednesday, December 06, 2006
The Dragon
Mr. MacKinnon looked at the sparking cabinet that had fallen on the trigger mechanism for the Dragon. Somewhere nearby, a rocket fired.
"Oh, that's not good," he said.
The S-58 Dragon is a clever little weapon. The pet project of President Strauss, it consisted of a small explosive attached to a small and disturbingly accurate guided missile. The operator simply selects a target, fires, and soon after there is only a smoking hole where an enemy official stood before.
Project Potato Chip was a rushed job, with a tiny budget and a disgruntled staff nicknamed "The Cabal." Most of the crew had not volunteered for the project, and resented their assignment. The Cabal felt that, paychecks aside, the Dragon was an excessively wasteful weapon. Indeed, the millions of dollars being spent to kill one person - in a spectacular way, mind you - could be better spent on other things. Raises, for example. Meanwhile, a butter knife and a Ranger could do the job just as well, and be reused later.
While developing the tracking system for the Dragon, the Cabal needed a test target with a verifiable, remote location. They chose President Strauss. It was only a test, after all.
In their hurry to get the missile operational before their deadline, they forgot to clear the tracking system's memory. It wouldn't matter anyway, since the previous target would be cleared when an operator put in a real target.
If the Cabal hadn't been in such a rush to complete the project, it wouldn't have been as disastrous when the last bolt holding a rack of computer equipment let go.
Mr. MacKinnon ran to a still-functional monitor to see where the Dragon was headed. He nearly swallowed his retainer when he discovered its destination. He ran to a phone and began dialing frantically.
No one knows if President Strauss appreciated the irony of being an integral part of the first successful test of his new missile.
"Oh, that's not good," he said.
The S-58 Dragon is a clever little weapon. The pet project of President Strauss, it consisted of a small explosive attached to a small and disturbingly accurate guided missile. The operator simply selects a target, fires, and soon after there is only a smoking hole where an enemy official stood before.
Project Potato Chip was a rushed job, with a tiny budget and a disgruntled staff nicknamed "The Cabal." Most of the crew had not volunteered for the project, and resented their assignment. The Cabal felt that, paychecks aside, the Dragon was an excessively wasteful weapon. Indeed, the millions of dollars being spent to kill one person - in a spectacular way, mind you - could be better spent on other things. Raises, for example. Meanwhile, a butter knife and a Ranger could do the job just as well, and be reused later.
While developing the tracking system for the Dragon, the Cabal needed a test target with a verifiable, remote location. They chose President Strauss. It was only a test, after all.
In their hurry to get the missile operational before their deadline, they forgot to clear the tracking system's memory. It wouldn't matter anyway, since the previous target would be cleared when an operator put in a real target.
If the Cabal hadn't been in such a rush to complete the project, it wouldn't have been as disastrous when the last bolt holding a rack of computer equipment let go.
Mr. MacKinnon ran to a still-functional monitor to see where the Dragon was headed. He nearly swallowed his retainer when he discovered its destination. He ran to a phone and began dialing frantically.
No one knows if President Strauss appreciated the irony of being an integral part of the first successful test of his new missile.
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