Nessie plopped onto a plank
which shot up like a seesaw
and jarred the gun hand of the seedy-looking lad,
causing him to miss me by mere inches.
So I avoided getting shot for a few more minutes,
while a giant net rose up capturing Nessie.
The whole scheme had been a trap all along;
and somehow I got suckered into being bait
without even knowing it.
And so, presumably, had McBrody and McSquint.
McSquint eyed Nessie
like a hunter eyes a prize tiger in his sights.
I didn’t like that look on him, or anybody,
but especially on him,
especially when he salivated over the thought
of blasting, stuffing, and mounting my dear friend.
So I headbutted him.
Just like in the movies.
Only that hurt me worse than it hurt him.
McSquint retaliated by headbutting me back.
Just like in the movies.
Only he knew what was doing,
so again,
that hurt me worse than it hurt him.
I gotta stop talking during movies
and pay better attention!
Not satisfied with giving me a pounding migraine,
he punched me in the gut.
But his plan backfired,
because that only intensified my intestinal fortitude,
creating an unfortunate alfalfa sprouts-induced,
IBS-esque expulsion.
Our captors showed mercy to McBrody and McSquint,
by putting me in a separate net.
They showed “mercy” to me
by draping me in a clean diaper.
I felt vulnerable and humiliated.
Was that really merciful of them?
Depends.
Lucky for Nessie,
the seedy-looking lad and his two cronies knew that
keeping her alive would be worth more to them
than just killing her.
Too bad they didn’t feel the same way
about the three of us.
With Nessie securely netted,
the seedy-looking lad and his two cronies
aimed at each of us.
The seedy-looking lad pointed his pistol at me,
while his two cronies were each
supposed to shoot McBrody and McSquint.
But from my angle,
all three of them aimed at me.
I never really knew how much the Scots hated tourists!
Or maybe they ran out of adult diapers.
I figured I should say something grandiose for my last words.
Since I’m a writer,
people expect such things from me.
Some pearl of wisdom.
So I said, “Insert funny line here.”
That’s what I said.
I often used that phrase in my writing,
so I don’t get bogged down fretting over a line or two.
I needed my words to flow as much as possible,
to get into the creative zone,
so I couldn’t let a lapse of thought
hamper the rest of what I was doing.
And then, while editing,
I could come back and add something then.
And then, on another pass, tweak as needed.
But that was all I could think of.
Except for one other thing.
“I love you Nessie.
I’m so sorry I messed things up for you.
I never meant to cause you any harm.
Thank you for saving my life.
These last few minutes
wouldn’t’ve been the same without you.
When you see Biggie, tell him I love him;
and I’m sorry I stormed away.
It’ll be a bit of a swim for you,
because he never comes here.
But please let him know.”
“Shut up!” yelled the seedy-looking lad.
“I don’t mind a moving target.
But a yapping one makes it hard for me to think.”
“Oh really?” I asked.
“Yes!”
I called out, “Everyone yap!”
Constable McBrody talked about
how he joined the force so he could make a difference.
Captain McSquint, for some odd reason,
blathered on about split ends and his inability to find
satisfactory hair products that could handle the salt air.
Even Nessie clicked, clacked, and whistled
in that way that she does.
No one else could interpret, except me,
so I knew she forgave me.
She knew I’d never muck up so royally on purpose.
Whereas I bemoaned the fact that I never
got to marry a supermodel heiress to a chocolate fortune.
She wouldn’t even have to juggle or play the ukulele.
Those talents were just options.
Not necessities.
She’d still need a heart of gold.
Or being a super dee duper supermodel.
With a heart of silver or bronze.
At the very least nickel or copper.
Possibly pyrite, but only if she’s a contortionist too.
Somehow blocking out our auditory distractions,
the seedy-looking lad got me in his sights
and pulled the trigger.
Kablam!
TO BE CONTINUED …
Sweet Dreams
Sweet Dreams
Phyllis Diller:
They say that housework can’t kill you,
but why take a chance?
Rita Rudner:
My husband and I are either going to buy a dog or have a child.
We can’t decide whether to ruin our carpet or ruin our lives.
Dean Burkey:
I’m not saying you’re a liar.
I’m just saying that your information
is far less than factual than reality.
Mitch Hedberg:
I saw a billboard for the lottery.
It said, “Estimated lottery jackpot 55 million dollars.”
I did not know that was estimated.
That would suck if you won and they said,
“Oh, we were off by two zeroes.
We estimate that you are angry.”
Steven Wright:
Eagles may soar,
but weasels don’t get sucked into jet engines.
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