PostPosted: Sun Apr 29, 2007 2:35 am    Post subject:
CANADIAN MISTHere I am knee deep in a life struggle with my sister and liver disease and for some reason, I am craving a glass of whiskey. Not just a glass but one of them giant plastic Tupperware cups. Yeah, that big green cup that seemed to hold a half-gallon of milk. I’d fill it with crushed ice then top it with Canadian Mist. I can almost visualize the condensation on the side of the cup giving it a frosty look. That’s the ticket; I’ll just pour myself a stiff one to ease the pain of this struggle eh. I can almost feel the volatile toxic twinge of liquor on my pallet.

Yup, the first few hits from that cup will a bit stout but after a while, I’ll be able to take a long pull from that cup. The pain of my journey will subside and for a moment, I will be in a state of total bliss as the liquor eases my pain. I’ll ramble a bit about nonsense and laugh at my foolishness while fumbling around for my cup spilling its contents on my keyboard and floor. Then I will reflect on my sister and begin to cry uncontrollably. Tears will stream from my face as I ponder her mortality. Then I will become angry and begin to point fingers at possible culprits responsible for my sister’s plight.

In the heightened state of awareness my elixir gave me, I plot a course of revenge fore in my mind I have no alternative. With trusty .45 in hand, I walk into the local liquor store and before the clerk can say a word I blow a 2X4 hole in his miserable face. That will show him for selling booze to my sister. Then I go the University Hospital, wait in the parking lot, and whack each and every person who was on staff when she was discharged and sent home to die.

I go to her apartment and kill neighbors who used to drink with her since I know it was their fault she was drinking. In my infinite wisdom I knew they had to die if my sis was going to die. She was not going alone anyway. The police come to the apartment complex and order me to surrender but I refuse, take hostages, and barricade myself in an upstairs apartment.

The place is surrounded by flashing red and blue lights as police seal off the area. A mediator tries to stale for time as SWAT Teams moves into position. To show them I mean business, I publicly shoot one of the hostages on national television. His brains spray a shocked and astonished crowd of spectators as my pistol pops like a firecracker. The SWAT Team takes aim but misses and kills one of the hostages instead.

I rush back into the apartment and close the door. The phone rings and it’s the mediator again. I pour another glass of whiskey and take it down like water. Then a concussion grenade blasts into the room. Stunned, I run up to each hostage and shoot them in the head. Then I race into the bedroom and close the door. I can hear cops running around on the roof. I can hear muffled commands as they count down for some showdown. I hear the front door being rammed as the cops make their way into the apartment.

As I place the warm barrel of the pistol in my mouth. I can taste the salty essence from the spent gunpowder on the end of the barrel. I hear the bedroom door being rammed now. I hear their voices and they call me to surrender. The door flies open as cops rush towards me with guns drawn. I pull the trigger and POP………………………

Well, on second thought. I think I’ll just drink a cup of Welches Grape Juice instead. It’s full of antioxidants.

Your Devil’s Advocate
Creativity is the byproduct of a fertile mind

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