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 A Bullet Meant For MePosted 08.12.2004 by ImperialStormPooper (28)
Before I can begin my story in earnest, I must provide some background information. Back in my high school days, I dated a girl named Laura. She was a hot, voluptuous blonde with a beautiful face and a Pamela Anderson-inspired chest. Being the ignorant, ungrateful teenage punk that I was, I couldn't be happy dating a knockout blonde. (If I could travel back in time, I would take Doniker and Slim Jim Junkie with me and we would beat the living crap out of my past self, and then we'd sit him down and explain the facts of life to him.) But alas, I did not have the benefit of such wise counsel at the time.
At work, I met Laura #2. She was a short brunette who looked sort of like Natalie Portman. Testosterone got the best of my judgment and we began dating. I was fortunate that both girls had the same name so I could always confidently answer the phone, "Hello, Laura." The summer went along pretty well, with neither girl finding out about the other. I kicked Laura #2 to the curb after someone told me she was fooling around with her ex at a party. Thankfully, I held a Laura in reserve. But I broke up with Laura #1 when I was getting ready to leave for college. It actually went rather smoothly, and we planned on remaining friends. Fast-forward a year. I was back in town and my buddy and I were making a late night run to Wendy's. We ordered our food at the drive-thru and pulled up to the window. Lo and behold, Laura #1 was working as the cashier. I hadn't talked to her since I left for college, but since we had broken up fairly agreeably, I thought we were still on good footing. I smiled, handed her our money, and asked how she was doing. She glared at me from underneath the brim of her hat and handed me back my change without a word. Then she slammed the window shut and headed into the kitchen, out of sight. I have to admit that I was taken a little aback. Had she taken our breakup more seriously than I had thought? Or had she found out about Laura #2? The minutes ticked by and still the window remained closed. My friend glanced at his watch. "What's taking so long? I'm starving!" He was a former linebacker and required regular injections of fast food to keep his stomach pleased. I knew from the gleam in his eyes that, if he did not get fed soon, it would be a night the Wendy's crew would remember. At long last, the window was pushed open, by another Wendy's employee. As she handed out our food, I asked her what had happened to Laura. She winced and replied that Laura was too upset to wait on us. I felt kinda bad, but what could I do? My friend grabbed his food from the bag and began wolfing down his three hamburgers. As I pulled away from the drive-in window, I happened to glance into the dining room. There, standing at the window, was Laura. Her countenance showed no signs of womanly emotion, but gleamed instead with an almost nefarious animus. She smirked at me with a smile so full of malice that Judas in Hell would have been proud. A cold chill ran down my spine as she mouthed the words, "Die, you bastard." Oh yeah. She knew all about Laura #2. I steered my car out onto the street as Laura raised her middle finger at my rear bumper in defiant contempt. I welcomed the dark night that quickly enveloped my car and took me out of sight of that vixen's evil glare. As the miles passed, I took a deep breath and tried to think of what I should do. The only problem was that I couldn't think over the sound of my friend's ravenous eating. I glanced over at him only to see the last of his hamburgers disappear into his gaping maw. It was at that moment that comprehension dawned on me -- the long time waiting for our food, the evil smile... my heart sank as I realized my innocent friend had in all likelihood taken a bullet meant for me. "How many burgers did you just eat?" I asked him. "Three," he said around a mouthful of fries and half a sip of Coke. "Why do you want to know?" And then, suddenly, he got an odd look on his face that needed no translation. He carefully swallowed his food and leaned back gingerly into the seat. His hands slid to his stomach. He grimaced. "Damn, that ain't sitting too well." For the first time in my life, I saw fear in the eyes of the Titan. A friend of ours lived in a small studio apartment on that side of town and we were only a few miles from her place. I had barely stopped the car before my friend leapt onto the walkway and nearly broke down her door with his fierce pounding. Our friend opened her door and just missed being bulldozed over by his rapid entry. I arrived at the stoop in time to hear a mighty ass explosion echo in the confines of her tiny bathroom. She bit her lower lip and nodded. "Ah. Now I see." My friend's moans were accompanied by a foul stench that wound its way out of the bathroom and filled the three hundred square feet of the apartment with a thick cloud of contagion. We who were unafflicted by ass demons retreated to the relative safety of her front steps. I ventured back into the apartment long enough to retrieve a bottle of Pepto Bismo and leave it at the bathroom door. My friend weakly thanked me through the partition and promptly unleashed a new wave of poisonous flatulence. I disposed of my untouched portion of Wendy's in a nearby dumpster, wondering if I should instead call the Hazmat team to dispose of such a wicked instrument of evil. I decided against unwanted publicity and then sat on the stairs with my female friend. After almost an hour, my friend emerged from the bathroom, covered in sweat and wearing a look of defeat. He haggardly apologized to our friend and then gingerly made his way to my car. As I rushed him home (lest an errant fart lead to a new brown wave of death in my car), I explained to him that he had paid the unfortunate price for my past sins. He muttered vague threats against me, both Lauras, and a whole generation of my unborn progeny. But in the end, he barely had enough strength to make it into his house, let alone plot his revenge. He must have lost his blood lust over the course of the following two days of his infirmity, as I have lived to relate the tale. He never attempted to track down the tiny blonde sexpot who had taken out such a mighty man with a single stroke. From what I heard, Laura later quit her career in the fast food industry and joined the military. I take some comfort in knowing that someday she might be the one giving expeditive laxatives to Bin Laden to make him spill his guts, both literally and figuratively. Post new comment
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