Why So Serious?
Enter: Fun
How long does it take to die? He wonders this. This smelly fat man doesn't seem to be dying quickly enough. That much is true. Maybe he missed the artery. He got a 99 in biology, though. That much was true. He knows the human anatomy like the back of his hand. He couldn't have missed.
Why the hell is it taking so long for this man to die? he wonders. "But," he thinks aloud, "I wouldn't be having this much fun." The fat man groans and blood sputters from between his lips. Maybe this fat guy is drowning in his own blood. That would be cool. The fat man squawks. "Oh hush," He pulls out his bloodied knife and stabs him in the stomach.
The fat man coughs and blood gushes out of his mouth like a fountain. Satisfied he sits back down. "Stay quiet, mister," He nudges the blob of fat and only a faint gurgle is heard. 'Perhaps you are drowning in your own blood." He muses. He shrugs and stomps on the man's hand.
"You're taking especially long to die," The men writhes in pain. "When my mother killed my father he dies almost instantly," He grinds his heel into the hand. The man grunts. "But, then again," He jumps off the man, "She cut him in his jugular."
The fat man writhes and flops like a fish "Looks like the curtain are closing on this show." He picks up his coat and slings it over his shoulder. The man screams. "Oh, hush. No one can hear you, you know," He pulls a card from his pocket. A smiling joker. He lets it flop on the body, nearly dead now. He turns to take his leave, without a slightest glance over his shoulder he whispers, "Why so serious?"
Why the hell is it taking so long for this man to die? he wonders. "But," he thinks aloud, "I wouldn't be having this much fun." The fat man groans and blood sputters from between his lips. Maybe this fat guy is drowning in his own blood. That would be cool. The fat man squawks. "Oh hush," He pulls out his bloodied knife and stabs him in the stomach.
The fat man coughs and blood gushes out of his mouth like a fountain. Satisfied he sits back down. "Stay quiet, mister," He nudges the blob of fat and only a faint gurgle is heard. 'Perhaps you are drowning in your own blood." He muses. He shrugs and stomps on the man's hand.
"You're taking especially long to die," The men writhes in pain. "When my mother killed my father he dies almost instantly," He grinds his heel into the hand. The man grunts. "But, then again," He jumps off the man, "She cut him in his jugular."
The fat man writhes and flops like a fish "Looks like the curtain are closing on this show." He picks up his coat and slings it over his shoulder. The man screams. "Oh, hush. No one can hear you, you know," He pulls a card from his pocket. A smiling joker. He lets it flop on the body, nearly dead now. He turns to take his leave, without a slightest glance over his shoulder he whispers, "Why so serious?"