The judges were forced to give Trevor extra points for Technical Difficulty, but he was eventually cut from the final round due to his controversial interpretation of the tango.
(Murray @ Midnight | 11 Comments)
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Trevor reminisces about the Cold Wars days and remembers that army life was much easier when they actually had guns.
“The Sarge was right,” Trevor thought bitterly to himself as he flipped over the barbed wire and tomohawked the target while hanging upside down in mid air, “you can see the carpark from here!”
Trevor awoke from his blackout. The relief that this time he wasn’t behind the wheel was short-lived.
“Funny,” Trevor thought to himself, “I only stepped out to buy an icecream.”
Suddenly Trevor became worried about his wife Dorris. He had just realised that he was following her pancake receipe and he must have left the Semtex instructions at home on the kitchen bench.
“Aha!” Thought Trevor. “Now comes the difficult part!”
“Miss Fuller’s can’t be all there” thought Trevor as he pondered why this was necessary in his training as a librarian.
When Trevor broke his drumkit his bandmates said he could stay in the group if he learnt to jump around stage with an ‘axe’.
Trevor spent his final few moments reflecting that a parachute might have been a more practical choice.
A sharp crack was heard and the top of his head flipped off, it looked like a really hairy and bloody Frisbee streaking across the horizon before hitting the windscreen of a nearby parked Tata ‘peoples car’.
The headless body of Trevor swayed back and forth for a brief moment before his hand released the tomahawk axe and he crumbled over in a heavy heap like one of the ill fated twin towers… but without the billowing dust clouds, the deathly smell of airplane fuel, or the chatter of media.
The sand and dirt slowly soaked up the growing pool of crimson blood as the body stopped nervously shuddering. Arms neatly to each side, he looked like he was having a simple facedown snooze. Without the top of his head.
Mrs Fuller stepped out from behind the target and waddled over to his body. She relaxed her grip on the stainless steel Rutger MK1 assassin’s pistol with the slim suppressor fitting. As she advanced. she nervously turned the .22 rimfire spent cartridge in her hand. Tentatively kicked at Trevor’s still warm gurgling body. Nothing. She expertly cocked the gun again and placed a single shot through the center of his back and in the same motion reached down and scooped up the hot to touch cartridge and pocketed it along with the first.
The older lady looked about, nothing; she tucked the pistol inside her fetching plum coloured Peabody coat and made her way across to the car park and the waiting Tata. She was giddy with excitement – now that filthy no-good librarian Trevor was out of the way, she and Doris could now be together for ever.
All Doris and Mrs Fuller needed to do, was meet the Sarge in Wisdom City, tie up some commercial arrangements and then it was on to Sin Vegas. Mrs Fuller’s only hope was that Doris would reciprocate… especially as they had never actually met in person. Mrs Fuller wiped the sweat from her mono-brow with her calloused hand and shook off these doubts. Doris was like a fragile honey-dew and Mrs Fueller loved eating fruit.
Meanwhile Doris had been to Ikea and was delighted with her recent placemat purchase… Trevor loved surprises.
A strange little Indian compact car with a filthy windscreen had pulled in behind Doris as she carefully navigated her way through the freeway traffic.