More on this later… (Part 9 – Stu Lives.)

Stu's House2

Sarian                      KOF 2: Fishing Season

CHAPTER THREE

Kill me. Kill me. Kill me. Kill me. Kill me. Kill
me. Kill me. Kill me. Kill me. Kill me. Kill me.
Kill me. Kill me. Kill me. Kill me. Kill me. Kill
me. Kill me. Kill me. Kill me. Kill me. Kill me.
Kill me. Kill me. Kill me. Kill me. Kill me. Kill
me. Kill me. Kill me. Kill me. Kill me. Kill me.
Kill me. Kill me. Kill me. Kill me. Kill me. Kill
me. Kill me. Kill me. Kill me. Kill me. Kill me.
Kill me. Kill me. Kill me. Kill me. Kill me. Kill
me. Kill me. Kill me. Kill me. Kill me. Kill me.
Kill me. Kill me. Kill me. Kill me…

30

That’s what Stu has typed for the last hour on  
his I.B.M. Selectric monstrosity

and he’s still going strong. How many pages?
30 thus far… “And I might type thirty more,”

Stu says, pulling the page out, balling it up
and missing the trash can by four feet. “You’re a

dick, Author,” he says, sinking down into his
chair. “Just fucking kill me already. There is

literally nothing for me to do. I’m
useless. I have nothing to say and no one

to say it to. The only person I care
about thinks she’s in a movie with Arnold

Schwarzenegger and Edward Furlong. She won’t
even answer my letters anymore, so

I’m done. I quit. I’m out. Take this unreal world
and shove it up your fucking ass, you massive

prick!” Stu gets up, walks to his safe and pulls out
a .38 caliber pistol designed

by the folks who make Peacemakers. The bullets,
on the other hand… “You son of a bitch. Where

are they? I know they were here! Damn it, C.C.!
Why would you leave the gun and take the bullets?

Is there anything you won’t do, you wild—“
A knock at the door stops Stu mid-sentence. He

raises an eyebrow like John Belushi and
turns around, slowly. “WHO IS IT?” he shouts, with

more bass in his voice than a Doctor Dre song.
“It’s Casey Joad again. I’m back to talk to

you about The Lord Our God and his Holy
Ways.” Stu closes his eyes and grits his teeth. The

preacher on his porch knocks once more and the door
whips open. Stu points the .38 at the man

and shouts, “Congratulations! You get to meet
God today!” Casey pisses his pants and runs

away as fast as his knocking-knees allow. Stu
steps outside and screams, “Come back, Joad! God loves you!”

The preacher-man stumbles and impales himself
on the rusted remains of an old street sign.

Stu’s jaw drops to the floor, along with the gun.
“Holy shit!” he yells, putting his hands on his

head. “I didn’t really want him to die! That’s
not cool!” Stu stands there for one minute, letting

the weight of the moment sink in, then takes a
deep breath and glances at his books. The Grapes

of Wrath stands out like a sore thumb. “Ha, ha,” Stu
says, shaking his head in disbelief. “That’s just…

… and his name was Casey Joad … and he was a
preacher … ohhhhh. I get it. That’s funny, author.

You know what’s not funny? That my mom’s a porn
star. Nina Hartley? Yeah. I hope she sues you.

I hate being a character in your tale.
You can’t write for shit. You are a bad writer.

Do you know why my book sold? Because I wrote
it. You had absolutely nothing to do

with it. Nothing! You got that? Kill me, Author!
I dare you! I double-dog dare you! Kiiiiiillll meeeeee!”

Stu stands for a moment of angry silence,
exhales sharply and walks to his turntable.

He finds Highway 61 Revisted,
drops the needle on the vinyl and sits, then

grabs his glass pipe and takes a large rip from the
orange and black striped piece. “That’s what I thought, bitch.”

Stu says, with a smirk, as thick white smoke billows
from his nose, making him look like a dragon…

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