The Sense Of Nonsense. (short)

To be taken seriously... or arousing? Yes, I was bored. Enjoy.

Dear life in this wonderful, oddly symmetrical, town we call home; a funny thing happened to me on the way to the bank this evening. I was walking along Granson Street to where the gates of Trewalser park meet the sidewalk, giving a shortcut to the bank, when I came across some shady looking characters dressed in yellow spandex shorts and purple turtleneck sweaters. They knew me, I could tell by the looks in their eyes, and why shouldn't they? I was the town hero since I abolished the slavery of the local piano tuners by dropping one of their recently admitted cases on their evil overlord from a 12 story building. It was an accident, I swear. Heralnine, I believe his name was. Fat man, with a curly mustache that bent all the way past his crooked ears. Turns out, he could stand the force of a piano being dropped on him. What a weakling.

So anyway, as I continued past the guys who would easily have been mistaken for gay, had they not been harrassing a rather hairy looking woman at the time, they were giving me these looks. "You killed Heralnine, so we kill you," their eyes said. No, I lie. All their eyes except one. One of them was clearly saying something along the lines of "Give me one night in one of your many successful custard factories, and I'll do anything you want. ANYTHING." I decided that I should avoid him more than the ones that looked like they wanted to eat my kneecaps and dance around an open fire wearing my skin. So I did. I crossed the street in a hurry, and then crossed back after walking a few metres past them, like in a large semi-circle. A good idea? Apparently not.

It turns out that there were more of them hiding just behind the low wall that ran alongside the path, waiting for me. I guess they had anticipated my evasion technique. With a wierd noise that sounded like a snake with an extreme lisp having its mouth forced open and being made to scream a battle cry, but failing, they jumped over the wall in an extremely gimpy way and started beating me savagely with their identical brown briefcases and umbrellas. Had I been not still laughing at their scream and wall jump, maybe I would've resisted. The beating continued for several minutes. It only ended when one of them accidently misjudged the swing of his briefcase and hit himself in the foot, causing the others to tend to him with a motherly concern imprinted on their faces. This was also quite funny. At this moment, the orange and green lights of the city police were heard coming up the street. Needless to say, my attackers ran as fast as their stick-like and hairless legs would carry them. It turns out that the police were heading over to Topiaca street to sort out some altercation with an icecream man that had been unfolding ever since he ran out of icecream and started using his own organs. I heard about it later on the news. He had a strange childhood.