Proving once again that having control of the topic doesn't always lead to quality, I penned this sick little number for 100 Words Or Les Nessman today.
They drive the backhoe off, jump into the hole, and shovel out the remaining dirt.A crane lowers into the vault and bumps the casket.
"Who disturbs my rest?" I think.
They raise the casket, lay it on a gurney, and roll it into the truck.
Two hours later, the coroner cracks open the casket.
It's so rare to see a body with a spear through its skull, but not everyone dies from mooning a Zulu tribe.
Somehow, this excites him.
Unspeakable, disgusting acts follow.
Finally, he takes my arm in his latex-covered hand and winds my watch.
Gee, thanks.
I'll try not to make a habit of it.