A Boy and his Frenchie

Eric woke up at the crack of dawn. He yawned and said to nobody in particular, “Gosh darn it, this infernal capitalist machine has drawn me into its nine to five trap!”

The young lad walked into his bathroom, undressed, and entered his shower. Furiously he masturbated his morning wood. It probably felt kind of good, but it’s hard to tell with this guy.

Anyway Eric finished showering and went to work. It was a normal day and Eric was depressed as shit. At lunch he told his coworker Alan that he was going to commit suicide. Alan didn’t really care and didn’t bother to tell Human Resources. That’s how this guy rolls, you know.

Eric stopped by the gun shop on the way home. He bought a pistol under the counter and one bullet. The gun store owner wasn’t even weirded out by this. When Eric said, “Just one bullet please!” the storekeep didn’t even flinch. Eric looked at him mouth agape, and gave him the cash.

Eric fed his cat when he got home, then shot it. When he realized what he had done, he was pretty pissed because he had made such a big statement by only buying one bullet, and kind of hoped to be used by anti-gun lobbyists for years to come.

When the cops arrived to investigate the gunshot Eric charged the cops and got shot like 50 times. Cops are really bad shots and somehow Eric survived.

When Eric awoke from his coma months later a strange man stood at the edge of his bed. “How could you know the moment of my long rest’s end?” Eric asked the man.

The strange man turned around. He had a bowl cut and kind of a wispy pedophile mustache. The man said in a very serious tone, “My name is Frenchie and I’m pretty pissed about this whole dealio.”

Frenchie pulled out a silenced pistol from his Daisy Dukes and shot Eric twice in the chest, once in the head. Eric died and went to hell, if you believe in that kind of shit. In all likelihood he just ceased to exist.

Frenchie went home. His job was done, and it was time to do the dishes.