Sunday, November 28, 2010


“So, wait. The creep realizes he was powerless when confronted by a different terror than his own. But he doesn’t actually redeem himself? So what’s the MOR…”

A whiff of chloroform, it wasn’t much, but the old man had no problem mustering up the strength to tie the young college student after he passed out.

“Write a book about that,” he whispered in a slimey voice.

There would be no further visits. Just another profitable day that ended well: the young man would never leave the retirement home, forever locked away amongst the horrifying visions of Pat Sajak, the poisonous scents of mint candy and the declining sounds of elderly hearts. A real wheel of fortune; this was a great find for the old geezer. He placed the body in the closet and shut the door.

“The moral,” he whispered, “is not every profit can be bought or sold.”

A knock at the door:

“What have you got going on in there, Mo?” asked another geezer.

Mo explained to the second geezer that there was a young man passed out in his closet. He promised to keep him.

“I’ll pay you $50 for him.”

Mo smiled at the thought of an honest day’s work.

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