'The New Boston Strangler'

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Humor  |  House: Booksie Classic
It's for you, again!

Submitted: July 24, 2017

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Submitted: July 24, 2017

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Ah, life was good! So thought Damon Waylay as he settle in to watch an old movie on late night T. V. He'd had a shit week at work, dealing with stuck-up snobby women out to spend every last dime on jewelry, or stuck-up dudes trying to impress their snobby wives or girlfriends by buying an impossibly-expensive and totally-wasteful and unnecessary diamond pendant or ring. He had beer, it was Friday night, and he had the whole weekend to NOT think about them. On the screen was a movie he'd found, a newish sequel to "The Boston Strangler," called "The New Boston Strangler," kind of a ridiculous premise, really, about a friend of The Strangler, who thought what The Strangler was doing looked like it might be good for a few laughs.

 

 

A couple hours later, the movie was approaching it's climax, and Damon had damn near finished the six pack, and his worst fears were realized, it was beyond dreadful. He reached for his latest garage sale find, a rotary phone, and dialed his pal Jay's number, to tell him how ridiculous the movie was. He really ought to cancel his HBO, if this was the kind of crap was all they were going to show. As the phone rang, the dreadful movie was showing a hapless lady being stalked by the New Boston Strangler. It rang three times, and then,

 

"Hello?"

 

"Hey there, Jay, it's Damon."

 

"Hey, Damon, whazz up?"

 

"I'm just watching THE worst movie on HBO, about a..."

 

"The New Boston Strangler?" Awful, I tried to watch it, but turned the channel after about 10 minutes; it was so bad!"

 

As Damon started to answer in the affirmative, he was watching as the poor woman was being strangled by The New Boston Strangler, using a spool of wire that just happened to have been left on the couch next to the victim, because she was a wire salesperson. "Yeah, it's almost over--agg!"

 

He could no longer talk because the phone's chord had wrapped itself around his neck, cutting off the oxygen supply to his brain. While it was true that he used a lot less than most people, he still needed some.

 

"Hello, Damon, you who!" Jay breathed into the receiver, figuring Damon was messing around. After another silent 30 seconds, he got angry and hung up.

 

But Damon didn't hear Jay hang up, as he'd dropped the phone, and did the Gasping Fish Gills dance across his living room, in a desperate, ultimately-futile effort to get enough slack in the killing chord to breathe. Soon, the dance was over, and he collapsed to the carpet.

 

 

Harley smirked to himself, or, would have, if he'd had a face, and shouted in silent joy, "Who-yah!"


© Copyright 2017 Mike S.. All rights reserved.

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