The Kersplat

Content Warning: This short story is really well written, and may make some people jealous. It also contains ‘G’ rated profanities, and some cartoon violence. You’ve been warned.

The following was originally written for “Write Club” in Franklin, TN.

Clark Hubbard

Write Club, Vice-Vice-President, Head Comedian and Purveyor of Morbidness


I hadn’t meant to push Jonathan Pickman off of the cliff. It was all in fun, me yelling “Saved your life! Ah Crap” and him screaming obscenities as he plunged to his doom towards the bottom of the Grand Canyon. I tried explaining that to the officers that forcefully shoved me into the squad car, but they were of the African-American type and could not understand the words flowing from my unadulterated Aryan tongue. Please understand, I’m not racist. Racism is a crime, and crime is for Germans. As I sat in the back of the squad car, I contemplated deeply the mysteries of life. Do monkeys marry? How does Chuck Norris still look so good? That guy is ancient. Is Jonathan already in Hell, or does he have to walk on that really long road, like in Dragonball Z? You know, deeeeeep thoughts. Thoughts that Einstein may have been jealous of, had he possessed more chromosomes. And by possessed more chromosomes, I mean… Well, you should know what I mean. Unless of course you have extra chromosomes, in which case, you probably don’t get it, because… forget it.

The sweltering heat of the sun made me wish for a cornetto ice cream cone. Those things were glorious. How did they make them so cold? A freezer, perhaps? No, that was far too simple. They probably had a device that forcibly brought atoms to a full stop. Maybe they had built nano-bot police officers with reflective jackets that brought the atoms to a complete stop. That would cool the ice cream fairly fast. Jonathan probably won’t have another cornetto, I thought as I broke my arms to get them over my head to escape, Even if he did get one, it’d probably melt. Bummer that he had to fall like that.

As I began to cut into the fabric of the door with my fingernails to find the gear mechanism, I realized that an officer was approaching. I quickly put my arms behind my back and began whistling, Another One Bites the Dust by Queen. The police officer opened the door and threw a large, two and a half gallon sized evidence bag next to me. Sadly, my retinas and brain determined it was the remains of my ex-friend, Jonathan, or as his more gangster friends say, Jonathan P. He was unrecognizable, mostly due to the fact that he had fallen a long distance and stopped suddenly. I could still see part of his face though, so that made me feel better. The officer got in the car and started the engine with the push of a button. “So, how did you fit the whole body in this bag?” I asked trying to start some small talk.

“Oh that’s mostly the bones and skin. Our forensics team will get the rest with shop-vacs later. You know the ones that can suck up solids and liquids? “

“Cool. I guess he did leave quite an impact.”

The cop laughed and gave me a high five through the plate glass.

I woke up sweating. What kind of dream was that? I looked around and was relieved to see everything was as I had left it. I was still in the Maximum security prison for killing seventy five people after they had looked at me funny in my moose sweater, but at least I hadn’t murdered one of my best friends in cold blood. I’m not a psychopath after all.

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