Stacy and I did everything we could to stop the slaughter. But all we had was whatever weapons we could improvise out of broken beer bottles and fancy chairs, and neither of us are in particularly great shape or even super good at fighting demons. In just a few, short, blood-soaked hours, we realized that everyone at the wedding party had been killed by fuckghosts.
You Don't Trust Me As Much As You Should
As I stood there, knee-deep in a slurry of human-being parts, broken furniture, and spilled booze, listening to John Legend's "All Of Me" squeaking mournfully from battered speakers and some dead DJ's iPod, I realized that this was all our fault. The demon warriors, led by the ghost of Ernst Fuckwell, were leaving, but we chased after them.
"Wait!" I shouted. Fuckwell turned to face me. In his demon-form, he's a gigantic crab with kangaroo legs and thousands and thousands of buttholes. Not the most intimidating, but effective at chopping people in half and, presumably, pooping.
"You can't do this. You can't ruin my friend's wedding. There has to be some other way."
"THERE IS NOT. YOUR FUCKING WAS ATROCIOUS. THE PRICE MUST BE PAID."
"Then take me!" I cried, like some kind of goddamn movie hero.
Ernst Fuckwell seemed to ponder my suggestion. Then he turned to the other fuckdemons, and they powwowed for a moment. Then he returned in his ordinary fuckghost form and told me his decision.
"WE WILL UNDO THE MASSACRE. THE PRICE WILL BE STEEP."
I waited. And kept waiting. Fuckghosts have no sense of timing.
"THE PRICE IS YOUR DIGNITY. YOUR FRIENDS WILL LIVE AGAIN, BUT IN EXCHANGE YOU MUST MAKE A TERRIBLE MISTAKE. AFTER YOU TRAVEL BACK IN TIME TO THE MOMENT YOU TOOK THAT FIRST GLASS OF SCOTCH FROM SLOW-FINGER JOE, YOU MUST PUNCH THE BEST MAN. THEN YOU MUST VOMIT ON SOMEONE ELSE -- SOMEONE UNCOMFORTABLY OLD. FINALLY, YOU MUST SPEND THE ENTIRE WEDDING CEREMONY SCREAMING THE LYRICS TO 'FREE BIRD.' THEN, WHEN THEY TRY TO KICK YOU OUT, YOU MUST KICK ONE OF THE SPACE-HEATERS INTO THE DRAPES, SETTING THE ENTIRE BUILDING ON FIRE. IF YOU FAIL TO FULFILL THESE TASKS, WE WILL RETURN AND KILL EVERYONE.
"Fine," I said bravely. Then the fuckghost worked his fuckmagic. The world around me swirled, and after a blast of light, the wedding was back. The shredded bodies were gone, replaced by happy, dancing wedding people. The shattered furniture was repaired. John Legend's "All Of Me" was playing proudly. With grim determination and a heavy heart, I approached the bar. I turned to Toby, the best man, and smiled sadly.
"What'll it be, Mr. Sargent?" Slow-Finger Joe asked me.
A glass of fate, Joe. A glass of fate. With a splash of responsibility and self-sacrifice. And ice.
So anyway guys, I apologize for ruining your wedding. But now, now that you know the whole story, hopefully you'll agree that I made the right choice, or at the very least holy shit what the hell is that?
There's nothing behind you, because you're still in the back of a cop car. When you turn back around, JF Sargent has kicked the door open, dived out of the moving vehicle, and is running into the woods. Follow him on Twitter and Facebook!
Which Sci-Fi Trope Would You Bring To The Real World And Why?: Every summer we're treated to the same buffet of three or four science-fiction movies with the same basic conceits. There's man vs. aliens, man vs. robots; man vs. army of clones; and man vs. complicated time travel rules. With virtual reality and self-driving cars fast approaching, it's time to consider what type of sci-fi movie we want to be living in for the rest of our lives. Co-hosts Jack O'Brien and Adam Tod Brown are joined by Cracked's Tom Reimann and Josh Sargent and comedians David Huntsberger, Adam Newman and Caitlin Gill to figure out which sci-fi trope would be the best to make a reality. Get your tickets to this live podcast here!
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