sexta-feira, 8 de abril de 2011

[very-short story] the boy who cried golf

The kid would ride the cart across the green fields, spot the holes , place the baits with the tracer capsules, the motion sensor devices and also the ...very...very...sensitive...explosive charges , and then rush back to Master to serve his tea. Too hot, you are truly useless, i'll say!
*Then* the kid would oil the guns and clean the cubs while Master dozes the evening away. And wait for the dot on the monitor screen to move - there: the giant gopher had bitten and swallowed, after the bugger, faster,faster you lazy bastard, you!
The kid rides the cart , follows the signal, blasts each charge remotley as the beast aproaches each hole, then the following ; to keep in it track, lead it right to where Master awaits, weapon ready - now step back and watch us doing a real man's job, boy.
The kid complies, quietly rides the cart to the nearest hill, pours himself a cup, sips,smiles when the giant gopher springs out off the ground, carries Master down, scream for mommy. Oh dear. He had forgotten to dose the baits with the elephant tranquilizer, lazy, useless thing he is. Oh well.

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