Genius smoked his third consecutive cigarette. He stood on his porch with a glass of whiskey. He thought about quitting the trade. He was getting too old for this. He remembered the time when things were easier. Catching crooks, thugs and stone throwing turtles was a piece of carrot. Now everything was messed up because of corruption and bad drugs.
He flicked his cigarette into the pond, almost startling Greasy Toad who was listening to his favourite track, The Immigrant song. Said it connected with him. Many wondered why. Genius started his Harley and wore his new pair of aviators. He switched on some Infected Mushroom on his ipod for the long ride to Jack Ass’s farmhouse.
Why was he heading there? Because Jack Ass’s uncle, Horse Shit did not give a fuck about Jack’s memory loss problem. He did not have it till sometime back. The doctors recently found the cure and advised Jack to stay away from Family Guy. Said it made him numb and non-respondent to regular jokes.
So, Genius was on his way. The long journey was making Genius hungry. So after a long three minutes of tiresome riding, Genius entered this shack. The shack was playing psychedelic trance numbers. Genius liked trance. It was fast. Genius liked fast things. Fast things were really Genius’s thing. If Genius was given a tortoise to compete with, he would say no. Like instantly. Because there was no use racing a tortoise. He was like, ‘Screw my ancestors. It was as simple as not having the race. It was almost like asking a panda to race with a fast polar bear. I mean the fast polar bear will obviously win because he’s fast. Cars, bikes, cheetahs, that Dr. Cox guy from Scrubs. I like them.’
Genius ordered some food and a glass of whiskey. The table next to Genius was occupied by this dog. He looked tensed, depressed. So much so that he was eating dog food. Genius found something really wrong.
“Sir, is everything alright? You seem perturbed.”
The dog did not answer.
“Sir, can I help you?”
“You can’t help me. You can’t help me live. You can’t cure my cancer.”
Genius was a bit surprised. He scrolled up and looked at the title of this story and wondered if this would go as haywire as the last one did.
“I’m sorry. But sir. Don’t eat that shit. It’s for…”
“My name is Henry by the way.”
The two shook paws.
“Sir, I can drop you somewhere if you want.”
Henry smiled and nodded.
So the two, after eating their respective foods, their drinks and a special something that Henry got from his dear friend, Mary Juan Paul Jones, were off.
They merrily sang the Great Gig in the Sky, where Genius gave the white woman’s voice and Henry made drum sounds. They rode across the high mountains, the flowing rivers, the harmonizing cows and the happy trees.
“So where should I drop you?”
“I really don’t know.”
Genius stopped the bike and got down.
“That’s it. This is going nowhere. Tell me where to drop you. You don’t know what I’m capable of.” Genius seemed pissed.
“Genius, I only have four years to live. Take me anywhere.”
“How old are you?” Genius asked.
“21”
“You ain’t gonna live that long, dude.”
Henry instantly had a stroke and died on the spot. He left a will behind.
I leave the squeaky toy to Carl. The bone to Geoffrey and 500 million dollars to Genius Rabbit whom I just met. Oh yeah…don’t throw me off this cliff. I have vertigo. Peace Out. Snoopy Rocks.
Genius did not know what to do with 500 million dollars. He just had a massive bon-fire. He tore the will and was on his way to…
Where was he going? Where was he?
The damn cabbage.
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