Harold
“Would you like some hot tea? I have it imported, you know.”
“Where from?”
“Uhh…Boston,” Harold replied sheepishly.
“In that case, no. If you have some Cherry Pepsi, I’ll take one of those.”
“You’re in luck, I have some in the fridge that I bought especially for you.” As he turned towards the kitchen he had the striking feeling that something was about to go very, very wrong.
Then a stronger striking feeling set in rather sharply at the base of his skull. Harold collapsed to the floor in a heap as Julie put away her beating stick.
I wonder where he keeps the Duct Tape.
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