Dead Dogs Don't Roll Over
Written by: Alex Sandell


Chapter 47
Okay, I'm Feeling Really Mortal, Now

Richard walks off after making his threat. I notice there’s a little less purpose in his walk. I wonder if I’m starting to weaken him. Well, Lisa tells me the upper-nuts are scared of me. Why? I’ve been in a fistfight once in my life, and it was in fourth-grade . . . with a girl. The only exercise I get is writing hate mail to various networks, when they remove my favorite shows. And, I like to consider myself a "pacifist;" although, this belief probably has something to do with my lack of muscles. So, why in the hell would anyone be scared of me? Especially a bunch of weirdoes with supernatural powers?

I cup my palm over my mouth, and place my fingers on my nose. Nope, it’s not my breath. So, what is it? I look around the casino. I wonder if Lisa actually saw something all those times that her head circled the place. What if she was tricking me? What if she’s still working for "Broken Arrow," as a ghost? Lord knows I’ve been fooled by the fairer sex plenty of times before. It’s amazing how some women can hide such a hard heart, under such a soft body. Could Lisa be one of them?

Oh, come on, now - I’m getting paranoid. She’s fucking dead. She doesn’t even have a heart. "Your dead Dalmatian has a heart." Great, now my own mind is turning against me. Stupid, stupid gray matter. I may as well have a bowl of oatmeal crammed up there. Jeez, my brain annoys me sometimes.

What about my dead dog? Could he be behind all of this? He is the first dead thing that appeared to me (unless you count that time a 700-year-old Alice Cooper sang, "I’m Eighteen," on Jay Leno). Where is that dog, anyway? Probably corroborating evidence against me.

What about Elvis? That dork was ‘sposed to have died back in the age of bellbottoms and sparkles. Is he really alive? If so, why would he be such a bad guy? Well, he did start performing country; I guess that pretty much answers that question.

And Paul, has he turned evil? Has he always been evil? What about Nazi-man? Where did he run off? How about the incredible human peanut? I haven’t seen her since I punched in. The Crusher? The bobbing headed rooster human? Wouldn’t I have at least seen one of them in the last couple hours? I start feeling my chest clenching up. Am I having a heart attack? I start having more and more troubles breathing. What’s happening to me? I couldn’t be dying, could I? I start feeling faint. Sharp pains shoot up my arm. I see two Emergency Medical Technicians running toward me. Why are they so tall? Did I fall over? I am dying . . .

Go to: Chapter 48

1997 Alex Sandell but, if you're a book publisher and, you wanna get this puppy out, please get in touch with me, hand me a nice, big contract and, of course, a 12 pack of Grape Soda and maybe we can do lunch.

You know the routine, just click it.


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