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Monday, October 23, 2017

FLAB. ........RIGINAL.

by riginal (writer), moe australia, August 01, 2015

Think before you speak, or you could lose a piece of Flab. Kill Bill? I don't think so. Avoid hard work...it can kill you.

FLABULOUS FUTURE. RIGINAL

Working in the year 3000 was punishable by death. The crowd sipped adrenaline pulse backup assisted, in the Coliseum of Sloth.

Dubbed roars erupted. Bill, the first human being under the new D classification, jogged around Flab, the giant executioner.

Flab cursed, fumbled with the heavy laser cleaver. Dropped it. The crowd leaned forward, gently. They started to chant. "Kill the bastard...off with his impudent working class head! Kill Bill!"

Flab grunted, pressed the unfamiliar laser cleaver inset. The blade ray ejected. Flab was sweating with the exertion. 'No work' monitors scanned the arena backed up by mechanical death guard sniffer attack dogs. They sat taut on their trained haunches. Barely restrained by their Sloth keepers.

Bill had a light bulb moment out of sheer desperation and an acute desire to live to a ripe old natural death. He started to skip,twist and turn, somersaults, backflips a PM or a President would be proud of.

Flab staggered after his crazy victim. The crowd stood as one. "Kill Bill...kill Bill!" But they didn't overexert themselves knowing the sniffers were activated. Bill suddenly stopped, pointed an accusing finger at his puffing frustrated executioner.

Shouted hysterically to add to his remark. "Gosh, my hardworking sweating friend..." he paused. The sniffer dogs ears pricked. "Yes Flab" he shouted and raised his hands to the rented artificial sky. "This execution work could kill a man" Flab screamed at his tormentor, "it is bloody hard work Bill will you stand still and die or do i have to pursue you until my horrible work is done?"

Bill stood stock still as the 'no work' hounds were unleashed. Flab screamed in agony as the jaws ripped terribly at his body.

The crowd screamed with delight and sucked voraciously on their drinks. They were pleased. Bill bowed in mock apology. Directed his gaze at the Death Imposer, he picked up his proclamation and read nervously. "There has been a substitute sacrificial death this day of Flab who dared defy my no work proclamation. I will make adjustments to this none work protocol, you have by your slyness this day saved your life therefore if you promise before this crowd never to work again you are freed...what say you Bill...?"

The crowd rose and sang along to a golden oldie, "won't you come home Bill Barely won't you come home...?" They suddenly stopped when Bill waved, shouted out with glee, "by golly you've been a great audience, that singing sounds like hard work..." The sniffer dog's rested. Exhausted. They were smarter than the humans. They knew if they weren't careful Bill would ask if Flab's dismembered body was indeed a hard body of work and perhaps a dog's day afternoon?

The sky was removed. Artificial light illuminated the dreadful fat scene. Robots cleared the bloodied scant remains of splintered bone. No one dared speak to Bill. Suited Bill. He lived a long enjoyable life, went into the running for the President of the U.S.A. a relaxing no work ethic. Nearly came up Trumps did Bill. A few wanted to also... but most didn't want to waste his time...or theirs. But there are only so many Trump cards you can hand out. Bill played his. The Death Imposer burned the midnight oil in a frenzy of altered proclamation issues, closing down all loopholes.

However, his missus who looked like death warmed up and wanted out of the marriage as it was too much like hard work, recorded her husband's tired voice just before he tucked her in. He whispered in her large cabbage- like ear... "God! that was hard work closing those loopholes!" The sniffer dog's ears pricked. Big brother was watching. Listening. :>)

;.0




About the Writer

Bio...bioio...daylight come an i wanna go home. Come missa tele man tele me banana. A banana tele? Seriously would like to hook up with other comedy writers to engage.
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