Ever wonder why everyone always hates Mondays? Silly me, of course you do; you’re probably one of them. I used to hate Mondays too. I say used to, not because I have found some amazing recipe for monday happiness, but because there’s nothing to hate about it right now. My days run together mostly, punctuated only by what other people do.
Today at least I’ve got PT to look forward to, but most times, Monday is just Monday to me.
In anycase, here’s something for you that might make your Monday morning a little more amusing.

Bloody Revenge

He had tried to rationalize it away like so many of his other problems. It had always worked for him before. His mother hadn’t really forgotten to pack him a lunch the first day of school; he had just lost it somewhere. Miss river’s had only picked Julie to sing the lead in the third grade musical because she was her daughter, not because she sang better. And he hadn’t really wanted to be on the football teem anyway; so it didn’t hurt his feelings when they laughed at him for even being on the field during try-outs. This problem however refused to listen to reason.

Ron Porter had found that the second best way to get rid of one’s problems was to ignore them. If reason failed him, he would merely deny the problem existed in the first place. It had worked wonders with the bully in the fourth grade. Sure he had gotten a few more black eyes than he might if he had told someone, but after he had stopped reacting the bully had just gotten bored and moved on. However ignoring a person whom he had to see and work under nearly everyday was near impossible for a rational man like Ron. As far as he was now concerned, the only thing to do was get rid of Paul.

He had been the one in line for that promotion until Paul had happened along. And he had too; Paul had just happened along out of nowhere and taken Ron’s promotion. He couldn’t just ask for a raise now. He had been counting on that promotion. Julie had been counting on the promotion; or at least she had before she left him. Of course that had been all Paul’s fault as well. Ron didn’t even know if the man was at all qualified. Probably he had ties with the management. He had to be taken care of. Ron suddenly knew how people were driven to murders of passion.

He could see Paul’s bedroom window from where he stood. The house was dark and Ron smiled. No late night partying for Paul; he was probably too serious about his job for that. He was probably too perfect to need to work late as well. Ron grimaced. He carefully placed the ladder beneath the window and climbed up.

Paul was asleep on his back, his mouth open. Ron stood silently by the bed holding his knife. He thought about Julie, about the promotion he should have had and plunged the knife into Paul’s heart. He saw red, literally.

Ron began to screem at the sight of all the gushing red blood. Paul screamed too.

“Oh God! Oh God! So much blood.”
Ron yanked the covers back. He hadn’t even gotten Paul’s chest; he had stabbed his arm.

“Oh God I’m sorry.”

“You’re sorry!” Paul screamed. “You just stabbed me. Were you trying to kill me?”
Ron had been, but that was beside the point. He backed away.

“Man you should really clean that up.”

“Help me.”
Ron backed further away.

“I … I’ll go get some towels.” He turned and ran from the room.

“Should we call an ambulance?” Ron asked, returning with three towels, a face cloth and a fitted sheet from Paul’s linen closet.

“Ambulance?” Paul shouted, “I should call the cops on you man! You just stabbed me.”

“Oh, God the cops,” Ron said and yanked the knife from Paul’s arm.
Paul screamed, and Ron dropped the knife. Fresh blood gushed from Paul’s arm.

“God!” Ron shrieked, shoving his bundle at the injured man.

“Here, hold this over it with your other arm–is your other arm still working?”

“Why, Paul yelled, “you wanna stab that one too?”
Ron pressed his bundle down on Paul’s arm in what he thought was a good imitation of applying pressure. Paul screamed.

“Please,” he begged, “just please go call an ambulance or something. Stay away from me.”

“But what are we supposed to tell them?”

“That a crazy man just came in here and stabbed me,” Paul said through clenched teeth.

“That’s perfect. We’ll tell them it was some psycho.” Ron picked up his knife from the floor and ran for the phone.

“Hey Ron–oh! Sorry I didn’t mean to scare you.”
Ron looked up at Mr. Johnson the next day at work.

“Have you seen Paul around? It’s not like him to miss a day of work.”

“Oh you know Paul,” Ron laughed. “He probably had another one of his wild parties.”

“No, I’ve actually never known Paul to throw parties of any kind. You on the other hand; you look like you had an interesting night. You’re as white as a sheet Ronny; what did you do, stab someone?”
Ron smiled just a bit crazily and continued on his way.