Everything was hunky-dory. Stan had arranged the murder to perfection. Absolutely nothing could go wrong. His wife was definitely on her last legs. He had cut the brake cable on her car. Next time she went out she need only drive out the gate, onto the road, and over the cliff.
“Goodbye, Honey,” he said cheerfully as Patsy left to go shopping. “I’ll open the driveway gate for you.”
“That’s very kind,” said Patsy as she climbed into the car.
Stan opened the gate and stood there ready to close it after she had passed. All was going well. Everything was hunky-dory. Patsy headed for the gate. Her foot slipped on the accelerator.
Joseph didn’t have much to go on. He would go to work each morning, which was a 68 kilometre round trip through heavy traffic, and his salary paid for the gas and the car maintenance and occasionally a bite to eat at lunchtime. He gradually (actually not too gradually) was falling into deeper and deeper debt. He worked out that he would be better off not going to work but to stay home and see if he could find the odd job online and grow stuff to eat in his backyard.
At least that’s the story he told the homeless shelter people.
Miranda had a premonition that she was going to die in a road accident – and that very day. The only thing for it was not to go out in her car, but she had arranged to pick up the cat deworming pills from the vet’s that afternoon, and they were long overdue.
“Don’t be silly,” thought Miranda. “I can’t let these silly feelings dictate my life, otherwise nothing would ever get done. I shall go into town and pick up the cat’s pills, but be careful nonetheless.”
On the way back home from town, Miranda spotted a large concrete mixer truck approaching on the other side of the road. Miranda almost froze. This was it. It was part of her premonition. The concrete mixer truck would be the instrument of her death. She tried to slow down but instead she froze.
The concrete mixer truck came nearer. And nearer. It passed! Miranda was free! Saved! The premonition was a silly notion after all. “Thank goodness!” thought Miranda.
In her relief she missed the corner, ploughed into a bank, and was killed.
Rachel decided to drive her mother to visit her mother’s widowed brother-in-law. It was a three hour drive. They hadn’t seen each other for several years.
Uncle Herbert had prepared lunch for his sister-in-law, Maureen, and his niece Rachel. They had a lovely time chatting away and catching up. Then it was time to drive home. Uncle Herbert said, “Goodness me, that’s not the quick way home. Turn off down the road at Harrisville and you’ll cut a good half hour off the journey. After turning, just follow the road.”
So Rachel and her mother turned off at Harrisville.
“I never realised where this shortcut was, but I’ve always heard people talk about it,” said Maureen.
On they drove. Four hours later Rachel declared “We seem at last to be getting somewhere”. And they were! One last turn in the road, and lo!
James was driving along quite comfortably. His three year old daughter was strapped into a safety seat in the back.
James needed to make a turn into a side street. He had plenty of time to turn, even though there was an oncoming car travelling at speed towards him.
Just as he turned two young skateboarders began to cross the road right in front of him. No warning; nothing. They hadn’t even looked. James had to make an instant decision: does he screech to a halt in the middle of the turn and avoid the skateboarders, or does he plough into the skateboarders and prevent his daughter in the back from being struck by the approaching speeding car?
A parent’s instinct is stronger than anything else. The court case is next week.
Apart from getting some groceries, Enid had two things to do in town that day: she had to return a book to the library, and she had to pick up a medical prescription at the pharmacy. Probably the best thing was to do these two errands first, before getting the groceries, and then she could whip off straight back home in her little blue car and not let the frozen ice cream melt.
If she turned down Hector Avenue she would come to the library first. And the pharmacy was in the mall – or just off the mall – so if she went from Hector Avenue and along Tremaine Street, she could park easily and then dash into the pharmacy.
And then there were the groceries. She had the list somewhere in her purse. At least she hope she’d put the grocery list in her purse. Once or twice over the years she’d left it at home!
“Oh! Blow!” thought Enid. With her musings she’d inadvertently passed the turn off to Hector Avenue, and now she had to rearrange the order of getting things. She would turn down Styx Street.
She turned down Styx Street. That was a pity, because she was hit by a truck and spent the rest of her days in a wheelchair.
Garth frequently imbibed too much booze, especially if he was at a party. Don’t get me wrong; he was responsible. He wouldn’t drive himself home if he’d had a drink. He always got someone to drive him.
“Just a couple of miles,” he’d say. “Here, take my car keys and drive me home.”
He was always very grateful.
“Just stop here,” he’d say. “This is right where I live. This is my house. But wait! How will you get back yourself? It’s too far to walk. Let me drive you back.”
(If you’ve never had a flea then hopefully you will forgive the intensity of this story…)
Ace had a long drive ahead of him. He left early in the morning. It was a twelve hour drive to Cincinnati.
He’d been driving for about three quarters of an hour since leaving home, and…
… was that a flea? Moving in his groin? He scratched.
Yeah. It was a flea. He kept on driving. He scratched again. The flea moved lower, sort of underneath his testicles. Where did he pick up a flea? he wondered.
Shit. It was driving him nuts. Come the next town he’d stop at a store. Fly spray was the answer. He’d simply squirt the thing to death. It moved to his dick. Wow! How the hell can you drive with crossed knees?
There’s a general store now! Ace parked on the side of the street. He bought a can of fly spray and returned to the car. The fucking flea was in his crack. It was having a field day. It was happy as Larry. It was glad as two pigs in shit. It was romping in clover. It was pleased as a dog with two dicks. It was balls in butter. It was biting his fucking arsehole.
Ace pull down his trousers and boxers and sprayed. He sprayed his backside. He sprayed his front side. Between his torso and thighs was a mound of white fly spray foam. He held his dick up by the tip and sprayed all sides. He stretched open his crack with one hand and sprayed like there was no tomorrow.
The group of youths on the street side of the car clapped. They thought it was great.
Ace gave them the finger and drove on. He scratched all the way to Cincinnati.