OR KILL ME!! - Principia Discordia

251
2 AM, but the level of violence is surprisingly low...and people
are polite. They understand, you see, that it is bad policy to be
rude to someone, when there is a very good chance that the
person you are speaking to is armed to the teeth with pistols
that have their serial numbers filed off.
Chef wasn't enjoying himself much. The ranchero music being
piped into the store was too loud, he said, and accordians
always set him off. No time for niceties, now...what if he goes
berserk, and starts smashing speakers? It's not out of the realm
of possibility...So, grab a jar of peppers, and dump it down
your throat.
Instant sweat. The inability to breathe. Spots in front of your
eyes, and some freakish little clerk staring at you like you're
insane. Fuck him, he doesn't understand, does he? "Listen,
snapperhead...I AM going to pay for this, but there simply isn't
time." But it doesn't come out that way, does it? Not with an
esophagus full of screaming hot habaneros...it sounds more like
"UNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNGH!"
I could see the horror in his eyes...he began to back away,
toward the front of the store. Toward the phone. The situation
is hopeless...I will NOT be able to explain myself to a cop, at
least not while I'm in this condition. There's only one thing to
do...
...Run through the door into the meat department, heading for
the back door, where they put the garbage out. Slip on a
freshly-mopped floor, and go skidding along the stainless steel
table where they are cutting the meat for tomorrow...half a
dozen Mexicans scramble to get out of the way...covered in
blood now, bovine, I hope...there were some sharp fucking
knives on that table...Out the back door, and running down the
street...a hideous, blood covered maniac toting a war
club...people in cars, staring at me as I run through the night...
or kill me