Shocking Truth: Stories of Murder

Jonathan Dy

Okay, before I start rambling about some stupid retarded topic that has no particular point, I feel I must say few things to you, the readers of this piece.

1. I feel I have the obligation to apologize for my brief absence, which I guess, I have no real excuse for. Sometimes you get sidetracked by various things such as work or travel or vacation, or you just lose motivation to do anything. So, sorry to those who really did miss this crap.

2. I wanna thank those of you who sent emails letting me know your thoughts on my writings. They are all very much appreciated.

3. And finally, I want you to say to yourself right now "why don't we go go-carting". Isn't it such a weird thing to say??? I find it fucken hilarious! Go go-carting... it's funny cuz you can't just say "let's go carting" cuz carting is not the same as go-carting, and the fact that you have to say "go" twice is just fucken craaaazy! Hahahahooohooo ahhhhhhhh... I love it!

Yes, I know, that is just so retarded but I was saying this to my friends today and apparently I was the only one who thought it was fucken bonkers that you have to say "go" twice and it all just sounds weird... yeah okay, I'll leave it alone. But if any of youz out there finds that funny, lemme know so I don't feel like a loner on this issue. Alrrrrrighty...

Now, on to bigger and better things... I'm thinking pets right about now, and what I'm wondering is why the hell don't I have a frickin pet! Oh yes, yes, yes... now I remember... it's all coming back to me now.

Grade 1 I believe it was, when I was residing on the west side of Kirkland. It was a rough side of town back then, but being the solid young lad I was, I managed. I didn't really have any good friends before grade 2, so when it was revealed that my family was getting a goldfish, I was ecstatic. I would watch my dad feed that fish everyday until one day, when I was feeling responsible (and bored), I decided to take it upon myself to feed Ernest.

Okay, Ernest wasn't his name, but I forgot if this fish guy actually had a name and Ernest was the first name that popped into my head for some odd reason.

So yeah, I was thinking Ernie was looking a lil famished that day. A couple of hours after feeding him, I checked up on him and he seemed a little... how should I put this... he seemed a little dead.

It appears that lil Jonny Dy overfed Ernest the Goldfish to his death. Apparently fish can't handle buffet-type meals. I think I put enough fish food in there to feed a small school of fisheses. But there is no factual evidence for this folks, so don't place the blame on me just yet. And come to think of it, we're not entirely sure Ernest was dead. Yes, he was found floating silently on his side at the top of the dirty bowl he liked to call home, and yes most of the fish food I had unloaded into the bowl had disappeared, and so what if he was as fat as a blowfish upon removal from his dirt-filled water, but the fact that no autopsy was performed to reveal the exact cause of death proves that I am and forever will be innocent until proven guilty!

Geez... ladies and gents, as you can see, I still get emotional when I speak of this "mysterious" death cuz I must admit, I did become rather close to Henry... or whatever the fuck its name was. Poor bastard. Ah well, what can ya do?

I can remember this other time when my family took a young bird into the house to help it nurse its wounds. Well, actually, it was kept in the garage, tied to a ladder so that it wouldn't even think of flying away (reader's note: the bird had an injured wing... therefore tying it to a ladder might have done no more than aid in the inevitability of its death.

Oh shite, I just gave away the ending dint I).

Anyways, so I was playing road hockey, actually it was driveway hockey, with my next-door neighbor the day after we found this bird, who we had named... uhhh... (think jon, think!)... Cornelius... right, Cornelius was its name-o.

At that tender young age, I was blessed with a blistering slapshot that would probably put me on any NHL team, but apparently it wasn't too accurate. So from one side of the street I was taking shots at the net in front of my garage and this one shot took one bounce off the ground at lightning speeds, missing the net by a good foot, but striking the fledgling dead on, instantly killing Cornelius on impact!

It was a sad day in Kirkland let me tell you. We proceeded by burying Corny behind my neighbor's house, never to see his ailing body ever again, but we knew that in our hearts, he was to be with us from that day forth. I bet if he wasn't tied to that ladder, he woulda been able to dodge that bullet I shot at him. I guess I shouldn't have tied him eh? Heheh oops.

Actually, in a way, it was good that it hit him cuz he actually stopped the ball, and for all you ball hockey players out there, you all know how frustrating it is to lose a ball in your garage. Geez, I might as well have put fucken Cornelius in nets. What a save he woulda made eh? Now THAT woulda been going down in style.

This article of thought is dedicated to Ernest-Henry, Cornelius and to all those other overfed fish or abused birds tied to ladders found around the world.

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