a nice day for a game

a nice day for a game, ¿isn’t it, gunner, ol’ boy?.

with a polite smile, gunner returned, yes, my leader, sir.

they sat @ their seats in front row & gunner forced himself to take bites o’ his popcorn despite his lack o’ appetite & forced himself to laugh out loud ’long with great milliam, leader o’ gall for life, as he watched the game being played by gan bourners, 1 o’ gall’s most celebrated poets, who had made the mistake o’ writing ’bout a slimy vampire who, it seemed to some people, seemed similar to milliam, which had led milliam to interpret it as a stealth insult gainst him.

the game was simple: on each round, gan would have a hand or a foot or an arm chopped off — without anesthetic, ’course — & would have to hit this strange-shaped organ with its weird air dynamics, with his golf club into the hole, which, you can imagine, becomes harder later on, when the player is trying to hold himself up by just his torso. the # o’ hits ’bove par is the # o’ bludgeons applied to his body.

’ventually the player collapses, completely unable to continue playing, @ which time he is beheaded — but using a special gallean technique that leaves the player still ’live — & his head is played on the last course by a gall’s star golfer. it is only after the head enters the hole that its person is finally granted the mercy o’ death, & what is left o’ his body taken to be reused as meat for prisoners.


death, player, goal