Typical First Date
The moon sparkled off the pond like the flash of a thousand smiles. It made me nervous, like a crowd was watching me. I pushed the box into the river and watched it bob away. Everything was inside: the bloody knife, the drop sheets, and the towel I used to clean up. Everything but my blood-red embarrassment.
Talk about a disastrous first date.
Her name was Danielle and she was diamond tiara to my baseball cap. I took her to an abandoned farm to show her the stars, driving her Mercedes since she was afraid of getting her dress dirty in my geriatric Honda.
I hadn’t counted on the mutant cows. Who would, right? The milk’s not bad, I hear, but they’re nasty things: twenty feet long and mouths like an anaconda.
We were walking by the barn when a mutant cow—feral, I assume—leaped out and sucked Danielle down like a dandelion. She didn’t even have time to scream.
I got a pitchfork and killed the thing pretty quick, but then I had to get her out of its stomach. It took twenty minutes and when I was finally finished, she stood there, covered in gunk and blood and stinking like a garbage man with a soap allergy.
She drove off alone and shell-shocked, leaving me to clean up.
Maybe I’ll call her tomorrow. The second date can only be better, right?