Dead Clown Barbecue Read Free Page B

behind my back and made me swallow a piece of gum he'd been chewing. Shortly thereafter, I was added to his biweekly schedule of beatings. My hatred grew with every punch to the stomach.
    The physical violence stopped after graduation, but I was horrified to discover that Tom Booth and I were not only attending the same college, but his room was directly above mine in the dormitory. So when he stole my girlfriend Maggie away from me, I had to listen to him make vigorous love to her.
    I also listened to him cheat on her. I happily told Maggie about it and invited her over to listen to the evidence, and felt a warm happy glow inside as she stormed upstairs to confront them. I sneered as I listened to the sounds of an argument above, but these were followed by the sounds of laughter, and then the sounds of him making vigorous love to both of them at once.
    Oh, how I despised Tom Booth!
    We graduated college. I went to work at an entry-level position at a heartless corporation, while Tom Booth vacationed around the world on money from his parents. Two years later, I was promoted out of the copy center into an administrative assistant position, which primarily involved making copies. A week after that, to my unimaginable horror, my boss left the company and was replaced by the man I abhorred most in the entire world.
    As you might expect, Tom Booth was an abusive boss, demanding and condescending and almost always unsatisfied with the quality of my work. I wanted revenge so badly that I could taste it. I'd be eating a bowl of Apple Jacks, and the taste of revenge would sour the milk. Even my beloved gummi bears tasted like revenge. I was miserable.
    I desperately tried to get even with him, but every attempt was a humiliating failure, particularly my plan to season his coffee with a generous portion of my own saliva. It was clear that my efforts at revenge were cursed.
    And so I turned to the supernatural realm.
    Strange Playthings was a four-hour drive away, but I didn't mind, even when I ran out of gas and had to accept a ride from a sweaty bearded man who complimented my kidneys. I returned home with a 350% increase in my credit card debt and a Tom Booth voodoo doll.
    I couldn't wait to go back to work on Monday. I giggled during the entire drive, ignoring the strange looks from my fellow motorists. Oh, Tom Booth, this would be your day of suffering! I wouldn't kill him. Not today. I'd stretch his misery out for weeks. Months. Years. Perhaps a lifetime of vengeance!
    Monday morning, I sat in my cubicle, waiting for him to arrive. At the very first sight of his phony grin, I very slowly inserted a needle into the right arm of the voodoo doll.
    He didn't react. Even when the tip of the needle protruded from the other side he didn't react. I switched to the other arm. Nothing. Legs, chest, face . . . my voodoo doll didn't do a thing. I took a pair of scissors out of my desk drawer and began cutting, desperately hoping to see a hand or ear fall to the office floor, but even when I was left with a handful of doll pieces, the tyrant sat happily behind his desk, completely unharmed.
    I spent the rest of the week alternating my thoughts of hatred between Tom Booth and the bitch who'd sold me the defective voodoo doll.
    That Saturday I returned to Strange Playthings and angrily sprinkled the doll parts on the front counter. The elderly shopkeeper invited me into the back room, where she read my palms and analyzed my aura.
    "Your vengeance is indeed cursed," she informed me. "A mere voodoo doll will not suffice."
    "So what should I do? Bash him over the head with a shovel? Shoot him?"
    The shopkeeper shook her head. "The shovel would slip from your grasp and strike you upon the nose, staining your face with blood of shame. And a bullet would not penetrate the skull of your enemy, but rather find its way into your own toe."
    "Dammit!"
    "Do not worry, vengeful one. All is not lost. For the price of a few coins more charged to your Visa, I