Roaring down Main Street on a wheelie painting twin tracks of blackened asphalt from my explosive exhaust while bits of me are peeling off and tumbling in foetid trajectories to splat with rotten nice noises on various body parts of unwitting then horrified pedestrians is AWESOME!
But I gotta do something about this body of mine, I ruminate as I reenact the original daredevil move that had put me through an hospital and into the guts of a shark. Only this time I land square between the glass doors of a sex shop and plow through racks of dildos and sex wax. Shards of glass impale the only customer in the store, who happens to be my ex-girlfriend.
The clerk at the till has an expression of horror impossible to read because of the amount of piercings on her face. Of course she is horrified, who wouldn't be horrified when a whacked up snowman half shark half man and god knows what else bristling with embedded sex toys has crashed into her store and strides up to the register on dismembered limbs?
It is lucky my ex-girlfriend was in the store despite her state of bleeding to the death at my feet. She was a latex fetishist and in the day had insisted on wearing these rubber zip up suits. She made me wear one once, and I almost died of asphyxiation. This time around would be different. I pointed at an extra large latex body suit. Then I pointed at my ex-girlfriend and told the cashier her card was good for it.
Good old stud face at the register finally fainted when I removed my legs first, stuffing them into the suit, then my arm, then the rest of me, whatever I could fit. Then I put in my remaining arm and zipped myself up, gore squelching through the opening until I managed to get it shut.
Pieces of me, offal and bone and raw shark teeth pooled on the floor, and something resembling a gonad nestled in the unconscious stud face's hand. Go figure, I said, hoping to dear god it wasn't mine, mounting my invincible motorcycle to explode out of the back entrance on full throttle.