Writing Cramp 3/4/2014

With a smile and a wink, he placed two pennies on the counter. “I’m here to give you my two cents.” He said with a wink and a smirk. Ashley put her face in her hands and groaned. “That’s absolutely terrible.” He chuckled, grasping for a small flier. “No, THIS is tearable.” He stated, as he tore the flier in two. “Get out of here”, she said, smiling despite herself, “This is a punishment free zone.” The pun far from escaped him. “Did you hear about the sewer worker who was fired just yesterday? He couldn’t keep his mind in the gutter.” Lighthearted joke after pun after well worded and witty wordplay left his lips. Behind the pleasant facade, his mind was boiling, churning with thought. Not of the first artificial fish, the plastic sturgeon, that pun had been memorized years ago. One merely needs to go to a library, and read some books, and conversation is automatic. No, he was watching, looking at all the places he could put a Drano bomb. With just a few household chemicals, you could make an explosive device. How about that! He wasn’t a murderer; he just wanted to advance in the world. And so he calculated, and waited. Thursday night, the night before the party, he snuck in through the back door. He had put glue in the lock, and though it had been discovered sooner than he expected, by Ashley no less, he was fortunate that they didn’t even try to fix it themselves. He knew the only locksmith in town had plumbing problems of his own to address. Toilets just can’t handle a chocolate coated sponge like they used to. One of those large orange ones compressed and covered in melted chocolate. Slowly, the coating would melt and dissolve, due to the high oil content, and only then would it absorb water. The bar was a hit amongst his coworkers. And by coworkers, he knew his boss. It wasn’t a bad place, but it wasn’t a great place. There were so many nooks and crannies for bombs. Placing the bottles, painted black like the walls, in several random spots, putting his favorite one, that was put into a large whiskey bottle, instead of beer or wine like the others, went on the shelf, right where his boss normally sat. He could just imagine her grape of a head exploding. He had tested his home made wax and sugar composite, and he knew that it would last fifteen hours, almost exactly, in the Drano solution. It was all coming together perfectly. If his boss sat here between 8:00pm to 9:30pm, she would die, and he would most likely be promoted. It was just business. On the outside, he was a bright sun, warming those around him. On the inside, one could see the dark night of the soul, the twisted maniacal half. Or so Joseph convinced himself. However, he had not planted bombs. His boss would not die that Friday. But he would do the same thing he did every night. Plot to slowly advance within his place of employment!