Day LXXIX

Rabid dog

     Ken ran out of the window, barely making it out with his life. There was no where to run, so he came to the weather station looking for sanctuary. He looked pale, like he wanted to cry, he was in a panic, and looking for a place to hide. Thing is there wasn’t any, and the stupid asshole had to pick my shift to come looking for safety. He ran to the lieutenant’s office,

     “Sir ya gotta hide me, sir!”

     “What’s the matter airman?”

     “It’s a long story sir.”

     Before Ken was able to spill the beans about Mrs. Thomas, the sarge burst into the place. He came in looking for Ken, waving a loaded, cocked .45 in the air. The man’s face was as red as a Macintosh, and he was foaming at the mouth like a rabid dog.

    “Where’s that moderforker?” he yelled.

    “Where’s Kenny!” he screamed again.

    “I’m gonna kill dat sonuvabitch!”

     He stared me with his mad blue eyes, pointed the forty five at me, I really thought he was going to shoot me, and said

     “Haaay, ya a pal a his ain’t ya, wa is he?”

    “Yo sarge, ya knows I goes ina town alla time, and dat suckah never goes da. Ya na det sarge, ya na det!” I screamed at him.

     “Ya gots dat rite, Suckah, that’s what he is, and if he thinks he can make one out of…” he rambled on, and walked away from me. I blessed myself a bunch of times, and then I nervously burnt my fingers, as I fumbled trying to lite one up.

     Hey we all got real nervous, not knowing what to say, or do for that matter. Not knowing that anything we might have said, or done would have set him off, and made him start shooting everybody.