“I need a volunteer from the audience,” Paul requested.
Everyone looked at each other, puzzled by the strange presentation. No one stood up. “Are all of you chicken shits? Come on, volunteer goddamnit!” yelled Paul.
The flustered speaker scanned the auditorium for some poor bastard to pick on. Then he found him: a crew-cut jabroni, easily 6’3, with a potbelly poking through his tucked in polo. The man towered over the diminutive Paul. When he reached the stage, he crossed his arms in a defiant gesture. But Paul wasn’t intimidated.
“What’s your name sir?” Paul asked.
“Bill Hickman. Vice President of Development at Eckhart Automotive.”
“I see. And do you have children, Bill Hickman, Vice President of Development at Eckhart Automotive?”
Bill rolled his eyes. “I have two daughters,” he said.
“How old are they?”
“17 and 23.”
“Are they hot?”
“Excuse me?”
“Are. They. Hot?”
Befuddled and offended, Bill looked at the audience and then back towards Paul. “What are you getting at?” he asked.
“Answer the question Bill Hickman, Vice President of Development at Eckhart Automotive. Are your daughters hot? Meaning, would you fuck them?”
“You are one sick son of a bitch!”
“Come on, Bill! We’re both men! Just tell me!”
“I’m not gonna stand here and listen to this shit!” Bill said as he began to storm off stage. Paul was persistent. “They must be uggos then!” Paul taunted.
“One more word out of you mister…”
“It’s doctor!” Paul interrupted. “It’s Doctor Paul Westinghouse! I didn’t spend eight years in college just to be called ‘mister’ by pissants like you!”
“That’s it!”
Bill rushed the stage and punched Dr. Paul Westinghouse in the face. His thick wired framed glasses smashed onto his nose and blood instantly poured out. Laying on the floor, Paul removed the broken frames from his swollen eyes. “Is that the best you got?” the defiant doctor asked Bill. “Your daughter hits harder during foreplay.”
Bill kicked Paul in the mouth, knocking out several teeth. He then dropped to his knees, with Paul between his legs, and began relentlessly whaling on his face.
The audience sat in petrified silence. They looked to the sleeveless guards and then to each other. No one moved a muscle. It was only when Bill began to strangle Paul that a gaggle of audience members interfered.
“I’ll kill you!” Bill screamed as he was pulled away.
Paul struggled to get to his feet. Battered and bruised beyond recognition, he staggered to the podium to hold himself up. After cooling off, Bill began crying in a corner by himself. While everyone was in a state of shock, Paul spat blood onto the carpet and laughed. “Don’t worry, this always happens on the first day,” he assured the frenzied crowd, “please take your seats.”
Right when everyone sat back down, Paul collapsed to the floor. Everyone jumped to their feet again, but two sleeveless guards waltzed up to the stage to bolster him up. “Please be calm,” he continued, “there’s a lesson to be learned here: teamwork. None of us know each other, yet you all rushed to your feet to save me from certain death. We’re meant to work together. Regardless of the circumstances, we will find a way to work together, especially when it involves the certainty of death.”
TO BE CONTINUED…
The Internet Ruined Everything 