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An Open Letter to All Impolite Hitmen! Started by: Fu-ManjuRourke on Jan 22, '09 14:03
Fu-Manju walked out to the street and shot a cop that was riding on a horse. He got up, settled down in the saddle and started to rant about something that had been bothering him for WEEKS!


"People of our violent and ever so profitable cities that house some many somnambulent inactive sleepers. I have been watching many people lately.


Yes ThomasRourke, that means YOU.


I have been living around these parts for years and have been shot at more times that can remember and I'm seeing a very disturbing trend happening around me, as the bullets fly.


I have in the past shot and missed countless lucky dogs who have lived to rob another 7-11 the next day.


NEVER ONCE HAVE I BEEN THANKED FOR MISSING!

One would think that they would be delighted! Happy, and yes, GRATEFUL L that I had such horrible aim, but NO, not a single word of thanks to me for my laziness at training my gun.



It seems that we are all just trying to shoot, miss and then run to chance the next sleeper and brag about it to the boys back home!


Have we all lost ALL SENSE OF HONOR AND DECENCTY?


Let me assure you that I will not rest or accept this situation, I shall be sending out form letters with pre-addressed enveoples (I cant expect them to spend the cash on the stamp, can I??).


I will even fold the letters so they can fit in nicely.


Have I ever missed sending a letter to someone who had the decency to miss a shot on me.


HELL NO!

MY MANNERS ARE PERFECT.


But I cannot come to expect this from the rest of the population.


Now you little worthless, mindless, tiny brained thugs!

Go forth and make Emily Dickinson PROUD OF YOU, or you will be waking up to find fish heads in your bed!


Fu grabbed the reins of the mare and galloped off to the sunset.

....When he reached the sunset, he got off and slipped in to the waiting limo and took off.
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I didn't know you felt so strongly about this Fu-Manju, but indeed you are not mistaken in your courtesy towards those who want to "gace/face/blap/pow" you and don't succeed. I swear though, I had meant to send a letter every time, it is obviously more the post office's fault than mine. So to rectify this I will be sending you Phatballz Rourke as my messenger henceforth to deliver my personal thanks to you. You are a savior of many, a hero who lives in kosher'd shadows.


However, for the rest of the population don't be too alarmed by Fu's statement, "you will be waking up to find fish heads in your bed!" He buys them from market, as he can't hit those either.
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Rourkey notices the man ranting on a horse and tips his sombrero to the long, gangly gent.


Excuse me sir, but I have a service that might be able to interest you. Please take a look at MY CARD.

Rourkey pours himself a glass of whiskey and departs.
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Thomas notices Rourkey didn't sip the whiskey, so he obliges the eccentric thousandaire.
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Rourkey smiles as Thomas leans over to take a sip of his whiskey. He knew that the arsenic would blend in well with the whiskey's strong flavours and be virtually undetectable.

As Thomas keeled over dead and the corpse slowly began to decay, Rourkey thought to himself:


Excellent, I may now take Thomas' place and ride the Marietta gravy train to Coolington Coolesville!
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Thomas falls over clutching his stomach, but was not dead, as obviously Rourkey was grasping for cyanide poisoning, not that of arsenic which proves fatal over a more prolonged poisoning regimen. It didn't trouble Thomas though, these are just the types of mistakes Rourkey made, and was very telling of the systemic issues within the community of the children being unable to read labels. Nevertheless, Thomas persevered and waited stalwartly for other folks that Fu-Manju missed to step forward. Rourkey was so gay and cherry-cheeked.
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Rourkey cursed Prozac for convincing him that thirty gallons of arsenic reduced into an extremely high concentrate would be enough to kill Thomas on the spot without detection. He decided it would be the last time he traveled to that specific Pharmacy anymore. Rourkey's sole condolence was that he was positive he wasn't interested in cyanide as that was apparently easier to detect in a corpse. Rourkey didn't want Marietta to be the wiser.

Seeing how his first plot failed, Rourkey shot Thomas in the head and buried his corpse in the Las Vegas desert. Thomas was never seen or heard from again.
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The Rourkes are having a field day.


Call me crazy, but I usually like to put the man who missed me 6 feet under, or toss him in the lake. I know this great place north of Vegas. Bodies don't surface. On the list of things to do to a man who shot me, thanking him is pretty far down there. I don't think it's a trend, because it's been this way as long as I can remember, and in all of my forefather's journals.
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Thomas saw Rourkey shoot the scarecrow he had dressed up as him and go on to bury it in futility. Thomas did this on a lark and was surprised that the heady rosebud known as Rourkey had seemingly overlooked the smile which was painted on to the head hurriedly. What's more is the scarecrow was egregiously not to scale, as it stood about 4'11, but he knew Rourkey had awful depth perception and it was a big reason as to why he thought he was well endowed. Thomas loved Rourkey anyway despite his faults. It was a good sitch to be in.
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A mousey woman who sat on a bench unnoticed listened to Fu-ManjuRourke's rant and watched Thomas' and Rourkey's antics stands up and clears her throat


"Excuse me but isn't the Hitman the one holding the gun, so do you need to apologize to yourself for missing? Aren't you just being impolite to yourself, per your title"
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Grumbles to himself after stepping in horse manure.
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Looking around PostMan seems to have read this earlier this week / just about a dfferent subject / was there a nerve hit here??
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now POSTMAN has a great idea!


you should thank the person who missed on you by writing them a poorly formed Haiku.

Trust me, they will never forget your good manners, nor will they forget the poem (as much as they try to!)
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