CALL THE PALM-BEARER, OR: THE MATCH STRIKES TWO
Late last night I received two emails telling the same story from two very different perspectives. The story in question: The grisly death of one GARRETT PALM.
First, the assassin’s tale (feel free to add your own punctuation where you see fit):
Earlier this week I texted one of garrett’s improv teammates and asked when they practiced and where, without suspicion. As i entered the lobby of champions studios i noticed a door off to the side that was lock but had a window that could see the whole lobby. So I got behind said door and waited. Then as Garrett passed the threshold, I kicked open the door with two guns blazing and a match in my mouth. I shot both guns and missed my target shot back also missed and ran around the room like a chicken with his head cut off. It was not enough I shot him down lit the match and utter, “Looks like you’ve met your match.” and left.
Side note. If I wasn’t given an extra gun tonight I would have been successfully killed by myassassin because Ben Rameaka Last year’s champ emptied the bullets from their chamber in my main piece. Stay away from BEN!
p.s. Also Garrett smaShed his gun in rage of defeat
And now, the same story from the perspective of the late Mr. Palm, redundant and identifying information omitted:
As soon as I stepped in the main lobby [my assassin] kicked the stairwell door open and a rain of bullets fell around me, some hitting my teammates that were between us. I fired my cheap one shot gun and missed. I almost bought a better gun before rehearsal tonight, but I felt like it would be cool to hunt down people with a cheap one shot knock off brand. Foolish hubris. As I went to grab my dart he hit me several times. I threw my gun on the ground in disgust and it shattered into several pieces. He started to walk out, then stopped, turned, and pulled out a match. “Looks like you’ve met your,” strikes the match on the doorway, “match,” but the match didn’t light. “Wait. Looks like you’ve met your” strikes the match on the doorway “match,” and the match lights. He left to the groans of my teammates.
There you have it, folks. Garrett Palm, a formidable assassin, fucked over by an inferior weapon. At least he was able to lend an assist in the still mysterious death of Molly Lloyd earlier that day. Good night, Mr. Palm.
Garrett’s assassin is on a killing spree. HE MAY HAVE A CORNY CALLING CARD BUT DEAD IS DEAD. PRAY THAT YOU DO NOT STAND IN HIS WAY.
ASK NOT FOR WHOM THE MATCH STRIKES. IT STRIKES FOR—
hold on a second.
—IT STRIKES FOR THEE.
