A NATION WEEPS AS A HERO IS SLAIN
Alden Ford, perhaps the greatest human being on Earth, was shot to death repeatedly this morning at approximately 2:30AM, as he was entering his apartment, by his lethal and unbelievably patient assassin, who had entered his building at 6PM and waited for EIGHT AND A HALF FUCKING HOURS until Mr. Ford returned home.
EIGHT AND A HALF HOURS.
More on Mr. Ford’s greatness in a moment, but first, the tale of the assassin: He had entered the building earlier that evening in hopes of catching his target on his way home from class, but unbeknownst to him, Mr. Ford never arrived home, having a show to perform and another to watch. The killer’s only option was to wait, in Mr. Ford’s stairwell, with nothing but a single graphic novel and an arsenal of foam weaponry.
Hours passed. Dusk turned to darkness. The lone graphic novel was long since read and reread.
More hours passed. Hunger, paranoia and mild hallucination began to set in. The thought of reading that damned comic book one more time made the bile rise in his throat. He had now met, and awkwardly explained himself to, every tenant in Alden’s building.
Still more hours passed. The isolation, frustration and pressure combined like a lethal cocktail of insanity which scrambled the assassin’s brain. The second hand of his watch crashed through his ears with every tick, driving him slowly mad, until the assassin realized he wasn’t wearing a watch. All thoughts of logic, reason and mental stability slipped away from the gunman’s mind but one: ELIMINATE ALDEN FORD AT ALL COSTS.
Finally, in the dead of night, a key in a lock. The slow trudge of feet up the carpeted stairs. Mr. Ford had returned home. And, just as his murderer hoped, no thoughts of self-preservation led him to look up the stairs with caution, as he had done so many nights before. Because, thought Mr. Ford, who the FUCK would be crazy enough to still be in his hallway at 2:30AM, having no reason to suspect where he had been or when he would return? Unfortunately for Mr. Ford, that foolhardy question was answered with a brutal barrage of darts and a novelty oversized dart fired from a Nerf cannon simultaneously. Alden Ford, a hero to us all, was dead.
His assassin’s words of victory:
“Can I use your bathroom?”
Look at that ridiculously huge dart.
Alden Ford will be laid to rest in the only way fit for such a luminary: his remains will be fed, molecule by molecule, into the Large Hadron Collider, the very building blocks of his majestic being smashing together orgasmically like waves onto the lonely Canary Islands, in hopes of creating a new universe inside our own. A universe in which, perhaps, someday, we might learn to love again.
Alden Winsor Ford was a champion and a paragon of virtue, genius and sensuality.
HIS ASSASSIN IS THE DEADLIEST AND MOST BADASS MOTHERFUCKER ALIVE. HE WILL WIN THIS COMPETITION. HE WILL DESTROY US ALL.
