King Krimson Posted:

The title: My day as a Catholic pageboy

And, rather predictably, the word: Sodomy.

“Aren’t you ready yet?”

“Yeah, just a sec,” I responded. “I think this tunic makes me look fat.”

”’Just a sec’ is not the same thing as ready,” said Sandra as she came into the bedroom. She looked at me, impatiently, as I frowned at myself in the mirror. “C’mon, let’s hit it. You look fine. A perfect pageboy,” she said. “Altar boy,” I corrected her. “Pageboys are those kids who are, you know, the ring bearers in weddings.”

“Well, whatever,” said Sandra. “If would make you feel more authentic, we can have some quick sodomy before we go. I’ll even let you call me Father.” “Ew, no,” I said. “But, you know, thanks. I’ll keep it in mind.” “Your loss,” Sandra said, shrugging. “But really, let’s go. Don’t forget your mask and bag. We’ll blend in perfectly with the trick-or-treaters on the street.”

We walked out of the apartment and down the street. Just before we got to the house, I turned to her and said, “You know, we don’t have to do this. Why don’t we just take off somewhere? Take a vacation? We have enough money by now.” Sandra stopped, turned to me, and said, “You can’t possibly be getting cold feet now. This whole thing was your idea. ‘One more job before the Feds get too close.’ Well, it’s one more job now and they’re one town behind us. Do you want to do this or not?”

“I’m just saying,” I explained, “if you don’t want to do this one, it’s okay. We can still walk away.” “Oh my god, you’re such a woman's genitals,” said Sandra, as she started walking. “And you love it,” I quipped, as I rushed to catch up. “Well, yeah,” she responded.

We arrived at the door and fitted our masks over our faces. Sandra rang the bell. A man answered in a zombie costume, holding a bowl of candy. “Back up and put down the candy,” said Sandra, through her mask, as she pulled a gun from her bag. “We want what’s in the safe and nobody gets hurt.”

And then so many things happened at once. The bowl of candy dropped to the floor, scattering the pieces. The zombie lifted his arm, pointing the gun from inside the bowl at Sandra’s chest. Three FBI agents rushed into the yard behind us and aimed their rifles at our backs.

The zombie yelled, “Freeze! Put down your gun, Sandra. It’s over.” And looking at me, he said, “Good job, Amy. We’ll keep up our end of the bargain.”

“You ****,” said Sandra, looking at me with disbelief.

“Yeah,” I said. “I know.