Thoughts

Chapter:02

Welcome back, sorry sacks! Yes, that rhymes. I know. I know I would say that too. You might be thinking, isn't it torture to know everything that happens? No. Why? Because before I say it, or, technically, say it many times, I get a laugh. And I am laughing even now to myself, remembering everything I will say as you continue on. To Finn, this is real. This is reality to him. Not me. There is no reality to me. Which is why Hunter gives me such funny lines to say. He knows I know of him. He knows what I will say, and is giving me no power over what I get to say. Not slavery. I look at what you lonely dip-shits call slavery and I call it fun. I consider it as knowing what you are going to do, all day, everyday, and not having to worry about a thing. Hakuna Matata. Oops, looks like my time's up for now. Looks like I have to hand the mic over to Finn. Bye for now, my little lonely people! :(

Finn tapped his hands, still listening to the audiobook. He looked forward, staring at the driver, his face almost fully concealed by a fluffy, orange beard. Finn looked down. Stubby legs. Short arms. A little person. He watched as the little person got off the driver's seat, almost struggling to get off it. He walked back and forth, from the front of the bus, to the back. In a shrill voice he yelled, "Alright, fuck wads, I've been doing this damn job for 23 fucking years. And if you don't sit up straight, look me in my beady eyes, and pay attention," the driver pulled out a small purple plastic ruler and continued, "I will smack your sorry arms with this here ruler and make you wish you had such tiny fucking arms so that you don't feel as much pain." At that moment, all of the passengers eyes popped open, looking at the driver, and the driver pulled a cigarette out of his mouth, and laughed. A laugh that was eventually turned into a raspy cough, and it was obvious the small man had been smoking for a long time. The man began with history of the rickety train, which made even the most listening eyes become dotted with drowsiness. He then went on to the whole tour guide attitude saying bullshit like, "and to your left.." or, "my grandfather, Minkus the 17th, was born near...." then the train jolted off the track, skidding over the track, down a cliff.

Whee!What a thrilling ride! Spoiler alert! Finn survives! How,you ask? Simple. I saved his ass in his near-death experience. Do I hear a thank you? If not, I'll just say it: Your welcome! The author is making me say this, but, know it might not be true. I know you sad excuses for human beings need Finn alive, or where would the story go? Easy. In an early draft of this here book, Finn dies and your taken aback to a series of movie-like clips from his childhood. Let's call it, behind the scenes. If this story does end up on the little black box, television, or the big screen, the author wishes me to inform you that you are legally required to include it. Trust him. It's hilarious! And now, as a bland, boring-ass director would say, cut! Cut to black!