I slammed my beloved wife of a baseball bat down on the slender Asian's head. Blood splattered. I heard something pop. He coughed, trying to say something. But no one could hear him over my incessant talking.
"AHHHHH!" Maggie screamed. It took all my restraint to keep from saying "Nice haircut, babe."
"I'll kILL YOU!" Rick yelled, his voice hoarse from too many cinnabons. Sorry, wrong character.
Carl began to cry. Simon gave him a reassuring pat on the cowboy hat. I caused so much misery. I was both proud of myself, and ashamed. The young child could not handle this.
"I'll make you a deal, Rick," I said, leaning over the broken bearded man.
"I need my bOTTLE!" Eugene wailed.
"Because of all this pain, I can raise your son for you. I'll give him a lovely caring home. Sound good?" I offered.
Rick glared at me in disbelief. "No. You've already hurt enough people. Leave," he ordered.
I was furious. How dare he speak to me like that? "Fine," I shrugged. Then, bam. I smashed his skull with Lucille.
"DAD!" Carl cried.
"MY HUBBY!" Michonne shrieked.
"This isn't cANON!" Dwight yelled.
I smashed Rick's measly brain into what looked like spaghetti. Hungered at seeing something that resembled spaghetti, I picked up his brains and ate a bite. Mmm. They tasted like tomato patachini.
"Um," one of my subjects said uncomfortably.
Carl had passed out from the trauma. I neatly patted my tomato blood stained mouth with a handkerchief with a sewn in signature from my lovely wife Lucille. "Well, that was awkward," I commented.
"You ruined our lives," Eugene sobbed.
I kicked the fatty. "I will be taking Carl to live as my son," I announced, slinging the troubled teen over my shoulder.
"The Walking Dead is OVER!" Rosita screamed.
But it wasn't. A new season was starting, with Carl as my son.
