Local Surgeon Killed in Gas Explosion: Dr. Sean Killroy, 29, a prominent plastic surgeon of San Francisco, died yesterday evening in an explosion at his Russian Hill apartment. Investigators believe Killroy accidentally set off the explosion when he struck a match to light a cigarette, unaware that his apartment had a gas leak. The explosion also claimed the life of Killroy’s neighbor, Betty Mulroney, 86, who was found in Killroy’s apartment. Authorities believe the two victims had been friends...
Betty and Sean. Friends. How lovely. More newspaper half-truths.
Here we are now, entertain us
A professional picture of Sean smiling in a white doctor’s coat with a stethoscope around his neck accompanied the article, which continued with a discussion of the dangers of smoking, the impact tobacco has on daily life, and how this tragedy could have been avoided if Dr. Killroy, who was a doctor and should have known better, had quit smoking.
Guess Sean should have heeded the warning on cigarette packages:
SURGEON GENERAL’S WARNING: Quitting Smoking
Now Greatly Reduces Serious Risks to Your Health
That was certainly true in his case.
But Sean had gotten part of his wish.
He had wanted to be cremated. The explosion certainly took care of that, but too bad Betty hadn’t been alive to choke on his ashes. At least the rest of his neighbors would.
At least, I did. Just like a good little Chinese mantis.
I considered the portrait of the Blood Countess decorating my computer desktop. So outdated. By over four hundred years. It was time for an upgrade. Time to go fresh, young, modern.
I clicked on Sean’s picture from the article and set it as my desktop background. Much better.
“Who’s that?” someone would eventually ask.
“The love of my life,” I would tell them.
“Lucky you.”
Yes, that’s what someone would say.
Sean definitely looked better than the Blood Countess. All that blood did absolutely nothing for the woman. She still died in the end, just like everyone else. What a psycho bitch.
Sean smiled at me from my desktop. Reminding me to give it to Doreen, if she asked for it.
Reminding me I didn’t need a hymen.
Reminding me I could handle the Dons and Freddies of the world. Or any other boy my father threw at me.
A denial
I have no idea why Cobain screams “a denial” a gazillion times at the end of “Smells Like Teen Spirit”. No one does, actually. That’s the great thing about the song. No one really gets it.
So you can pretend he’s saying anything you want.
It sounds like he’s mumbling “bloody liar” to me. It really does. Listen to it. But then again, Weird Al Yankovic made a good case in his video parody of Nirvana that Cobain was screaming “Sayonara.”
Oh, what the hell.
Cobain was cooked to the gills on drugs. If anything, you have to give him a break and blame the drugs.
So yeah, I’ll cook for you.
Bloody liar
I’ll wash your clothes.
Bloody liar
I’ll have your two and a half brats.
Bloody liar
And suck your cock. Just like a good Hello Kitty.
Bloody liar
Hi, I’m Fiona Yu.
Sayonara
And it’s so very nice to meet you.
Whatever.
THE END
Angela S. Choi is a writer who lives in San Francisco, California, where she refuses to be anyone’s mother or hole-in-a-mattress. Born in Hong Kong, she is proficient in the art of profanity in both Cantonese and English. She practiced law until she no longer wanted to live life in six-minute increments, and so took up the pen at the tender age of 30. When she is not writing, she spends her time molesting her fat parakeet, Meatball, who is arguably the best toe-nibbler in the world. Hello Kitty Must Die is her debut novel.
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Hello Kitty Must Die Page 19