Beautiful When We Go

They call it suicide by police now. Can you fucking believe that? They’ve sucked all the rebellious romance out of dying in a hail of police bullets. Suicide by police, what the shit?!! So, John Dillinger – suicide by police. Bonnie and Clyde - suicide by police. Thelma and Louise, just plain suicide, I think. I guess that would make Lee Harvey Oswald a “suicide by vigilante night club owner”. Why do they always try to take away my fun?

Right, Sugar Plum? Honey? You’re not saying much. Awww, why the long face? Come on, Gum Drop, we talked about this. It’s what we wanted. You wanted out of this relationship and I wanted out of my dead end job. It’s a win/win situation. Right? Are the cuffs too tight? Yeah, sorry about that. I didn’t know your wrist size and the clerk was giving me the once over already. I had to play like it was a gag gift for a friend.

‘Heh! Fortieth birthday,’ I said to the guy. And you know what? He nods knowingly. Get that? He nods and smirks like EVERYBODY gets people handcuffs for their fortieth birthday. Sick fucking world, eh, Honey Plop. I’m glad neither of us is gonna make it to forty – a bunch of handcuffs would suck.

I don’t think it’ll be long now. I’m not real good with math, so the bomb might go off whenever. Man! You are howling up a storm, Buttercup. I don’t think you’re heart’s really in this pact and I don’t appreciate being lied to. You know, you were just as into this as I was. You were totally swept up in the romance of it. Don’t deny it. You thought us dying together would be beautiful. Remember? You said it that night at Denny’s. You know, the night Parker and Lindsey showed up with their World of Warcraft characters tattooed on their arms. Dorks. My only regret about dying here in a few minutes is that I can’t rub their noses in it when they’re, like, forty and they still haven’t been laid.

HA HA HA! I’ll get them each a pair of hand cuffs. HAHAHAHAHA.

Wha? You never think I’m funny. You used to think I was funny all the time. You’ve changed, Snookums. Something’s not right in you now. You’re all mopey all the time. I don’t know how much more I can take. I mean, for better or worse, sure... but man, you make me work for it. Look, this bomb and these sparklers and roman candles will make everything better. We’ll be something beautiful in the end... you know, even though we were kind of shitty to each other most of the time. We’ll be beautiful, Angel.

This bomb will light off that string of Chinese firecrackers. Those will set off the row of bottle rockets and those roman candle that will ignite the sparklers that will spell out our names: “Don and Tonya Forever”. That’s so cool! Too bad I didn’t have time to set up the domino display. That would have been wicked awesome. The bomb blows us to smithereens and the concussion knocks over, like, fifty thousand dominos. Sweet.

I wouldn’t worry too much. I think the explosion will be big enough to kill us instantly. No no. Shhhhhh. Listen, I swear it’s the most romantic thing. You know how they are always saying “two become one”? You know how they say that? It’s not really true, even with sex it’s not. Right? I can stick a pencil into a pencil sharpener and they don’t become one thing. I’m not stupid. It’s that poetry crap. But a big boom? A giant fire ball and explosion sending parts of us in all directions, bits and pieces of us raining down on the bowling lanes here... that’s real. That’s two becoming one.

You probably didn’t even notice which lane we’re about to explode on. Lane 11!! Yup. Good ol’ lane 11. You remember don’t know. We played this lane the night I told you that I love you. So, I thought... you know... let’s bookend it here. You probably don’t see it that way. You probably don’t remember what it took for me to tell you that I loved you. See, it’s all for the best. Let’s just end it all right here, in a bowling alley, surrounded by a final pyrotechnic display. We’ll be beautiful when we go, Tonya.

You think Mr. Tedstowe is gonna be mad about his bowling - - -

boom