Heads Will Roll

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Ethel and I were driving home from someplace. We passed an accident on the other side of the road. She said, “Don’t look! Don’t look!” I looked. I saw a head rolling down the street.

We used to jump the train for kicks. Well, I did it once. But it sounds better in the first sentence. When I did it the train was barely moving. And I didn’t actually get on the train. I just jumped up on the railing, held on for about thirty or forty feet and then jumped back off. It was fun. Not exactly daredevil fun but at least I could say I hopped a train.

The train ran right through the center of town under a bridge. Some older kid jumped the train and fell and got his head chopped off.

The chief of police was arrested for shooting somebody with a shotgun.

The chief of police had his head blown off with a shotgun.

Doug Bostwick hung himself by the head.

Randy was retarded because he opened the closet door and found his father hanging in there by his head, dead.

I was riding my bike fast down Partridge St in front of the house. My front tire turned sideways and I went flying over the handlebars. I landed on the pavement head first. Later that day I went back and looked at a patch of my head skin on the asphalt.

This lady with huge tits rode a horse up the street. Her tits went boing boing boing, up and down. Clop clop clop.

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