My kids have one of those inflatable boxing dudes. You know, the kind with water in a special compartment at the bottom which causes the guy to bounce upright no matter how hard you hit him? One morning I found him lying in the center of the living room floor, flat on his back. Some tragedy had befallen him, causing his water bladder to rupture and resulting in irreparable internal injuries.
I searched for his warranty. Alas, I was unable to find a 'living will' clause stating his wishes should he be rendered a quadriplegic with no hope of recovery. After a few days of watching him lay on his back, inflated but unmoving, never to pop up again no matter how many times my toddlers bodyslammed him then stood staring down at him in confusion and helpless anger, I decided a mercy killing was in order.
While the kids were out of the house, I held the dear blow up dude one last time, arranged his bulbous body over the kitchen sink, and stabbed that motherfucker right in the gut with the biggest butcher knife we own. His death was swift, the carnage great, the act shockingly satisfying.
Now a new blow up dude stands in our living room. This one previously held a position as a pirate before accepting our offer of free room and board in exchange for becoming a punching bag, so hopefully he'll better defend himself from whatever crime was committed against his predecessor. Still, I'm kind of looking forward to the next mercy murder.
