Frank Castle is dead because he was in the boot of my car. Well, I had a Punisher poster in there. It all began a few days ago when I got a call from the “Farmer”. He didn’t have my new address & wanted it to send me something, or so he claimed. He asked for my postcode, followed by my street name, & I voluntarily gave him the door number, being the nice guy that I am & knowing very well the idiot that he could be. That was some days ago.
Following this up, I had a small online conversation with said “farmer” 1 day ago {a.k.a yesterday}, in which he proved my point that he could be an absolute idiot at times. He asked me how to spell my surname. Why is this idiotic, one might ask? Well firstly, because said “farmer” and I have been acquainted for some 6 years now, and secondly because there are plenty of places where he could look up this vital piece of information, including the top of the very window this online conversation was occuring in. That was 1 day ago.
This morning is when it all happened. I was watching somebody get electrocuted to death, as you do on a saturday morning, *cough* ..on a preacquired television program I might add & when it felt surreal that I could smell the burning, it was almost too real.
In fact it was real, as soon as I began to investigate, I noticed smoke entering my kitchen window & as I (not-so smartly) approached the window I heard the fire engines blaring their sirens & skidding round the corner of the cul-de-sac that I refer to as ‘home’. To my shock & horror/joy & excitement, I found two cars on fire outside in the parking bays. One was my fellow neighbours, whose face/name I know not to date – & the other was my own.