So it'll be April 1st in a little bit.
I hate April 1st.
I wish it was for some personal, understandable reason like I lost a loved one or something, but no, like a lot of people, I really hate April Fools Day.
And with that, i know a lot of people will tell me to take a joke, to lighten up, to have a bit of fun. But screw that, it's stupid, and I'm right to hate it, and you're wrong to like it.
...
April Fools!
...
You see how stupid that is? Why are we still doing this crap?
I sat out in the rain, waiting.
Not for either of them to apologise, I knew that wasn't happening.
Nor for either of them to realise that they were both wrong. No chance of that.
I wasn't waiting for some fourth party to intervene and solve the issue with diplomacy. Chances of that were small enough to be practically impossible.
And I certainly wasn't waiting for some sort of divine report card to win on points.
No, I sat in the rain and waited long enough to make sure the gas leak lasted long enough to do its job inside.
I approached the board, and three different muscular arms suddenly blocked my path. After a couple false starts where all three owners of said arms spoke at once, the closest to me ended up becoming spokesman.
"Beginner's Cup is over by the bathroom, Newbie."
I shrugged.
"I know, but I want to put my name down for the Open Challenge, it's open to all members of the Hunter's Guild, isn't it?"
There was much laughing, and then they let me put my name down.
Proof of kill being a pelt was changed after they found out I had a farm.
I stood at the Pearly Gates, trying to comprehend what I was being told.
"OK, let me get this straight."
"Sure!"
"When we die, we're judged, ok, not unexpected."
"Agreed!"
"But we're not judged on any one religion's moral structure?"
"Of course!"
"But rather we're judged as compared against a hypothetical best version of ourselves?"
"Gotta be fair about it!"
"OK, yeah, that all makes sense. But then it seems to me that you're giving everyone a fail!"
"Well it's not our fault none of you are discovering how to time travel, anyone can do that at any time.
Bye!"
The idea of two gunslingers meeting in the street at High Noon for a quick draw duel is more common in penny reels and pulp westerns than in real life. Most gun fights in town were dirty and undignified, someone pulls a gun and fires before the other one even knows what's happening.
But there was one time, Black Thompson managed to convince the US Ranger to a duel, whole nine yards.
And when the two men met in the street, the quickest draw won, in this case the Ranger's backup drawing on Thompson's hidden assassin behind the public bath.
I asked for silence, but got more noise instead.
I gave it a moment, then asked for silence, again, a little louder. The noise got louder in response.
I debated my next step carefully. Just raising my volume a second time would be pointless, that clearly wasn't going to work.
I decided, instead, on starting my prepared statements, hoping that ot would become obvious to all that they should stop talking at this point.
I'd gotten halfway before there was any noticeable change to the volume of the crowd.
Unfortunately, it was a change towards a still higher volume level.
As one of the content moderators for a major social media platform, he was often on deck whenever a supervillian or natural disaster broke out. And he'd almost always head to the bathroom or find some other excuse to head off, and then the Custodians and other superheroes would turn up and save the day, and he'd return after everything was settled.
Naturally, this led to the office joke that he was secretly Greatguy or Fastperson. But then the jokes turned serious, and they forced him to stay.
And found out he wasn't a superhero, just violently ill over death.
