Why?:Some guy pulled you over, dragged you out of your car, and beat you to death with your bare hands

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If he had this on him, we probably wouldn't be talking right now.

You're driving down the road one day, minding your own business, when all of a sudden, someone runs you off the road, rips off your car door, drags you out of your car, bites your hands off, and starts to pummel you to death with your own hands. Between punches, your asailant is screaming profanities at you as loud as he can. You can't take much more; within a few minutes, you will pass out from pain and bloodloss, and you will not wake up.

During your last few minutes of life, you may be wondering, "Gee, I wonder-OW!-why this guy-OOF!-decided to drag-NOT THE FACE!-me out of-OH GOSH IT HURTS!-my car and-I CAN'T FEEL MY LEGS!-beat me to death?-GOD, TAKE ME NOW!" Well, it's a long story; I'll try to finish it before you're finished.

This Morning[edit]

Shouldn’t have messed with Kenny.

The whole thing started this morning. When the man - whose name happens to be Francis - woke up, and found that there was a cockroach sitting on his face. It wasn't just sitting on his face, however; it was punching his face, vainly hoping to knock Francis out so that he and his friends could raid the fridge in peace all day. Francis was not amused, and immediately swatted the roach... while it was still on his face. After he washed the bug juice off his face, he noticed that there were hundreds of roaches at the foot of his bed. They swarmed all over Francis with cries of "Remember Kenny!", and carried him out the door of his house. Francis decided that it would be folly to try to get his work clothes from the house, so he went to work in his pajamas.


"Hey Francis, guess where you're going!".

Francis had a hard time concentrating at work, mostly because he was trying to figure out a way to reclaim his house from the cockroaches before his wife returned home. A few weeks ago, she saw a cockroach on the ceiling in the sitting room; today, there is a skylight in the sitting room that has roughly the shape of a shotgun spread.

Francis' boss came into his cubicle during one of these inattentive moments, noticed his unusually informal attire, and decided, not to fire Francis after forty-one years of loyal service, but to transfer him to the company's office in Sudan after forty-one years of loyal service. After he informed Francis of his decision, he returned to his office to call a moving company. Francis' only consolation was that he no longer had to reclaim his house, but now had to explain to his wife of forty-two years that he had to move to Sudan

His Wife[edit]

During Francis' lunch hour, his wife called him. Francis was just about to explain the situation of his job when she told him that she had been cheating on him. With his brother. And his bowling team. And his mother. And their twenty-one year old daughter. For two years. She then said that all seven of them were fifteen miles from town, heading for Las Vegas to start a band called "Francis Sucks Rocks", and that as long as he sent them seven hundred dollars every month, their daughter wouldn't accuse him of molesting her as a child.

On the way home[edit]

This isn't mariachi; this is musical hell.

During Francis' drive home, he tried to take his mind off the day by listening to some oldies on the radio. Unfortunately, his radio chose this moment to catastrophically malfunction. Now, if it had simply crapped out, it might have prevented your untimely demise. By the way, your nose is bleeding; thought you should know. Anyway, it didn't just crap out; it got stuck on a Spanish-language station that was broadcasting live from "La Batalla de los Mariachis en Mexicali, Baja California!" For a solid hour, Francis was forced to listen to local "talent" playing off-key Spanish-language polka with trumpets.

The Last Straw[edit]

Francis continued down the road, barely enduring the "music" by repeating to himself, "No hay banda! No hay banda!", when all of a sudden, he got cut off! By you! You insensitive jerk, you zipped right in front of him, darn near caused an accident! As it turns out, that was just a bit more than he could take. He sped up, ran you off the road, dragged you out of your car, and the rest is history.

The moral[edit]

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Now that you know why you were dragged you out of your car, and are currently being beat to death with your own hands, what can you learn from this experience so that it never happens again? Well, as it turns out, you can't learn anything of value, because in a few minutes, you will have shuffled off this mortal coil. However, the people passing you on the left are probably learning to never pick up hitchhikers.