A Shot to the Sweet Spot

You're reading a man who, by all rights, should be dead, good people. And I don't just mean according to the doctors who do my physical. A few days ago I came this close (indicate approximately a foot and a half) to death. So close I could smell its breath, and let's just say death could use a Certs.

The hand-indicated distance is a fair estimate of how close the bullet of Boguslaw Sadowski came to killing me. I shit you not, good people. Apparently the mad "Russian" misjudged my height by just enough, not doubt thanks to the cowboy boots I had been wearing all last week prior to the duel.

Luck alone should not get all the credit, my lack of modesty prohibits. I was somewhat of a tactical genius in the art of dueling, extremely good for my first time out. One brilliant tactical maneuver was using the slap with the dueling glove to put one of Boguslaw's eyes out of commission for the duration of the duel. As I predicted, it went to my benefit. Let's just say I planned it that way and avoid further examination.

And never let it be said the Moonwalk is good for nothing. I knew my weeks spent learning to dance would eventually come in handy, and Moonwalking during a duel is a very handy way to close the distance between you and an opponent. Bigmouth Camembert may have insisted it was cheating, in the interest of fair play, but Boguslaw's English is not the best, and I believe he thinks "cheating" is the fastest of the earth-bound animals. In a way, that helped, too, because he was looking over his shoulders frantically when I fired my shot.

Never let it be said Rok Finger has no mercy, though. I would also appreciate it if you would make them quit calling me "queerbait." However, when it comes to the mercy, I had it in spades, as I only wounded Boguslaw with my shot. I attempted to aim for his heart, not because I'm such a bad shot, but because I knew it was the smallest target in the cruel bastard and I would most likely miss. Unfortunately, when I brought my gun up in my quick dueling manner, I did not realize how close in proximity we were, and fired my gun into his lower waist area. I believe "the goodies" is the medical term.

Well, let's just say he's not going to insult Rok Finger anymore. Not as a man, anyway. I even offered to go halfsies on his Swedish surgery, but he was too busy cursing in that Slavic language of his to appreciate it. Which is fine, more surgery for me.

The best part of all this was the respect I earned from Yogi, my whatever-in-law, Felchyana's cousin, and head of the vaguely-Russian mob. He complimented my unusual dueling tactics and said I fight like a Nazi, which is a good thing to them, I suppose. He slapped me on the back, and then when I tried to shoot him in the crotch, disarmed me, telling me he wanted me to save my strength to be a new lieutenant in his mob. Which is no small feat, as I did not know how to spell lieutenant before the promotion and had to look it up. I told him I would think it over, and promptly accepted, just to let him know who was boss. I'm not sure the point of it all, but it did keep him on his toes.

I know what you're thinking, good people: "But, Rok, how can you join the mob?" To which I say, fuck you. You've always been trying to keep me down. However, if you then said, "But, Rok, I mean, isn't it a moral quagmire at best? How do you feel about the idea of committing crimes after years of being an establishment tool?"

I respond, first, what's a quagmire? Then I thank you for your backhanded compliment, and admit I agree with you. What to do, good people? I have no doubt the mob is up to some less-than-legal activities. Now that I consider it, I'm not sure shooting a man in the jewels is completely on the up-and-up. I may already be on the slip-and-slide to hell. It is a question.

But don't give up on me yet, good people. I won the duel against all odds, maybe I'll be able to come out on top in the end after all. By the way, thanks all the same for all the funeral flowers and condolences sent to my home. I'll donate them to some dead people's charity.

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