Dakota Blue
Charlie sat at the edge of his dock, against his cherished Viking yacht. He thought to himself about his wifes.
Those bitches could probably get shot with the harpoon gun and no one would notice, not even the kids, not that it would matter should they take realize.
He puffed on his cigar and walked the short distance up the boarding ramp, he needed a drink. He opened the door to the bar and shooed away Matilda, his fourth wife.
Get me a brandy, whore!
He laughed voraciously as if he would let anyone else get his drink; he went behind the bar to fix it. The dog was in its keep, as he always was. ‘Chaplin’ was its name and it was deaf. But withered and wrought wry by the sea, he understood body language better than most humans. Chaplin was the only creature that Charlie cared for on the yacht.
Fuck those bitches, all they care about is my money, I’ll get ‘em shitfaced and break their faces…It's not like anyone needs to look at them…
He took another sip of brandy and poured a cup for Chaplin.
My goddamn harpoon gun hasn’t been used in years…I bet that would go through them like a hot knife through butter. Even better if they were in a row, how could that be arranged? A conga line, possibly. I’ll have a grand party! Usher the kids off the boat; get all my ducks in a row…
He chuckled at his joke.
…and then I’ll shoot them all with my harpoon gun.
He stumbled to bed content with his idea.
Charlie awoke to his dog adjusting his position under the covers. He grumbled something he’d picked up in Wales and rung the bell. Dzamila came to the door, just like every morning.
Dzamila? Get Janice, I need to plan something. And also,
Yes?
--don’t fucking interrupt me—I need some tea.
She left, much to his delight. It wasn’t long before Janice arrived; he had just begun to start dozing off.
Aye: Janice. I need to plan a party with lots of conga drums and lines.
Yes.
This means that you need to get all of the girls together and each find something in the storage closet for you all to wear. I want it to be tonight and I want it to be excellent. Send the kids to Jacob at the house.
Yes, would you like food and drinks?
Well, we don’t need drinks, it’ll be held on the first floor with the bar room on it. Foods… get a couple chickens from around the dock.
He beckoned for her to leave and swiftly returned his dreaming. He woke up later to find it was midday. Chaplin licked his face and laid his head back down while Charlie got up and put on cologne to make up for his lack of hygiene. The party would be soon and he needed to check on his lovely harpoon gun.
Charlie went down to the engine room where he knew the gun to be. He opened its case after unlocking it with several keys. His eyes widened as he realized how fulfilling it felt to see the weapon that would end all of his suffering, swearing a couple times.
He took it back to his cabin and prepared to clean it. No bitch of his would clean his prized weapon. He carefully took the oil and did the gears. The rope would be unimportant as he did not seek to catch anything, but it seemed to be intact. Everything was to plan. He dropped a floor to the bar and got a couple more brandies.
Dzamila was back from the storage room with the rest of his wifes,
The occasion is near, Charlie.
She advanced upon him; he was sat in a chair with his brandy. Dzamila flung herself at him, taking off her clothes and rubbing herself all over him. He slew his drink at her!
What are you doing!!!! I did not ask for anything. Depart at once before I have to cancel the whole party…
He had trouble containing his laughter, there would be no cancellation.
Exx-cuse my insolence, Mr. Charlie…I will be with the others on the deck.
He heard music going, tropical just like he wanted.
When Charlie got to the deck, Chaplin soon came to his feet, circling him a few times and staying by his side. The wifes were all sat down on the long wooden bench.
Get up! Let us dance!
His sixteen wifes got up and started to move around awkwardly.
Dance together! A conga line if you want!
He went upstairs to get his harpoon gun. Noone saw him, it would be clean.
The wifes had assembled in the straight conga line, just like he wanted.
He aimed his harpoon gun at the back of the line. He fired and instantly all of the wifes went limp. They hung like marionettes on the rope, a clean bullet-like assault.
Feeling accomplished he sat down the harpoon gun in the case and went to the bar to get a brandy.
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