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A Worse Idea 98

Unbeknownst to Bingo the Clown with Chainsaws for Hands, an assassin had been sent to kill him.

Her name was Stacy, and she was a very shitty scarecrow.

In her defense, we all have different strengths and weaknesses. For instance, when she got her hands on some Rutabaga, she could cook a great meal. She also liked sewing, farming, and watching the sunset.

Scaring crows? Not so much her thing.

This pissed off the magic-wielding farmer who had created her, Jedd. As he explained to her constantly over the years, feeding crows wasn’t a good way to scare them.

Still, she was a big softy-at-heart. She liked making the crows happy.

For this reason, Jedd signed her up for The Killer’s Gallery. Given her lack of experience, not many people had hired her. In fact, Anne, not paying much attention to qualifications, had been the first person to hire Stacy.

That’s why Stacy was practically quaking in her boots as she walked towards Bingo the Clown. Pitchfork in hand (a pitchfork given to her by mean ol’ Farmer Jedd), she crept up behind him.

“Fuck you up, doorknob,” Bingo squeaked at the doorknob. “Thought you’d get the best of me? Well you thought wrong, motherfucker. Bingo’ll fuck you up real good.”

Stacy raised the pitchfork in the air. For reasons we’ll get to in the next chapter, she didn’t get the chance to stab him.

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