Devil King Of Children

As the two monster trucks completed their carnage, a cloud of smoke and dust nearly consumed the civic center. Spotlights raced around the auditorium in a low-budget frenzy for production value, and the crowd roared like a trailer park monster.

When the dust settled, so did the applause, almost as if the crowd was bracing itself for whatever was next. The smoke began to clear, and the lights slowly dimmed until, finally, the last spotlight settled on an elderly stagehand in a red gingham shirt and faded over-alls, carrying an old metal pail full of oats, and leading a huge, black and white milk cow to the center of the auditorium.

He stopped in the middle of the arena and put down the pail. The cow also stopped, lowered her head, and began to eat from the pail. The stagehand walked off as the spotlight remained on the cow, leisurely enjoying her meal.

Suddenly, a second spotlight appeared in the corner of the floor, on a 300 pound man dressed in army boots, camouflage pants, a plaid, black and red flannel shirt, and a sweat-stained foam and mesh Charlie Daniels Band baseball cap. He held a 16 ounce can of Lone Star beer in one hand, and a double-barreled shotgun in the other.

The crowd immediately began to cheer approvingly, as if they recognized the man and was glad to see him. He opened the beer, and completely guzzled it down without stopping, although a lot of it poured down his beard and neck. He crushed the empty can in his hand, threw it to the ground, and began walking towards the cow.

There was suddenly an odd hush in the civic center. The man with the shotgun stopped about 10 yards away from the cow. He pulled out two large bullets from his shirt pocket and loaded the gun. The sound echoed through the eerie silence of the room, eliciting a few nervous murmurs in the crowd. He then took aim at the cow, who was casually preoccupied with her lunch. For about half a minute, the gunman just stood there, aiming at her, as if he was waiting for something to happen. The cow slowly ate from the metal pail. Although the crowd remained virtually silent, one could sense a chaotic tension building. At one point it was so quiet that you could actually hear the animal chewing. The gunman just stood and aimed, completely still, like a statue. The crowd waited.

Then, after a few moments, the cow stopped eating, and, as if she had just noticed her surroundings, lethargically turned her head towards the gunman. Suddenly a loud crack reverberated through the auditorium. At the very same moment the cow's head exploded into a crimson web of velvety chunks. The rest of the animal immediately collapsed to the ground, violently convulsing as blood careened out of the ragged, gaping hole in her neck.

At first the crowd shrieked with horror, but then began to cheer wildly as a rodeo clown dressed in blue O.R. scrubs and a surgical cap quickly appeared and pretended to "diagnose" the headless bovine corpse with an oversized gag thermometer and stethoscope. The rodeo MC then walked over to the scene with his microphone, and with mock concern, asked the rodeo clown:

"Doctor, will she be alright?"

To which the rodeo clown responded:

"Tell her to take two aspirin and call me in the morning."

Suddenly, as if on cue, the opening chords of "Rock You Like A Hurricane" began to blast through the house PA system. A team of dirt bikes raced out from the side door of the auditorium and started doing jumps and tricks over the dead cow. The spotlights resumed frenzy, and the crowd once again erupted with applause. A bunch of kids ran down to the front to slap hands with the gunman as he walked towards the beer tent.