The Traveling Salesman
Dwight, a traveling salesman, sat on a bus with a briefcase in his hands. The deaths were so ironic. In every town he traveled to, he had witnessed someone's death. Of course, the reports of the death toll were staggering.
Instead of holding the briefcase, Dwight picked up a newspaper. The front page read “20 die on a bus heading to Busdeath, Indiana.” “Is it all a coincidence?” read another. “God's Wrath?”
Suddenly the bus was veering across the road. Many honks ensued.
The driver slowly pulled to a stop. “Everybody out!” he ordered.
With trembling hands, Dwight picked his briefcase up off the floor. He stood up. Slowly but surely, the passengers filed out onto the side of the road.
What was immediately obvious, as the throng gauged their surroundings, was that there was a gigantic red and yellow circus tent nearby, with an enormous banner which read:
Traveling Salesman Convention
Free marijuana to all practitioners of the Dark Arts.
(That means you, traveling salesman.)
For Dwight, it was a glimpse of Heaven. Mostly because he really wished he was stoned.
Dwight wasn't your typical traveling salesman. He was a secret genius who simply loved to travel. It didn't matter where he traveled to. It was the traveling itself that was the main part, and he had traveled in almost every conceivable way known to human kind. Bus, aeroplane, helicopter. He made a decent wage selling gas coupons to consumers.
He had almost forgotten what was on everyone's mind, the ironic deaths that seemed to be taking place. He was instantly torn between two worlds. On the one hand, who knew what wonders awaited in the tent. On the other, he could just read the headline now: Traveling Salesman Has A Heart Attack at Traveling Salesman Convention. But where else would you expect to find a traveling salesman?
He lifted his briefcase off the ground where he had set it, and began to make out for the tent. Traffic wasn't too bad, and after a short jog he was across the street. The tent seemed to be in the middle of a cornfield. He had no idea where the road that led to it was, so he decided to brave the corn.
The walk through the corn seemed to go on forever. It was much more claustrophobic than he had anticipated. He had to jump to see the top of the tent. But at last, he came upon a clearing, and in the clearing was the tent. He was near the entrance, and could see the people coming and going.
Directly in his line of sight was the most beautiful woman he had ever seen. He watched her enter the tent. All you could hear coming from inside were hushed “oohs” and “aahs,” as if those inside were witnessing something extraordinary.
He knew right then and there that this was the Devil's work. It was revolting how mesmerizing it all was. He knew that he was witnessing Hell.
But he was in love with the beautiful woman. So, he went in. People were coming and going, after all. Apparently Hell has an open-door policy.
As soon as Dwight stepped into the tent, it went silent and dark. There was a scream. A woman's scream, and he couldn't help but think, “Is that her?”
“Beautiful woman!” he called out. Faint giggles could be heard. Suddenly he felt a hand grip his. It was her; he knew it.
He hadn't moved. He was so close to the door, all he had to do was give her a tug and they would be outside. And he did.
And to his horror, he saw that the beautiful woman was actually a man.
And it drove him insane.
He began running around the tent, looking for a place where there were no people. He took his trusty lighter out of his pocket when he found a vacant spot, and slowly began setting fire to the bottom of the tent.
The tent was very flammable, and was soon a fiery inferno. The people inside came crashing out the entrance. But it was too late for 138 traveling salesmen.
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