Platypus II

My platypus bit me. “Don’t you dare bite me,” I said. “Too late,” it said. I threw it up in the air and it hit the ceiling. It fell on top of a table where it bounced and landed next to a mop bucket. It grabbed the mop and started to swing wildly at me with it. “Put that down or I’m going to lance you with it,” I said. “How medieval of you,” it said. It threw it at me for a distraction, and ran out the door down the street to the overpass where it crossed the tracks and slipped into an old warehouse formerly used by the state for storing plow trucks. Homeless people were drinking beer and smoking cigarettes outside the door. They stood in front of it. “We can’t let you in, sir,” a man said. “I just saw my platypus run in here. Let me in please,” I said. Another one stood in front of the door. “We can’t let you in sir,” he said. A helicopter rose out of the top of the building. “Sonofabitch,” I said. I picked up a rock and threw it up at the helicopter. It hit one of the blades and pushed it back through a window. I fought my way through them and ran up the stairs to the helipad where I entered another helicopter and gave chase. I bumped him and we both went down and landed in a lake. We swam for shore. “Let’s go home,” I said. “Game of Thrones on tonight?” It said. “No,” I said. “But we should be able to find it On Demand.” “Sweet,” it said. “Sweet, indeed,” I said. “It’s only the best show on television.”

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