Larry was the kind of guy to get all fucked up on penicillin
and drive around town plugging his neighbors full of large-caliber ammunition
. So when we (that is to say, Ernie, Quiet Rob, Ma, Phil's dog, myself, Sodomizing Stan, and the Buster Boys) decided to take Large Larry
down, it was a massive undertaking.
The first thing we did right off the bat was kill Ernie's wife. We were going to need her small intestine and pacemaker if we were going to have any chance of eliminating The Larry Threat. Plus, she had some long-standing debt with the Buster Boys which displeased them greatly, and her voice was as shrill and grating as a rusty weather vane. Anyway, Ernie was too drunk to notice me and Phil's dog cramming Arlene into the pizza oven, so no harm done.
Second, we called up the Dalai Lama and ran our plan by him. Phil's dog has this thing about not being a part of any conspiracy unless his religion allows him. The Lama gave tentative approval, and that was good enough for Phil's dog. Hence, it was good enough for us.
Third, we fired up Stan's NES and played about 6 hours of Marble Madness. They used to think I was crazy, but time has proven that our "With Marble Madness Conspiracy Success Rate" is nearly double our "Without Marble Madness Conspiracy Success Rate." The others don't really have the in-depth understanding of hand-eye coordination that I possess. Nonetheless, the game is hard as fuck without Game Genie.
Fourth, we wrote the Academy Award-winning motion picture The Gladiator, starring Russell Crowe. Sodomizing Stan had wanted an Oscar for a long time, mostly because he's never sodomized anyone with an Oscar statue before. Let me tell you something, that boy can write like the wind when he's inspired. We all chipped in though, because we needed the Oscar to take advantage of Larry's obsession with shiny objects.
Fifth, we stole all the guns and ammo from Larry's house, exceptin' the loaded .22 Larry keeps in his underwear 24 hours a day. No need to have that fucker sending us to the pearly white gates a couple years early. While we were there, I stole his DirectTV dish and Stan sodomized Larry's babysitter. Quiet Rob put Larry's baby daughter in the fridge, to ensure future freshness. That sick puppy Large Larry was out raping cats (after all, it was a Wednesday morning), so we were able to get off his property relatively unmolested, with bounty in hand.
Sixth, we used all that live ammo to blow up City Hall. That building's always been ugly as sin, and there's no way the government was going to give up on it. Improved the skyline by a factor of pi to the fourth, and made a pleasing explosive sound which Quiet Rob found invigorating.
Seventh, Ma and Phil's dog came up with the great idea of killing the Buster Boys before they spilled the beans to the feds. We didn't have any evidence that the Boys were actually planning such a thing, but I certainly slept better at night, comforted by recollected images of the Buster Boys' mutilated body parts hanging from a tree in Phil's backyard. (Phil's wife made us take them down a week later; they stank worse than the armpits of John Goodman's decomposing corpse. Not that John Goodman is dead, but you get the idea.)
Eighth, we erected our trap in Larry's front yard. It consisted of a cardboard box, with one end held up by a neighborhood stick. Inside the box? Shimmering Oscar, dulled only by the blood of a few schoolboys we bludgeoned to death on the way to Larry's house. The box was substantially smaller than Large Larry, but this was part of the plan. Admittedly, it was a very shitty, not-well-thought-out part of the plan, but it was in there.
Ninth, we hid in Larry's bushes, brandishing large rocks and collectible Happy Meal toys. We would hurtle these projectiles at Larry's vulnerable forehead, stunning him. Ma had a taser which she wanted to fire at Larry's genitals. 92 and still kicking ass. I love my momma.
Tenth, we fell upon the beast, paralyzing Large Larry with fear. In his frightened rage, he devoured Ernie, but the rest of us were relentless in our assault. Phil's dog must especially be commended for his creative use of the Invisible Fence virtual barrier for pets. In the end, we were able to stun Larry enough that he stumbled into our trap, falling down into the box like my father the night he died of alcohol poisoning.
Eleventh, we read Large Larry a scathing indictment of his inhuman and indecent ways, eloquently put together by the Buster Boys before we killed them. It's only proper to tell a man what he is being put to death for. Meanwhile, Ma threw Larry's 300-pound body into her pickup, and ripped off his testicles with her mouth. Rob smiled like a simpering idiot.
Finally, we simulcast the trash compactor execution of Larry on cable channels worldwide. It was a resounding success, and profitable as bees selling honey. Keep an eye out for my poetic rendition of that year's events, due out in May wherever fine books are sold.