He sprinted into the main hall, the policeman’s hands almost on him, but he skirted round the crowd, dove through a gap and somersaulted beautifully into the five-tier wedding cake, utterly covering himself and the nearest dozen or so people in marzipan and bits of cherry and apricot and fulfilling his mission with style before being taken to gaol and, probably, made to disappear.
Train of consequences
The whistle blew again and they had to end their embrace. She kissed him one last time on the lips and tried to smile as she let him go. He backed away, waving, then turned and jogged to jump onto the train as it began to steam away. An older couple just near them had gone through the same wistful routine. The old man broke from his loved one too, and ran to leap onto the train, but he had left it a moment too late, and even as he tried to muster a sprint, the carriage door moved just ahead of him. He ran faster than he thought possible, but he was losing ground, and as he frantically tried to catch any handhold he ran over a dozing dog, fell onto a most unfortunately-placed oil slick and slid sideways under the train, the wheels running over and through him, mangling his flesh and bones, rendering him an unsalvageable mess and, to cap it all off, drawing from his sagging rear a huge, noxious grunt and, the subsequent silence suggested, a thick final turd to complete the morbid humiliation.
His friend yelled ‘Action!’, and he took a breath and then sprinted along the high wall and dove off the end toward the lower one, planting his face beautifully on the corner, letting his body slam into the side at a horrible angle, leaving him to slowly peel off and fall a further eighteen feet, giving him an excellent chance of being cast as ‘Mangled man in abandoned industrial estate’ in the upcoming movie which, unbeknownst to him, had in fact been cancelled.
The Green Pile
He sprinted into the room and dove straight at the pile of presents, elbow dropping the biggest one and crashing into all the others, the tree falling onto him, the fairy lights tearing from the walls and then the TV and sound system toppling from the unit too, the last strains of Johnny Mathis descending into a warped gurgle before cutting out completely.
The Zangief of our dreams
He sprinted toward the huge turd, flinging himself at it for the last few feet, getting one of his huge arms around it, wrapping himself round and pile-driving it hard into the ground, the log shattering all over him as he collapsed, giggling manically.
She had waited so long for this moment. Finally, her first kiss! Her eyes closed as his face approached hers. But suddenly she realised that time travel wasn’t all fun. This was the seventh century and there was no toothpaste nor any real understanding of dental care. Not only did he have visibly bleeding gums, but he also had a gap at the front where a tooth had fallen out in the last day or two, and it appeared to have done so because the gum was simply rotting away. Furthermore, the gap was apparently a suitable nesting-place for some awful-looking meat residue mixed with the pasty remainder of nuts, oats and what looked like bird food. All in all, she was sorry to be downwind of him, or indeed anywhere near him, and a kiss was now out of the question. Well, it was according to her. But now he grabbed her, pulling her to him and trying to take what he wanted by force. His only mistake was to exhale as he approached, intensifying her disgust beyond what she could bear and prompting her to vomit copiously into his ruggedly handsome face, knee him viciously in his no doubt poorly-washed crackers and sprint back to the phonebox.
Before the fall
He thumbed his nose at her, turned his back and strutted away. She sprinted after him and tackled him to the ground, there to yank aside her gusset and queef one off into his mouth.