Grinch Goon by Cormac Mccarthy
I ain't ever seen no boy who draws as fast as that Grinch, Fletcher said. He stood up from his desk and walked to the counter to make some coffee and grabbed the full mug and sat back down lazily once it was finished. Not even that Judge Chigurh, he said. And if I ever see them duel and flip a coin on it, that coin better land on its side. He sipped on his coffee and the tower chimed three and the town's bustle stopped. Well I better go out and make sure there's no rushin', he said.
Judge Chigurh stood at one end of the withered road and held up his gun and spat into the dirt stoically. He gripped his maple wood finished revolver with bloodied and white knuckles and called the Grinch's name into the town. All the citizens peaked their heads out of their doors and windows and watched as the infamous silhouette rose over the horizon. Pure unfiltered and pale justice stared down the dark signature stature of an outlaw who's name be it dragged in mud and dirtied by heinous crime struck fear in the heart of law itself.
War, Judge Chigurh said. How much you ever put on a war toss? Coin war the ultimate trade waiting for the ultimate practitioner, and wolves cull themselves. Man will what Christmas meant to interfere with the degeneracy of mankind, would it not have done so by now?
The bullet of Grinch's will to end Christmas for Memphis struck deep into the head of law, Judge Chigurh's head. He fell and rolled over and coughed blood and weezed and blood ran down his forehead and bubbled in the sweltering heat and he spat one last time and died.
Christmas? The Grinch said. He's right behind me, isn't he? Christmas God stood from his stance and grabbed the Grinch and put him in a nelson and flipped them both onto the ground and choked him out as the Grinch kicked along the floor to spin them and knocked around sand that got in his throat and choaked him and he died faster because of it. The End.