Ang Lee in Hollywood

Buster is a crash test dummy that has organs and these organs will explode all red and juicy upon significant impact, for instance the corner of a hundred year old office building breaking off and falling forty stories on them, that style. As a night custodian I had a key to the special effects garage. I needed Buster and I figured I'd be able to retrieve him after.

It was the day of my ex-wife's family reunion. They held it at Devou in northern Kentucky, a park known in the area for its scenic hillside view of downtown Cincinnati. Her relatives were all glad she finally divorced me, the moronic sows. I'd known and hated them all.

Near them I was crouched down in a thicket. With my job I was able to install Buster in the driver's seat and modify the car to be steered remotely. Her family was beside the cliff in their ugly polos and floppy-brimmed hats, the car pointed at them. It came to life and with a gutteral screech was off the pavement and on the grass.

They scattered like teenage girls from a locked bathroom with the lights out. I was delighted. In my hat and sunglasses Buster looked just like me. A button sounded the horn, which played the first few bars of Camptown Races. It turfed the Dolce Cabana holiday catering table and went straight off the cliff.

Inspiration throttled me. I'd leave Buster and his internal bleeding for the cops. I darted from the thicket, sprinting through the scene and grabbing a turkey leg standing straight up in a mud puddle. I tore into it with buffalo gusto as I cleared the field and bounded into the far trees. Behind me the screams renewed. They'd seen a ravenous ghost.