It was a tough assignment.
John was proud of his job, certainly, he was one of the best puppy gram deliverers in history, but even he knew that slipping a puppy to a hells angel without forever compromising his status among them would be difficult.
The client who had given him the mission was clearly government, maybe even CIA, so it's not like John could turn it down. After a cursory examination of the animal, he discovered it was laced with arsenic, C4, and 500 dollar bills, as well as a lot of Axe body spray.
"Whoever assembled this thing must be a douche, no one needs that much Axe!" John narrated, in his best BBC voice (he was practicing for the annual puppy delivery talent show).
"Hey, John! I had to take the unicycle, so the only vehicle left is this bulldozer" said Kevin.
"Kevin was unliked by the rest of the company, he was viewed as fat and annoying, and many claimed he smelled of ass. Whether or not that was what caused him to be a whiny little ***** on livejournal is yet to be determined." John narrated again.
"You know, I would be pissed at you if you didn't say that with such a smooth and authoritative voice." Kevin said admiringly. John ignored him.
Ten minutes and twelve dead pedestrians later John arrived at the biker bar. He could hear Bite the bullet by Motorhead playing. He cracked his knuckles. This was what he liked best about his job, the knowledge of who gets a puppy, and who doesn't. The POWER!
Walking inside, John spotted his target, the one wearing the santa costume. He made eye contact, but the Santa assumemed he was engaging him in a staring contest and shined a flashlight at him to make him blink.
Suddenly, John remembered the signal, and flipped santa off. The bar became silent. Moving in slow motion to make the scene as dramatic as he could, John hurled the puppy at Santa's face. The dog and the laws of physics weren't paying attention to the dramatic atmosphere, and flew at full speed into Santa's hat, shattering the heroin needles stored within.
John ran out the door, chased by bullets, a molotov cocktail and a recycling bin. He managed to lose most of the bullets by ducking, but one, a .357 magnum, wasn't fooled. It chased after him, but it was winded and out of shape. Thinking quickly, John switched hats with a passing homeless person, who was promptly hit in the sternum by the confused bullet.
As John rode away, leaving a cacophony of gunshots and screaming hobos behind, he knew only one thing. Mission Successful.