A/N: I was bored.
-----------------
"My Lord, I don't think this is appropriate."
"I don't give a flying fuck what you think."
Voldemort never really considered what he was saying before he said it. He didn't have to. He was the Dark Lord. But sometimes he used phrases, such as 'flying fuck', that were truly below him.
He returned his gaze to the cowering man and woman before him. Streams of tears stained both faces. Duh. Their baby had just been killed. Voldemort didn't understand this whole "caring" thing. There were many things in the world he didn't understand. Guilt. Remorse. 'The Price is Right'.
"Anyway, where was I?" he said.
"You were about to kill us." came a shaken reply, from the man cradling his now sobbing wife.
"Ah, yes. But first…"
Voldemort took a seat in a cushy, floral chair. He refrained from criticizing their taste in furniture. That didn't reflect the dignity of cold-blooded murder.
"What's blue and yellow and found at the bottom of a pool?"
He could sense Lucius shaking his head. Voldemort would attend to that later. Perhaps he would shave his head.
'Yessssss.'
He resisted drumming his fingers together evilly.
The man and woman were staring at him blankly.
"What?" squeaked the woman.
"A baby with slashed floaties."
She gasped.
"What is green-black and yellow and found at the bottom of a pool?"
"What?" said the man, obviously trying to be brave. How cute.
"The same baby three weeks later. What's red and yellow and floats at the top of a pool?"
The couple didn't respond.
"Floaties with slashed baby."
Voldemort continued for some time.
"What's funnier than a dead baby?"
The only sound was the woman tapping her fingers against the arm of the couch.
"A dead baby sitting next to a kid with Down syndrome."
A muffled sigh came from Lucius, adjusting his mask.
"What's the difference between a dead baby and a styrofoam cup?"
Silence.
"A dead baby doesn't harm the atmosphere when you burn it."
"Can you please just kill us already?"
Voldemort shot the man an icy glare.
"How do you get a baby in a blender? Chainsaw."
The man gave a loud, aggravated sigh.
"How do you get a baby in a bowl? Blender."
"How do you get a baby out of a bowl? Doritos."
"Ew." The woman said.
"Psh." Voldemort replied.
"Seriously. Just kill us."
Voldemort bounced to his feet.
"Begging for death," he shook his head as he paced, "Pathetic."
"But I am a merciful Lord. I shall grant your wish for death. On your knees."
The two fell to the ground.
"Avada Kedavra."
-----------------
A few minutes later, Voldemort and Lucius were strolling across the lawn, Voldemort happily trampling the tulips. He was very thorough in his destruction of human life.
"My Lord, I always thought you went about the begging for death thing a different way."
"You mean by using Crucio?"
"Um, yeah."
"That got boring after a while. I mean, if you've seen one person screaming and writhing in pain, you've seen them all."
Lucius nodded. His insincerity was painfully apparent, but Voldemort let it slide. It would all be better when Lucius was bald and crying.
Lucius Apparated with a loud crack. Voldemort glanced around, hoping that someone would come out of nowhere and notice him. He was on a murder adrenaline rush.
The night was still and quiet. No muted steps thumping down the sidewalk. No tires slowly crunching against the street gravel. No silhouettes of people wandering through their kitchens, looking for the ice cream. Nothing.
He sighed. He really wanted to tell more jokes. But, alas, it was not meant to be.
Voldemort concentrated on the image of Malfoy Manor, and was whipped into darkness.