Wow, I'm doing well here. Three chapters in as many days.

This chapter does something that has definitely been addressed before, and that some of us have all wanted to do at some point.

Snail blood on the ceiling, shell and body on the floor. The chips and dip that should have been opened by now remained untouched, contaminated by the stench of death. Not the best way to begin a party.

However, when looking back, SpongeBob would see this moment as the high point of the night. Hard to believe at the time, seeing as his pet, his friend, his confidant had just died at the tentacles of a killer.
But at least only one had actually died. Everyone else was still safe.
For now.

Obviously, though, he didn't realize this at the time. So he just stood there, numb, stock still, heart stopped. If he didn't know any better, he'd say that his heart had died with his pet.
He…he shot Gary. He shot my Gare-Bear. Gary is…dead.
These thoughts circled through his head, a morbid iShell track on endless repeat. Endless repeat. Endless repeat.
He shot Gare-Bear.
Finally, a break in the track, as something else occurred to him:

Who's next?

Squidward wasn't really conscious of this. He was just concerned as to whether or not he'd been convincing this time. "You get it now, don't you?" he smirked, gun now at his feet. "I told you that I can kill. Believe me, I didn't want to have to shoot the snail, but –"
But?
"Oh wait. Of course I did."
Figures.
"Well, save your tears, Spongey. You don't have time to waste them over a puny dead burden."

Finally, Sponge found his voice. "G-Gary was not a puny burden," he choked out. "H…how could you have…"
"Oh God, you're not gonna start blubbing over him, are you?" sighed the squid impatiently. "A dead pet's not worth crying over, even if you did love him. I mean, you supposedly 'love' me, but you don't start crying every time I get beaten to within an inch of my life.
"Then," he added, "I suppose that's different. I'm alive. He's dead. And soon, so will you be."

Simple words, yet ones that chilled the sponge to the core of his non-existent endoskeleton.

At this point, for some reason, Pearl (remember her?) felt it obligatory to aim the spotlight back at her. "OK, random squid guy," she called out from the crowd, "you've shot the snail, can we start partying now? My make-up is starting to run."
"Pearly, shut up," muttered her father, giving her a non-too-subtle dig in the ribs.
But it was too late. Squidward had already re-noticed her presence. "Oh, what have we here?" he sarcastically mused. "I see the little rich bitch has got something she wants to share with the class."

Gasp. "What did you just call me?" True to form, the teenager turned red in fury. "I am not a rich bitch! Am I a rich bitch, Daddy?"
"No, no, of course ye're not, girl," 'Daddy' insisted, struggling to console her. "Squidward, tell me daughter she's not a rich bitch."

He had to hastily correct himself. "My my, of course, how stupid of me. In no way is she a regular old rich bitch."
Phew.

"She's a rich dyke bitch."

Another gasp. (And another clonk on the head, courtesy of Sandy – Patrick wanted to know what a dyke actually was.)

One would almost expect Pearl to burst into tears at this point. However, this time she wasn't doing it. What if a tear landed on her dress? Then no one would ever want to look at her. Instead, she settled for a piercing glare that she intended to look intimidating, but only succeeding in making her appear like a washed up callgirl.

"Sorry, but it's true," Squidward insisted. "Tell me again, how many girls have you secretly had in your bed the past few weeks? Four? Five? Or maybe eleven?" He was making all of this up, obviously, but coming up with another method to kill took time.
"It-it's not true! You have no idea what you're saying, you…!"
"Oh boo very hoo. You wanna run home to cry on your lesbian lover's shoulders? May be a bit more sympathetic to your plight than any of us can be."

That did it. To heck with his life, Mr Krabs had to intervene. "That be out of line, Mr Squidward," he scolded, scuttling out from the crowd. "Pearly, he doesn't mean it, he's just trying to--"
"Expose the truth? Creep you out? Make like 'This Is Your Life'? You got that right, old man," his employee chuckled morbidly. (I hope you know what I mean by a chuckle being morbid.)
"That isn't helping, lad!"

Well, no more fucking around – he knew now how she was gonna die. And it looked like not a moment too soon; the whale was gonna start bawling any minute.

But first, a quick character change. A sigh, a swing of the leg. "Aw geez, Pearl, I'm sorry," he said sheepishly. "You're right, I went a little too far there. You want I should make it up to you?"
Ooh yes. Mr Fancyson, who scorned him in acting class, would have rejoiced at his performance now.
"Uh…uh-huh," nodded Pearl, who had long since given up on her make-up.
"Well, don't worry." A bogus smile, a nod, a clutch for the knife in his back pocket. "Soon, it's all gonna be over. You won't have to worry about that again."

If anything, her death was even quicker than Gary's. Wam, stab, slash, thank you ma'am. It was just like undoing a zip on a dress – except the dress was her skin.

And besides, in the end, it was better this way. As Squidward put it afterwards, "I'm sure at least three of you have wanted an end to the bitch for a long, long time."

Two down. Four to go.

Quick second disclaimer: The derigatory opinions that may have been expressed in this chapter (ie: over Pearl) do not necessarily reflect the opinions of the author. Ooh, get my fancy vocabulary. :P