Well, here it is Monday. I had hoped to avoid it, but lo and behold, it’s back again. And boy, did I have a terrible weekend. It all started on Friday evening when I got home. I usually like to grab the lawn mower and start mowing the lawn while yelling to the top of my lungs how upset I am with the current state of…well, everything.
So I go pull the starter rope and the darn mower starts coughing up more smoke than Snoop Lion on a three-day weekend. So I start mumbling and realize that I need oil for the engine. Not having any, because that would make this a very short article, I drive to the local gas station and buy some oil. I start the five-minute trip back home and, yup, you guessed it…sinkhole.
I was just sitting in my car and the earth below me opened up and swallowed my car up without a single belch. So naturally I fell with the car and died. I got better though and noticed that I had fallen to the depth of the Precambrian era and I quickly surmised that electricity had not been invented yet…well, captured yet as you can’t really invent electricity as it’s pretty much already there.
Being in the dark, I grab a rag and a large tube I keep in the car in case I drive into the ocean and need a snorkel (Don’t you hate it when that happens? I do) and syphon out some gas. I make a torch and realize I didn’t clean my hands and, of course, my hands burn to a crisp and fall off. By this time I should be showing and anticipating my first cocktail, but nope, I’m wandering the subterranean level of the earth looking for a way out.
I pass some rather surprised looking bats who quickly swarm toward my hair as I stumble in an effort to duck and break both my ankles. Well, I am able to crawl with my stubs and broken ankle into an extensive cave system and begin to notice I’m ascending. That’s a good thing, right? Nope, some tourists are on a school trip with their kids and notice see me coming out of the cave. Well, they start screaming and yelling and chase down a park ranger who promptly shoots me with a rather painful gun. Now, now, that’s not fair. The gun is a perfectly acceptable weapon. It’s not painful. Rather it’s the bullet traveling at extreme velocity and striking me that is painful.
Naturally I died again, but got better enough to find myself to a road. Not able to flag down a car due to my thumbs being burned off from my now-nonexistent hands, I just sit there and look pitiful (an art I’ve mastered over the years) until a car stopped and the driver gave me a ride back to my house. I get cleaned up, grab a new pair of hands and mend my broken ankles. I then sit down and ask my wife for a drink of bourbon. She shrugs and informs me that we are out of bourbon.
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