I look out for myself and those closest to me.
I swirled the ice cubes around in my tumbler glass. They were worn round from the whiskey melt. Look, science is important, as is God, and don't get me started on Kraft Jet-Puffed Miniature Marshmallows, but how is it that a solid (ice cubes) can be melted by a liquid (whiskey)? All these nerds flying around in their hybrid cars could come together to form Nerdtron, the ultimate nerd conglomerate where all individuals unite to form one perfect individual--thanks Obama and Storkbama, president of the Storks--and they still wouldn't be able to open up enough text books to begin to find the answer to why a solid can become a liquid.
Don't doubt me--I did study an amount of science in my youth. I was quite a good student, too, the top of my class.* Yet, despite all that I know and all that I read, which is a pretty average amount by average standards--
Please please please help me. There's a man following me. I spotted him here and there all throughout the day. Every time I thought he was closing in, ready for the kill, I'd turn, quick as a cat.
But he'd be gone. So I'd continue, skeptical, scared, surreptitious, and he'd be behind me, but I never could catch him.
As I sit here writing on this post in my fantastical bachelor pad in the Bahamamas, the sun is setting, and the light grows low. I turn on the lamp. He's here. I can sense him.
Whoosh! I spun around super fast and made a whooshing sound because I'm super fast.
There he is, caught, captured, spotted.
"LAPD, don't move!" I says. I've always wanted to says that. That's for you, Granddad. My Granddad wasn't an LAPD cop, but he also always wanted to says that. If he were here with me now, I'd let him says it. Cops are great and so are firemen.
The shady dark man is frozen, just standing there. I pull out my gun. It's a pump action pistol, just like James Bond would use if he only had one gun to choose from but also no knives. I unload the whole clip into the man. He is dead. He must be. He has to be.
I step toward him, and he steps back.
HOW IS HE NOT DEAD?
Oh wait that's just my shadow lol.
--I don't understand how Storkbama was able to get elected at the exact same time as Obama. So much in common is shared by them Obama and Storkbama in common shared.
1. Obama's famous campaign poster reads, "Hope."
Storkbama's famous campaign poster reads, "Stork."
2. Obama launched the monumental and all changing Obamacare health plan.
Storkbama launched the monumental and all changing Storkbama health plan.
3. Obama is married to a beautiful and powerful woman.
Storkbama is married to a beautiful and powerful stork.
4. Obama got Osama.
Storkbama got Storksama.
5. Obama smokes cigarettes and is very cool.
Storkbama is a Zerg Grandmaster in Starcraft 2 multiplayer.
Someday, I plan on spending a day in a stork's shoes so as to learn more about what they do and how they are governed. Am I right to assume that just because Storkbama is their president they live a life similar to ours? Tune in next time but like not the next next time just another time, let's say tune in at a different time to find out THAT story.
I guess if I really think about it it makes sense that these particular ice cubes melted a little bit. I spent the whole morning drinking whiskey out of that glass, and by the time the kiddy pool that I filled this morning with whiskey this morning was drained this morning, I suppose my ice cubes were allowed to melt a little this morning. In the AM.
"Who da ya think ya are, ya filthy animal?" I said to the businessman next to me at the bar. He had huge ears, a twitchy leg, and big buck teeth.
"I am a rabbit," said the businessman next to me at the bar. He had huge ears, a twitchy leg, and big buck teeth. Did I already mention that?
I turned to the the sexy lady on my other side at the bar. "Who da ya think ya are, ya filthy animal?" I asked. She had hourglass curves, skin so smooth it looked like glass, and a wide open mouth.
"I am a vase," said the sexy lady on my other side at the bar. She had hourglass curves, skin so smooth it looked like glass, and a wide open mouth. I feel like I've already told you this story. Did I tell you about this?
No, said the bartender. He was a large, tremendously hairy man with savage eyes. Look bub, you're toast and making a fool of yourself, so let me help you out. Use quotation marks again.
I jerked my head back up, as I was drifting asleep back into the scary scary dream world.
"Thank you, sir." I said. "I'll have another, while you're dishin out 'dvice."
"You've had enough non sequiturs for the night, pal."
"Fine, whatever." I tilted back my glass and slid the ice cubs into my mouth. I chewed with my mouth open. "You're not my dad."
"Yes, I am," said the bartender.
My glass shattered. I didn't drop it, I just slammed it as hard as I could on the bar's edge. "Wha?"
The bartender grabbed a bottle of gin and a bottle of vodka by their necks. "I am your father, Chris." He smashed the bottles on the bar. Glass went everywhere.
"I... I remember," I said. I grabbed a handful of decorative glass balls adorning the bar and threw them one by one about the bar. Each shattered in the exact same pattern, just like how every dumb snowflake is exactly the same if you stop being such a piece of shit about it.
The bartender gripped a bowling ball near his face, deep in concentration. Our sensei banged the gong in the corner. Sensei is wise. The bartender took his steps, lowered the ball, and swung his arm forward, like clockwork. At the moment of release, he held onto the ball and pummeled a replica glass Sears Tower, shattering it. The score was 8-0, skins vs. skins. "Daddy luv u, Chris," said the bartender.
The sexy lady was all like "I'm out man, this is too much!" The studio audience applauded. They loved it. The audience always loves the sexy lady.
It was pretty nice out, so the window was open. An owl fluttered to a halt, resting on the windowsill. I looked at the owl. Oh yeah, owl.
"Wait a minute, you're not my dad!" I said, raising my Nimbus 3000. It was a tremendous broom, but still, it didn't mask the fact that I lost my wand long, long ago.
"Don't say that, Chris. You're my boy." The bartender wasn't wearing a little hat but I think I would have liked that.
"My dad was killed by owls long ago," I said, holding back tears. I'm Mac Samson, the smallest man in the world, btw.
The owl faced the camera. "I'm out man, this is too much!" he said. The studio audience mildly applauded. They liked it OK. The audience always loves the sexy lady, and the owl is not the sexy lady. The owl flew away.
Steve Urkel flew into the other window, which was closed but super clean. He slid down it slow and squeaky like a cartoon character.
Steve Urkel everyone!
"Shit, then I'm not your dad," said the bartender. He became sad.
I studied his face. Brown, crazy eyes, a thick beard, long hair pulled back into a ponytail, a wide nose, and facial hair all over the rest of his face. Also, he didn't speak any English. He only spoke in roars and growls.
"Are you Sasquatch?" I asked.
"No," said the bartender.
"Hmmm..." I hmmmed.
My gaze shifted down, away from his face, but I definitely wasn't going all the way to his crotch. His neck was bald, and not even a neck at all. It was just a skinnier part of his torso. His skin was yellow and smooth, like a gourd. He had no arms and no legs, just his lightbulb shaped body.
"Are you Sasquash?" I asked.
A bell started dinging and lights flashed as confetti and balloons fell from the ceiling. Vanna White came out and shook my hand. She looks so good, can you believe she was born in 1957?
"That is correct!" said Sasquash.
We dined on squash soup and chatted late into the night. Vanna has so many great stories and I proudly endorse Wheel of Fortune.
*No I wasn't.