It Could Always Get Worse

Good news and great news, guys. The good: it's supposed to get down to 35F tonight and our heater is broken. The great: it doesn't really matter because I'll be outside anyway! (I've got a softball game at 9:30PM.) I try not to dwell on either one of these, because it could always get worse. How could it? Let's take a look.

I pull into the driveway of my house at 11 PM. My fingertips and feet are numb from the cold; I fantasize about breaking into KFC and falling asleep in their gravy vat. As I put the key into the lock of my front door, I notice a series of notes on the door. The first one says, "There's someone in your house."

I holler, "There's someone in the house?! Laura, go get a shovel and dig around in the backyard for my gun hole!"

She runs around to the back while I peel the note off the door. There's another note beneath it. It reads, "It's not actually a person in your house, but a rabid puma."

Holy crap, a rabid puma! Whether she finds my gun hole or not, I'm not going in there.

I peel this note off the door and see yet another one under it. "The puma is invincible and can walk through walls."

I stifle a scream, then run and hide under my car. Fifteen minutes later, desperate to pee in a warm environment, I go back towards the door. I see one more note. "That rabid, invincible, wall-walking-through puma? He's emptying your bank account and drinking your good scotch."

Son of a biscuit! Certain death isn't enough, the puma must also steal my money and drink my good booze. I'm mad now, puma-fighting mad.

I grab for the doorknob, only to find it covered with a piece of paper. The paper reads, "The puma just ordered a bunch of Creed ring tones on your credit card. He forwarded the receipt to all of your friends, coworkers, and former high school class mates. He attached to it a picture he created of you in a Creed t-shirt, holding a candle and weeping."

Dejection washes over me. I slump to the ground. Not even that goes right, as my butt hits a wadded-up ball of notebook paper. It's another note. "The puma isn't going to kill you." For a minute, I'm happy; I can reason with this puma. Then I read a little further. "He only wants to make you clog for him, for all of eternity."

And that, friends, proves my point.

Posted by Cody at March 23, 2006 8:04 PM