I'm stuck in the awkward position of wanting to write, but not wanting to be creative, so I'm just going to tell an old story I meant to write up a while ago. Enjoy.
The night started out perfectly normal with me getting that old fuck-I-haven't-gone-running-today-yet-and-now-I-have-to-do-it-in-the-dark feeling. Little did I know that familiar feeling would soon be replaced by something much darker...I jumped out the door to do a nice out-and-back down Rt. 116, a staple late-night route. But little did I know that tonight that route would hold an unexpected obstacle...The first half of the run went well, and after slapping a landmark I turned around, filled with optimism and enjoying the sweet spring (ok, February) air. Little did I know that the air would soon-ah, fuck it.
About a mile down the road I caught a whiff of skunk. Now, if you think driving by a dead skunk is bad, you don't know nothing. When you're running, you're moving way slower and typically sucking air like there's no tomorrow. You get lungful after lungful of skunk until you've finally trudged out of ground zero.
And this was no ordinary skunk. No, sir. It must have been some kind of über-skunk, a really killer the King Koopa of skunks, the big smelly cheese of skunks. It didn't help that he'd been killed within the last 10 minutes.
My kingdom for some diffusion.
It soon became clear that I was running into the very heart of the stench. Every step, well, at least every other step brought a new wave of nausea and disgust. Just as I was being convinced that I was about to puke all over someone's mailbox, I looked to my right and lo! There he was, tail blowing lazily in the wind. I closed my eyes, held my breath, and made a break for fresher air. Thankfully, the wind was with me and soon the stench receded. I was at peace again, free of the horrible smell.
At least that's what I thought...
I got back to my dorm and paused to stretch for a moment. Then...what's that smell? Fuck. I could hear Kahn's voice in my head, "With my last breath I stab at thee!": to my horror, my shirt still smelled like skunk. Apparently, my lungs weren't the only thing saturated by his evil essence.
I sprung into action. Every piece of clothing I had was thrown into the washing machine, two pints of Febreeze was poured into my shoes, and I scrubbed off the outermost 18 layers of my skin. Thinking that was sufficient, I started to relax. But no! My beloved Ironman watch also reeked. I thought its 30 lap memory would protect it, but I was wrong. Within seconds (it's hard to say exactly, since I was unwilling to use my stopwatch) I was back in the bathroom, bathing my watch in soap until I could smell nylon boiling. I wiped my hands and smiled. Surely I had finally defeated the vile creature and could go back to living a normal life.
But in this moment of victory I reached for my room key, which I keep in my shoelaces while running. The stench hit me again, fouler than ever before in the splendor of its final revenge. My key smelled. My KEY!! It's made of metal, how does metal possibly acquire some strong an odor just by passing through a cloud of it?! NOOOOO!!!
I've been locked in my room ever since. You never know when he might come back! I hope help comes soon...I suspect Tommy the Sock is a traitor and the Febreeze is starting to run out...
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
5 comments:
Clearly, you're not as lucky as William Shatner.
Last I checked, the torpedo that accompanied that quote ended up killing Spock, so I'm gonna go ahead and say that I came out a little better than Kirk.
As for the Shat, well, he must have been lucky to get as far as he did with the talent that he has.
“At that point, looking remarkable healthy, the skunk gave me the finger and casually strolled back into the woods”
the Shat
Well said, sir. Well said.
Third to last paragraph?
You SPRANG into action.
Post a Comment