Tag Archives: funny

Death, Marsupials, Swords, and Google

Death is something I’m just not good at.  I don’t mean dying.  I might be very good at that, hell I might be the best at it.  We don’t know yet.  Hopefully not for a while.  But death as in dead bodies.  Or even the idea of something ceasing to exist.  It gives me the willys.  Maybe if I’d taken up hunting or worked in a butcher shop I’d get over it, but for now, ugghhhhhhlehhhhhagagagh.  Yuck.  I’ve even considered becoming a vegetarian because sometimes while eating I start thinking about my food as dead animal flesh and  just about puke in my mouth.  It’s an issue. 

Unfortunately I’ve found that sometimes death is inevitable, and chances are your going to see it.  I’ve managed to avoid it as much as possible.  Besides seeing my poor cat Mocha dead I have very little experience with those who have “ceased to be”.  While working as a maintenance man for an apartment community I dreaded entering an apartment to find a dead resident.  That does happen by the way, all the time.  It happened to some of my coworkers at another property in fact.  Not to me.  Thank god. 

I’ve found that my dogs don’t have the same aversion to death.  Making something that is running away into a chew toy is high on their list of priorities.  A successful grab makes them so happy its hard to be mad at them.  I wish we could get a little more Disney around here and maybe sing some songs with the local rodents but alas, they prefer biting and shaking. 

Late one summer night I let the dogs out and instantly there was crashing in the bushes.  The dogs dove right in, snarling and teeth snapping.  Lilly my black lab popped out with her head held high, holding something gray and wriggling.  Before she ran out into the night I saw a long hairless tail whipping about.  My first thought was, “Oh thank god it wasn’t a cat,”  my second was, “Ugh a possum, gross.” 

I managed to get the other dogs in after some shouting and threatening.  Lilly wasn’t having it though.  She was off playing with her new friend.  I find myself once again in a position where I’m going to embarrass myself by admitting my behavior.  Ah well.  I yelled for her to come back for a minute.  Then I went to the back window of my home, and with the use of a flashlight, tried to locate her in the darkness.  I saw her pawing at a limp pile of fur.  She barked at it a couple of times and then decided it had become too boring to bother with.  In a minute she was at the glass slider, mouth full of course gray hair, thrilled with her adventure.  Again gross.  That’s just what I want, filthy possum hair all over the place.  I sent her straight to her cage. 

I went back to the window with my flashlight. I prayed that it was up and wandering off.  Of course not though, it lay where she’d tossed it.  I could just make out the fuzzy curve of its back and it’s rat like tail.  I watched for a while (don’t ask me why), and then spent some time thinking about the situation.  I couldn’t leave it.  I couldn’t have the gf remove it.  I do have some pride (and she may have picked up a rabbit the month before).  I wasn’t going to call animal control either(the pride thing again).  But I really didn’t want to.  I mean really didn’t.  I mean stomp my feet and throw a fit didn’t want to.  After a few minutes I gave in to the inevitable.

I left the house armed with a shovel, rake, bucket, trash bag, flashlight, and thick leather gloves.  I’d put on jeans, long sleeves, and boots.  I might have had to do the unpleasant chore but I was going in prepared.  If I had owned some type of protective mask I would have put that on too. 

The night was cool and breezy with very little moonlight.  The leaves of the giant maple trees in my back yard sounded like distant waves.  The beam of my flashlight whipped back and forth over grass that hadn’t been mowed in too long.  Suddenly there it was, limp and still and very much dead.  The way the light struck the possum was… well it was creepy ok?  Its white face glowed and its eyes were beady, black, empty.  It’s pink lips curled back in a snarl showing white needle teeth.  I turned around and went back on the deck.  I needed some more time to think.

After a few minutes of motivational self talk and deep breathing exercises I headed out for round two.  The possum lay there, looking like some little hell spawned demon sent to test my manhood.  I was determined to remove this carcass from my property.  That’s what I’d taken to calling it in my head.  A carcass.  I crept up on it from the back, so it wasn’t staring at me, and dropped my trash bag.  Taking my shovel I stretched forward and slowly, slowly I touched it.  And its stupid little hairy side moved slightly.  I yelled something that rhymes with, “FUDGE TREE!,” dropped the shovel and swiftly retreated. 

So I was back inside, at the window with the flash light.  It was still laying there.  My nightmare had become… well, a worse nightmare I guess.  It seemed that I was faced with a new and much worse situation.  That of killing this creature myself.  I considered letting the dogs out to finish it off, but realized that was a horrible idea for so many reasons.  Images of me beating this thing to death with a shovel were bringing me damn close to tears.  It seems that my home is short on killing tools.  I don’t have any guns (except for the tons of guns I keep in case someone breaks in, you hear that you robbers?) and there really isn’t any other way to make a good clean kill.  For a moment I considered bloodying my replica sword but the image of skewering a possum on my blade was so ridiculous and weird.  I turned to a much more modern weapon.  Google.

I looked up “my dog got a possum” and was greeted with tons of stories.  Evidently this is part of being a dog owner.  I read all sorts of tales.  In fact I got so caught up in them that I managed to chill out a bit.  And I was learning.  Possums excrete a foul-smelling substance when attacked.  Well that explained why Lilly was licking her chops and looking ill.  I made a mental note to let her out and get her a drink as soon as possible.  Possums have too low a body temperature to harbor rabies.  Also good to know.  Things were looking up.  Then I saw it, a fact most everyone knows but which had slipped my mind in all the excitement.  Possums play dead.  They’re not just good actors either.  They actually go into a little coma.  Their hearts barely beat and they hardly breath.  “Oh please,” I thought, “please make the possum be faking.”

I got up and went to the window.  My flashlight found the trash bag, and unbelievably there was no possum next to it.  I quickly scanned the rest of the yard.  My tools and a couple tufts of hair were the only evidence that anything out of the ordinary had taken place.  I said a quick “thank you” to the man upstairs and went to bed feeling down right cheery.

That possum doesn’t know how close it was to getting beat, crushed, stabbed or impaled by medieval weaponry.  Instead modern technology, in the form of the worlds foremost search engine, saved it’s life.  Not to mention my poor sensitive mind, I don’t know how I would have come back from that.  Thanks google!  It was too close though.  I’m terrified that the time is coming where I might be faced with having to put an animal down myself.  I’ve had nightmares about it.  I read a short story that addressed that topic, I believe by Stephen King, and it was horrible!  I’m getting a gun. (Besides my hundreds of robber shooting guns which are always loaded and close at hand.)

P.S. I know I’m a big baby, I told you I was no good at death.  I keep this blog anonymous for a reason.  It keeps me honest.  If I wanted to make myself look cool and tough I could, but where’s the fun in that?


Nature Calling


Even as I pulled out of the parking lot I knew I was in trouble.  With three deliveries I would be on the road for about a half hour.  I doubted I had that much time.  The cramping in my gut told me I didn’t.  But I had a job to do, and these people needed hot pizza.  The bathroom would just have to wait.

I shot out onto the main street through town, weaving through the slower traffic.  Winter had long ago settled in and remnants of a recent snow still littered the streets.  My heater was cranked to full blast, my radio was pumping sports talk.  I passed my house and briefly considered running in, but with three deliveries in the car there was no way. I tightened my grip on the wheel, grit my teeth and tried to focus on the radio.

The first delivery took less than five minutes.  I pulled into the driveway under a steel grey sky and handed a nice looking family their dinner.  I was glad for a decent tip, but more glad to be standing upright.  My stomach was really hurting now and being bent in half with a seat-belt digging into my gut was not suiting me. 

As I headed out to my second house things were looking bad.  I started thinking about my options in an emergency type situation.  What businesses could I stop in?  Nothing was on the way.  I didn’t see asking a customer if I could use their bathroom as a possibility.  I couldn’t even imagine.  But when your faced with the alternative… I started considering the remote areas nearby.  Perhaps I could find a nice patch of woods?  It’s good enough for bears. 

The second delivery made it on time.  In my mind the people who received it said to each other, “Did that guy seem sick to you? Or was he just a jerk?”, “No there was something wrong with him, and he walked like he had a stick up his ass.”

I started towards the third stop.  I was almost done and had decided to tough it out.  I shot down country roads at over sixty miles per hour.  My body had progressed past the stage of discomfort and I had started to sweat and get emotional.  Every second seemed like an hour.  I started a conversation with myself which is a habit I have when things are getting bad.

“Oooh I’m not gonna make it.”

“Yes you will, you can do it, stop thinking about it!”

I tried all the tricks, bouncing, deep breathing, strategic flexing, and of course begging my body like it was some sort of third-party who was cruelly torturing me. “Why are you doing this! Please stop! If you just wait ten minutes I’ll give you anything you want!”  But my guts kept twisting, and the pressure in my abdomen was getting unbearable. 

I entered the upscale neighborhood like the cops were after me.  I kept one eye on the addresses and one eye on the road.  The last thing I needed was an accident.  “Yes officer, I saw everything, he was bouncing up and down and panting like a dog.  He was sweating horribly and having a conversation with himself.  I don’t know what he was on but something was wrong, that’s for sure.”

Finally I saw it.  A large beautiful home up on a hill.  I whipped into the driveway, slammed on the breaks and threw it in park.  In one motion I opened the door and leapt out, pizza bag in hand.  Believe it or not things took a turn for the worse.  I had parked on a steep incline which also happened to be covered in ice.  My feet shot backwards and I had to grab onto my driver’s side door to keep from falling and sliding all the way to the bottom of the driveway.  Now I found myself hanging from my door, feet scrambling ineffectively on the ice.  My efforts didn’t help me get myself upright but instead served to dislodge my car from its precarious position and start it sliding backwards and turning sideways.  Now I was actually in danger of my car sliding over top of me if I fell.  Lucky my buttocks were squeezed so tight. I think it gave me the power I needed to launch myself back into the car, where it only took a minute to get my myself upright and into the seat.  Somehow I had managed to hold onto my keys. 

I pulled out of the driveway, and then back in.  This time I made sure to pull all the way up to where the driveway became horizontal.  I approached the front door trembling with embarrassment and pain.  My face was shiny with sweat.  I prayed that they hadn’t seen my little show out front.  I got lucky.  I had to ring the bell to get someone.  At least something went right, but I don’t want to think about the state of that pizza by the time they got the box open.

My little adventure on the ice is actually what saved me.  For a brief second I gave my body a flash of danger and it’s adrenaline fueled response seemed to shut down my less important waste disposal system.  At least I made it back to the store.  Plus it really seemed to make my coworkers day when I blew through the back door and sprinted to the bathroom.  Their laughing was only further fueled by my impromptu biological symphony.  Luckily we were all close friends.  But let’s be honest, I could have done without it.

A light-hearted tequila tale

My first post kinda bummed me out. If it bummed out any one who should happen to stumble upon it I apologize. On the other hand its your own fault. These are pivotal moments in  my life I’m writing about after all. Sometimes a pivot is a bummer. Sometimes it’s joyous. Sometimes it pulls you over in the ghetto’s of Cleveland and tells you to leave the neighborhood because your going to almost certainly be murdered, but that’s a story for another time. On a more light-hearted note I once got really drunk on tequila.

I worked at a pizza place for a long time (I told you I was a underachiever). Eventually our owner got tired of raking in the tens of dollars and decided to sell the store. It was a bittersweet day at the restaurant. On the one hand there would be no more impromptu, late night, after bar, pizza parties (yeah that’s right, try that out on the ladies, never fails), on the other we would not have to dig into the register on a daily basis to pay off random people who came in threatening to shut off this or that, or repossess our spatulas. I almost want to make that sentence even longer. Look at it… it’s huge. Where was I? Ok. So our former owner decided to throw a goodbye/hello party. Like most formal events in my town it would be held at the local bowling alley. There’s something about thick smoke and lane oil that really sets the tone for any occasion. It’s true, even baby stuff.

The night started like most any awesome night at the bowling alley. I show up with eighty pounds of gear and scoff at the poor bastards picking through the fruity plastic ball selection. “Oh whats that? Your fingers don’t fit? The thumb hole is cutting you? That’s why I spent $250 on this! (points to awesome bowling ball #1) That’s right I brought three balls. Yes I need all of them!” On a side note I don’t really think I’m cool because I have a ton of bowling gear. I just like to pretend. I do love bowling though.

Now, it was early in the evening and I was tightly focused on taking money from my co-workers. You’d think they would be hesitant to bet the guy pulling a small trailer full of bowling balls around but they’re not exactly geniuses. They also love betting. Also they’re dumb. I was well on my way to a cool thirty bucks when our former owner arrived. He made the rounds, acknowledging us personally one at a time with a grin, handshake, or bro-hug. Then he uttered the phrase that set all our lives on a course which would not end soon, or easily. “Drinks are on me. Have fun. Get whatever you want.” I have to admit I felt a moment of panic. I had thoughts such as, “does this man not realize who he’s dealing with?” and, “why does he want us all to die?”. After all, this was a group of 19-22 year old college drop-outs. We had to go to community college because we drank too much in high school. Then we dropped out of community college because we drank too much to make 2:00 classes. Presently we made pizzas and drank every night. The only reason we stopped drinking normally was because we ran out of money. Now the old boss hands over a credit card and basically challenges us to do our worst. I think he realized his mistake when the waitress started bringing out three pitchers at a time so she would have time to help her other customers.

The night progressed in approximately the following manner:                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                             

8-9: Beer and bowling. Much fun had by all.

9-10: Beer and less bowling. An insane amount of fun being had.

10-11: Beer. The bowling is degenerated to the point where it can no longer technically be called bowling. The fun level has reached its peak and is now on the decline.

11-12: Shots! Shots are instituted to try to salvage the declining fun level. Occasionally someone stumbles in the direction of the pins and drops a ball in whatever lane is readily available.

12-1: Triple shots! Of tequila! We now consider the bartender a close friend and he breaks out giant shot glasses for us. The fun has passed into some psychotic, otherworldly level where it’s just no longer safe. I literally love everyone I see and have to tell them about it in a most sincere and passionate manner. There is no bowling because I’ve forgotten what a bowling alley is.

1: The time has come to make our way home. We all try to figure out how to take off shoes and zip jackets. It takes a while. I regret bringing so much crap. One of my friends bends down for his shoes and just keeps going. He ends up face-down with his nose in one of the shoes. We all laugh. He stays in that position for about two minutes. We laugh harder. I gag a little…

Luckily I was able to catch a ride with one of our under-age employees who we had made close the restaurant. I’m not sure how everyone else got home. I’d rather not know honestly. I’m not really going to comment on the ride itself because I have no idea how it went. For all I know Santa gave me a ride on a magical buffalo. I do know I didn’t want to puke. I was later told that after arriving in the driveway of my rented shack I opened the door, got out, shut the door, and wandered off into the darkness. No goodbye, no thanks, not even a nod. In my defense I think I just forgot.

On most nights of binge drinking this is where I get inside, start to cook something, and then pass out with it still in the microwave or sitting in a pot on the stove. Unfortunately tonight I had reached a level of brain-damaged drunkenness which wouldn’t even allow the usual dysfunctions to take place.

I’d mentioned I rented a shack and that was very true. It was a 600 square foot house built in a small clearing in the woods. Those woods were directly behind the local grocery store allowing me all the modern comforts but with a real “Friday the 13th” feel.

 The first problem I ran into was the light was burned out by the back door. It was so dark you couldn’t see your hand in front of your face. Also I was too wasted to recognize my own hand so I was screwed either way. The second problem was keys are small, and keyholes are small. Trying to match one small thing with another was pretty much rocket science right then and the process was a failure. I threw the keys down in frustration. I wasn’t feeling very well so I sat on a broken chair that was sitting outside. This chair only had three functional legs and had been out in the elements for a couple of years. I managed to balance on it for a minute or two before collapsing into the dirt. As I lay there trying to figure out why the universe was mean the puking started. I retched loudly and spewed out an amazing amount of liquid. I remember thinking, “why does all this puke taste like tequila? It’s mostly beer. I wonder if people know that drinking tequila makes all your puke taste like tequila.” Then I laughed. Then I puked more.

It occurred to me as I lay there heaving that this was not a good look for me and I was making a ruckus. What if the neighbors looked out and spotted me like this?(I missed the fact that it was pitch black) Don’t ask me how I’d retained enough pride to care about appearances but I had. Blearily I looked around the yard for a hiding spot. Besides crawling into the forest my only option was the far side of the propane tank. I crawled and stumbled my way over there and lay on my back, looking up at the sky. As I lay there I went through a range of emotions. I’d laugh, I’d giggle, I’d cry a little. Eventually I just lay there humming tunelessly. That’s how I fell asleep.

I woke a short time later shivering uncontrollably. The weather had taken a turn for the worse and I was being rained on in forty degree temperatures. It was time to make a more serious effort towards entering the house. I crawled back towards the house and after a short search found my keys. I also found tequilla scented patches of wetness. With vomit slick hands I managed to get the key in the door which shows just how much my nap had done to rejuvenate me. Upon entering I immediately lay down again. This time on the carpet right in front of my dogs cages. They were barking and generally going insane after being locked up all night long.  I proceeded to have one of those classic drunken conversations no one should ever have to hear; but seeing as how you’ve read this far your getting it whether you like it or not. It went something like this.

Dogs: BarkBarkbarkBarkBBAARRKK!!!

Me: IIII know! I know… I sssucckkk! I suck you guys and your always soooo nice and I’m a baaaddd daddddy!

Dogs: bark!!!BaaaaRRRK!!whineBark!!!

Me: I can’t help you. I can’t help me. I can’t help you or meeee eeeiitherrr. I’m sorry ok? I just love you, but I can’t help you… I’m broke. I’m broken.


Me: I’m sick. I’m sick. I’m sick. I’ll make it up to you. I will. But shut up now. Shut your mouths. Your killing me. I’m dying…..I’m dead. I’m dead soon.

I slept a minute or two more.

My phone rang.

Me: uhhh, hellllooo?

Girlfriend: (banging party music in background) Baybeee? I’m wasted. Can you come get me?


Girlfriend: what’s wrong? Are you ok?

Me: ….I was outside…I..puked… I can’t help you. I can’t help myself. I gotta go.

Girlfriend: shit. I’m coming.

She found me naked on the bathroom floor staring blindly into space. My corpselike appearance caused her to scream a little but she quickly discovered I was still amongst the living and set about nursing me. I made a full recovery.

 My co-workers all had similar stories. One of them fell down the stairs into his basement and slept where he lay. Another slept on his parents front porch. We all had a good time though. And I learned something. Tequila is a jerk. It makes friends with you and then starts being a little rude and then is like, “hey, what’s that in the gutter?” CURB-STOMP! I haven’t touched the stuff since. I’ve also quit binge drinking. Except for one time. But that’s another tale.