This Goose Stepping Pigeon Toed Wimp Nearly Got Cooked
This Goose Stepping Pigeon Toed Wimp Nearly Got Cooked.
Just for kicks (this Quicken starter re: Reuter Tumblr, and Uber Verizon worker) bored out my friggin mind, I stuck out my right thumb.
A hazy, hot humid dog summer found me looking for adventure, which Outlook king for Avast bountiful
Fandango with fate got me Linkedin to unexpected Fancyfeast sans adventure.
Whelp - this chap and trouble seem to attract each other like opposite poles of a magnet.
Blithe to any danger (especially one named Hugh Z. Dinner), I aggressively thrust out in poor James dean hitchhiker pose.
Though not a smoker, a box of cigarettes got kept rolled up in my tee shirt.
While tapping the carton in a debonair, haughty and suave manner, some crazy dudes (each about the size of cocksure dwarves walked out of a Cinderella storybook after the driver slammed the brakes. The roaring hot rod issuing a smoky plume smoke mixed with the smell of burnt rubber followed by a horrendous screech.
The flimsy rattle trap laughably resembling a beat up olds mobile, someone would find in a junkyard squealed as the tires smoldered with black smoke a mere kiss away from my skinny geeky body easily mistaken for a fence rail with a bobble head.
“C’mon dweeb” they yelled in unison.
An itch spurred me to kill time.
“Okay”, I mumbled back.
An immediate regret prevailed.
Before the jalopy came to a stop (unsure if even the laws of physics would halt such a ramshackle slapdash hunk a junk), the motley crue member addressed as "Uber" grabbed and Lyft tid me by the stock and barrel of my luscious locks, and violently threw me in the back.
I made a mental note how deceptively powerful this urchin appeared to be as he gingerly snapped (without chatting) handcuffs tightly bound to wrists and ankles.
Just to snuff out any flickr ring escape prospect, a strait jacket swiftly tailored (ah...a Landsend manufactured tag briefly caught my attention) before this hapless, harried (formerly happy go lucky) fellow struck out.
Unsure what fate held, an attempt to detach hopelessness, an exercise in mindfulness via transcendental meditation found me taking protracted inhalations.
These slowly got followed by equally measured exhalations.
All the while these deep breaths occurred, an air of pandemonium punctuated this peaceful easy feeling like waves smashing against the Hotel California.
A plethora of pissed off passerines pitched pincher like beaks close to my head, shoulders knees and toes.
Amidst this cluttering clatter constituted a clutch of quacking geese, which nipped at various parts of my bodily with an especial fondness for clobbering ringlets of mine golden blond follicles.
Even presumably protected flesh of skin tucked over with a favorite Donald Trump down jacket not immune (and quite useless as defense against vicious jabs.
Matter of fact every single square inch of my approximate five foot and ten inch body (though nothing but skin and bone before this ordeal) subjected to sharp nip of pecking from perniciously beaks.
Maybe the ghost of Harry Houdini heard my plaintive pleas for help.
Various maneuvering within what felt like a maximum-security prison seemed to hint of gradual diminution of restraint.
After violently wriggling, my agile hands finally broke free of the straight jacket that practically severed circulation prior to (uncomfortably numb lack of sensation) tightly gripping arms, legs and torso.
Instinctual unbelievably quick thinking shift shaping motions found weak fingers of mine summoning just enough strength to grip with all my force the thick bull dog like throat of fiend manning the steering wheel.
The slight brush synonymous like frost bitten fingers probably felt ticklish to this bloodhound of hoodlum.
Within fractional of second or less (which in actuality seemed like an eternity) induced the howitzer wart hog to realize something amiss with the cheap tricks of his trade. He dialed up assistance for the other super tramp ping brigade seated in bucket seats.
When such unexpected life saving reflexes (per myself reaching for the escape artist within me) immediately caught the chief posse minnie driver off guard, the faint twittering loony tune (as of banshees released the redbox of Pandora) seemed to take revenge on the bad (to the bone) ass, chicken shit, coterie of mere goo goo dolls.
The vehicle careered to and fro, hither and yon before the increasing sound of a police siren could be heard. Those true marked trademark amber/ blue blinding lights issued in tandem with a loud ear splitting deafening voice blaring from within the police car, who gave us rap upon talking heads that did sting.
A beefy, strapping sergeant (attired in pink dickies), plus his retinue of overly muscular platy puss caricatured officials swaggered over to the derelict beastie boys, who held mine measly life in their hands.
Rather than write up a ticket, they simply forcibly ejected the mean buggars (where moments ago this live, earthlinked, hotmail wannabe) got ready to kiss his long and fostered scrawny ass goodbye.
Despite this Oculus rifting, miraculous, incredulous ordeal near death experience, I yam still a yikyak king, Jungian (this included just to appear learned), hip hopping goddamn atheist.
Instagram yours Trulia if curious to how Lifelock lady luck swooped down from on high (Pinterest lee enough at the most opportune time) to offer me Plenti of gratitude for the men in blue.
Meanwhile, this once aimless, capitalone egghead struts off to upscale shops along City Line Avenue, Atari ring himself in some getup from Saks Fifth Avenue, Lord and Taylors and BeachHouse since becoming a local celebrity with wads of cash to spend.
The above "FAKE" trumped up story constitutes one of many personal anecdotes.
Another concerns a brief lament from a pampered earthling whose vulnerability to the raw elemental bits will eventually transform his corporeal dreamer existence into powder, thence subsequently milked (from micro-organisms engineered throughout the beginning concourse of life via the invisible hand of some cosmic consciousness) into reusable material devoid of my transient present consciousness.
My bee leaf points to your menagerie of potted purr any hulls, lively hardy annuals, and/or whatever else seems to be proliferating (LIKE THE DUGGAR CLAN) that rest in tranquil repose directly above said place my body gets rejuvenated from sleep.
I will axe you kindly to root thru yar noggin, and stem the tide of this unwelcome tidal wave lest thee herbaceous haven (nurtured with tender loving care) might be sent to the property of those Norwegian bachelor farmers in Lake Woebegone.
They thrive on seclusion and dozens more burgeoning healthy chlorophyll processing mini production units would seed their bleak existences with remembrances of things past.
These booming leafy limbs could be like manna and restore vitality to old men whose lives memories fade like a SnapChat image of a plentiful harvest during the hay day of these ole fogies.
That’s the news from this cellar dweller holed up in his dungeon, who does imagine dragons), where all the water bugs make reservations, the mice stash batten for hatches, and the two teenage girls, that live below the poverty line.
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