Please excuse my absence of the past two weeks. I have encountered the amazing power of rage. I have faced it, been knocked down, and righted myself to carry on.
It was a typical day of giving tours in the candy factory. I had to listen to boring stories from old ladies about the sweets they used to get during the Civil War, morons asking about low-carb candy, and idiots who saw us on any one of hundreds of television appearances acting like they were in on some secret. So 90 minutes into my day I'd had more than should have had to take. Enter screaming baby.
I'm trying to explain the process of candy making to the mental deficients who can't understand, "See that? That's how they make candy." But the baby won't stop screaming and crying. I don't know why. I don't care. It's not my brat. So I tell its 600 pound mustachioed mother, "You shut that thing up or I will bury a claw hammer in its squishy little skull". Now I have the noise and poop machine and its progenitors' blathering to deal with.
Since I am a man of my word I head into the warehouse to find the tool box. That's where the hammer is. As I reach into said box with my tingly left arm I discover a pain greater than a kick to the groin. Gentlemen, did you ever notice that a strong blow to the gonads often causes nausea? That's because your body is trying to disperse the pain throughout your entire torso. Not so with the heart attack. Imagine if you will several strikes to the family jewels, all concentrated in an area of your chest the size of your fist. Go ahead, look at your fist. It's not a lot of space.
The next few parts of the story are gathered from witness reports and are hard to verify. It appears that another tour guide followed me into the warehouse to talk me out of dispensing justice on the spawn of hell and found me lying on the floor. It seems that CPR was administered or jumper cables were hooked up to my chest and the tow motor.
I awoke in the hospital. If I could for a second, a shout out to St. Anthony's in Denver, if they found out I wasn't a practicing Catholic they would have thrown me out on the street but when they thought I was just indigent they gladly switched the ticker from off to on.
So what have I learned from the experience you ask? First, coffee and cigarettes, despite being made exclusively from vegetable matter do not constitute a well balanced breakfast. Secondly, butter should not be eaten out of the tub with a spoon like ice cream, nor should mayonnaise or sour cream. I think they said something about peanut butter, any way I'll be washing fewer spoons from now on. Lastly, just squish the little head right then and there.
1 comment:
I feel that that's why it's important to carry a tool belt at all times. It has the following advantages: 1) You get to horrify people with your "plumber's crack" at opportune times; 2) You are never at a loss when 600 lb. women or screaming babies appear on the horizon, and are spared heart attacks.
If anyone ever asks you "why do you wear a tool belt while giving tours of a candy factory?", you simply reply "to squish the heads of noisy babies." After that, no one will ask you that question anymore.
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