Some Days Are Like That

Dec 12 02:59 UTC 1994

I found that I was unable to frame coherent thoughts as the barrage
of innuendo descended upon me like hailstones on a freaky spring
afternoon.  The raptness with which my tormentors attended to their
phraseology permitted an unnoticed escape by me through the French
windows out onto the veranda, however.  "Egotistical nabobs!" I
sneered to myself as I leaped over the hedge and hastened down the
grassy slope to the highway.

"Time to do the hitchhiker bit again," I told myself.  No way to use
my car, which had been hoisted up onto the roof and left in an
inverted state, tires pointing upward like the legs on a dead June
bug's carcass.  So I stood by the road, arm out, thumb extended, in
classical hitchhiking pose.

Long minutes passed without a single vehicle coming into view.
I was too far from anywhere even to think of walking.  Then, in the
distance, a line of black cars appeared, snaking along the road like
ants on a food trail.  A funeral procession, no doubt.  Hardly 
promising as the source of a ride.  Nevertheless, my need was
desperate, so I held to hitchhiker stance.  To my surprise, the
hearse that was leading the procession rolled to a stop, the door
opened, and I was beckoned inside.

Besides the unknown corpse in the rear of the vehicle, the driver
and I were the only occupants.  "Thanks," I said, "I didn't really
expect you to stop for me."

"Oh, normally we wouldn't," replied the driver, a shriveled little
man who seemed to be 70 if he was a day.  "But the corpse decided
he wanted to live a little longer and skipped out about ten miles
back, so we needed a replacement."

I tell ya, some days *nothing* seems to work out.

response 2 of 5:

Dec 19 06:40 UTC 1994

but if the rock hits the pitcher or the pitcher hits the rock, it's bound
to be bad for the pitcher.

response 4 of 5:

May 30 09:14 UTC 2002

Ah well.  And you didn't even see me comin', either.  Too bad.  You 
are being consumed.