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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.
5 responses total.
"Sometimes you get the bear, sometimes the bear gets you and sometimes it don't even pay to go into the woods."
but if the rock hits the pitcher or the pitcher hits the rock, it's bound to be bad for the pitcher.
what about the catcher?
Ah well. And you didn't even see me comin', either. Too bad. You are being consumed.
Y'know, I wondered who took my place on that fate-full day. Thank you, Mr. Snord, for giving my friends and family someone to mourn. Send not to know for whom the bell tolls. Indeed, it tolled for thee.
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- Backtalk version 1.3.30 - Copyright 1996-2006, Jan Wolter and Steve Weiss