Well once I started noticing that they were coming from the garbage, I wanted to get it out right away. So I take it and run, and in that 5 seconds I did everything wrong. You see, I live in an apartment, so taking out my garbage means I’ll need my keys to get back in. But nah, I’m in a rush, so I don’t remember my keys, my phone, my wallet; not even my toothbrush. I realized this when I came back to the front door and couldn’t get in.
So first I do is ring the doorbell for a couple minutes, but lol, the doorbell doesn’t even work. That was really funny at the time, trust me. So then I go around to my side of the house to look for any windows that I didn’t lock. Nope, they’re all locked. And it’s a good thing too, because everyone knows how dangerous Small Town, Wisconsin can get this time of year.
Now I’m beginning to panic a little, because even if I walked to my campus and used some free phone at some stupid student center, who was I going to call? My landlord? I don’t have his number memorized. I guess we aren’t that close yet. Someone huge to break the window locks? Honestly, the only person I could think of at the time was my mom, just to call and complain.
I’m about 10 minutes into this situation, and I know that none of the other tenants are home, or they would have responded to me when I was shouting about four different girls’ names I could think of. I don’t know them that well, but I know they’re girls. Sarah? Ashley? Umm, Katie? Who the hell else lives here? No response from anyone.
Now I’m kicking the door handles in hopes of getting in without my neighbors calling the cops. It seemed logical at the time. My panic turned to whatever the opposite of claustrophobia is: I desperately needed to get inside. Agoraphobia?
Finally I speed walk to the back door (that connects to my bedroom) to try my Steven Seagal foot action on this handle. I give it a couple kicks on the inside of it and of course nothing happens. This sucks. I’m tired. I sit down on the door step and lean back. I lean back into my bedroom. My bedroom! I’m inside! What the fuck!
Ok, this is how I found out that my back door doesn’t even shut. And that’s scary. But you see, I couldn’t have gotten into my house without sitting down to relax. And you see, I couldn’t foresee myself getting robbed at gunpoint in the middle of the night without locking myself out. Today I learned a lot about myself, fruit flies, and doors. They’re all dumb.
- Peter: not much, im sort of sick so im staying in tonight
- Tom: eat some chicken noodle soup!
- Peter: why does everyone keep telling me that? it's just salt water with food in it
A fun little fact about this massacre: James Huberty’s wife sued McDonald’s for $5 million two years after the shooting. She tried to convince the court that an excessive amount of Chicken McNuggets was to blame for his outrage, arguing that the monosodium glutamate present in the fun-to-dip morsels interacted with the lead he was using as a welder.
It was quickly revealed that the case was scientifically baseless and all McCharges were dropped.
And Muppet Pants offers a writeup in support of the drilling, concluding with “This isn’t a cheap fix, this is a little methadone to ween us off of our addiction.”
- Tom: do you feel like you were at a disadvantage in Hollywood for being a Gentile?
- Me: no, I feel like I was at a disadvantage for not being gay
- Tom: if only you blew then what you blow now
So glad I made it through Five Little Peppers and How They Grew alive.