Beggar Gone Bad!
I figured after a great workout at the gym and a quick dash through Publix, I’d go home, get cleaned up, eat, and figure out which adventure to pursue! A whole world of adventures awaited me.
At the red light at Lake Miriam Plaza where I waited to turn onto South Florida Avenue, a hairy old vet held a sign that read: “Hungry! Will Beg for Food!”
I rolled down my window and said, “Cool sign. I admire your creativity. And your honesty. If only our political leaders would”--
--With impassioned impatience, he shook his empty KFC bucket that he used for collecting money.
I gave him my sad puppy eyes and told him I’d give him money if I had any. I then offered him bananas and cashews.
He gladly took some of each and asked me what I would do if I had lots of money.
I asked, “You mean besides help eradicate famine in Africa and other selfless acts of noble service to mankind?”
He rolled his eyes and nodded.
I cleared my throat and said, “Well, um, after creating a chocolate candy that can cure every disease known to man. ... Especially rickets. ... And, of course, making supermodel clones galore. ... I’d paramotor.”
He’d never heard of paramotoring, before so he gassed me.
Gassed ME!
Like The Old Squirting Flower Gag only with Knockout Gas!
I Got GASSED!
And not in the way I usually do.
Like after a beefy bean burrito. Or too much broccoli.
I said, “Hey! Hairy old vet dude! What’s the bid i”--and fell unconscious.
Obviously, being knocked out, I can only piece together what happened next.
My foot fell off the brake and my car lunged into traffic.
Fortunately, he yanked me out of my window before that happened.
Well, he said he did. But I still have numbness on my left side.
I awoke in a strange place.
I was naked and alone.
What could be worse?
I was naked; and I wasn’t alone.
And I wasn’t with anyone with whom I would even consider a marital commitment.
Much less a honeymoon.
Yikes!
I shivered under designer, plaid velvet sheets in an elegant bedroom with vaulted ceilings and a mirror above the bed.
Still disoriented, I noticed my surroundings and was about to puke when I said, “Please tell me you nabbed me for your supermodel daughters and not for you.”
After he said he nabbed me for himself, I puked. I mean. Ew! Sure, he looked like a million bucks when he was all cleaned up, but still. Ew!
Wincing at the ruined sheets and grimacing from the foul stench, he said, “Oh, no! No, no, no, nothing like that!”
Still somewhat dazed, I asked, “Nothing like what?”
“I didn’t drug you and have my way with you.”
“Well, that’s good. Wait. What?! Ew! I didn’t even think of that. Ew!” I resumed puking.
He resumed wincing. “Then what did you think? What were you Ew!-ing about before?”
“I just don’t like plaid velvet sheets. Designer or not. They’re unnatural. And they make me itch.” I scratched all over to prove my point.
And to make sure I hadn’t been surgically altered in any way.
Phew! No changes that I could detect.
“So why did you drug me and drag me here?”
“Because I -- Hold on just a minute! What are you doing? Are you blogging?”
Gulp!
TO BE CONTINUED …
(I hope.)
(Gulp again.)
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