My O.B.E.!
Having a lot on my mind, especially after turning into a Were-Gerbil* during the full moon this weekend, I went for a walk.
Anything to get me away from running around inside that giant spinning wheel, or napping (and worse) on the wood shavings and old newspapers.
Met a nice lady who turns into a She-Hamster during full moons; and I thought we hit it off pretty good, but she turned out to be Methodist, not Lutheran, so that didn’t pan out.
So I wandered around, wondering if any nice girls who turn into pet rodents during full moons around here are Lutheran.
I got so lost in thought I wound up by the bus station downtown. Wearing sunglasses and a trench coat, a man standing in the shadows asked me if I wanted an O. B. E.
Having walked so much, I felt hungry; and although I’m not an avid onion fan, an Onion Bacon Egg sandwich didn’t sound too bad.
If only for the bacon. Bacon makes anything delicious!
Imagine a French waiter asking, “Would you like ze pigeon droppings du jour wrapped in ze bacon?”
“Pigeon droppings?”
“Du jour.”
“Wrapped in ze bacon? Sure!”
Socrates would have died a much wiser man if they would have wrapped his hemlock in bacon.
So I started salivating at the thought of bacon. Especially since this recipe didn’t call for pigeon droppings. Du jour. Or otherwise.
Unfortunately, an O. B. E. wasn’t a sandwich. Or a salad. Or even a cup of soup du jour. Wasn’t anything edible at all.
Instead, the enigmatic goofball injected me with a weird serum that made me drop to the ground like a sack of potatoes.
An untied sack of potatoes.
As if my spilling out wasn’t bad enough, my spirit left my body!
Turns out an O. B. E. is an Out-of-Body Experience!
My spirit immediately flew faster than thought to the McDonald’s on Edgewood. I heard they have bacon double cheeseburgers that are to die for. Which apparently I did.
Too bad my spirit didn’t take my wallet.
Worse than that, the shady freak who injected me did.
Being famished, and invisible, I decided to borrow a bacon double cheeseburger. Too bad I left my hands back on my body, so my spirit couldn’t grab a bite after all.
Unable to eat, I flew into space and danced on the rings of Saturn. That was fun.
So was playing Dodge Ball with a meteorite shower. I couldn’t lose because they shot right through me!
I met some glow-in-the-dark creatures on the sunny side of Mars who said, “The Zombie Apocalypse is sooner than you think.”
I couldn’t think of a decent comeback. (Maybe my sense of humor stems from my body, not my spirit.) So all I said was, “Thanks for the heads up”, but it came out sounding like, “Your momma!”
Feeling homesick, and still hungry, I flew back to my body. And wouldn’t you know it? I returned to find a bikini supermodel giving me CPR.
That always happens when I drown. Which is why I never take swimming lessons.
Unfortunately, CPR wasn’t a Chocolate Pomegranate Raspberry dessert.
Inhaling deeply as my spirit resumed control of my body, I thanked the bikini supermodel for “saving my life”.
(Found out I wasn’t dead after all, but she didn’t know that. And surprisingly, most bikini supermodels, in spite of how attractive they look, suffer from fragile self-esteem, so I wanted to help her feel better about herself.)
She turned out to be Lutheran, so it looked like we’d live happily ever after. Or at least catch a movie after I ate anything with bacon. Maybe even those pigeon droppings du jour I keep hearing so much about.
Good thing I had my wallet after all. The mysterious trench coat guy stole it, but seeing how empty it was, he filled it and put it back in my pocket. Thanks freaky dude.
Although the CPR bikini supermodel’s Lutheran, she isn’t the right kind of Lutheran. But fortunately, she’s allergic to Gerbils!
That way we can enjoy a meaningful and lasting relationship. Until the next full moon.
* See Spice Boy!
Obligatory Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction and is not meant to malign Methodists or the wrong kind of Lutherans. And certainly is not intended to endorse OBEs. Neither the occult experience nor the sandwich.
