Last Splash

The gene pool could use a little Chlorine.

Well, well, well...I've been tagged. I don't know whether to be flattered or pissed. Since it was the amazingly talented Yoshick, and she did use the phrase "I'm curious to see where you'll take this" I will assume flattery. So, thanks, Ms. Martini...

So, here goes:

I woke up hungry. I pulled my bedroom curtain to the side and looked out on a hazy morning. I dragged myself into the kitchen, in search of something to eat. I reached for a jar of applesauce sitting next to the sink, and found it very cold to the touch. I opened the jar and realized it was frozen. (Splotchy)

My first idea was to put the applesauce in the microwave. Hey, I was still tired. Could I scoop some out and put whipped cream on it? No, too solid. Why was it so damn cold in here? I walked over to the thermostat and saw that the heat hadn't clicked on all night and the temperature had dropped substantially overnight. Now, tired and hungry, I opened the access panel on the heater. There's the problem: why was someone cooking a duck in here? (SamuraiFrog)

I bent down and scooped up the uncooked duck carcass. There was no way I was going to let it go to waste, especially considering I had applesauce on hand. I placed it in a roasting pot and went back to reset the heater. As I continued to wake up, I realized that my roommate had spent the night at his girlfriend's place and couldn't have put the duck there. "How the hell did it get there?" I wondered. Just then, an already odd situation became even stranger. The lifeless duck animated, flapped its featherless wings, and began to speak. (Some Guy)

I had a choice to make: do I go along with this impossibly reincarnated duck drama that's unfolding before me, or do I phone Dr. Leary and get my prescription changed? Feeling more comfortable believing the Chemical Dementia theory, I pressed Dr. L's speed dial button. That's when I noticed that the duck was wearing my watch. And he had a knife. And he was telling me to lie on the floor. (Cooper Green)

The duck stared me down from across the room, if it is possible to stare without eyes, and repeated its instruction, gesturing with a long, thin knife which I must have also left on the counter.  This line of this might have sounded more menacing coming from an undead bird with a carving knife, but its voice was delighfully light and British-sounding.  This was a fact that wasn't helping me establish the boundaries of reality, but I knew that my hero wouldn't wait to find out.  My hero wouldn't call his psychiatrist and inquire about hallucinogenic side effects with an enemy in the home.  Oh hell no.  That's not what Patrick Swayze would do!!  "Listen buddy," I said in my most patronizing voice, my hand groping on the nearby counter for something to pick up, "assuming this is real and not some delightful side effect of mixing my favorite blue pills with my favorite alcoholic liquid, then in the real world, I'm the lazy sort of guy who leaves out -"  I found the applesauce jar and waved it at the duck, "applesauce overnight.  And, well you know what that makes me?  One lazy bastard.  It makes me the sort of guy who never ever sharpens his knives either.  So the knife you're holding?  It couldn't cut warm butter if it held still.  And I won't hold still.  So tell me, you wanking, british zombie duck, do you really think your kung fu is stronger than mine?"   I held up the apple sauce, preparing to throw, and the duck quacked out a blood-curdling, curse-laden scream, before running straight for me, kamikaze style. (Yoshick)

Suddenly, and in slow motion, I realize I do not actually know kung fu, but I do remember watching all of the Karate Kid movies (well, except for The Next Karate Kid, because that was just absurd and also I really hate Hilary Swank). In any case, as the strains of "Glory of Love" begin to pipe mysteriously from the air conditioning vents, accompanied by a rolling black fog that smells like white truffles, I try to position myself in the flying swan or crow or whatever it's called, except I can't seem to lift my leg from the ground. Thinking that my worst fear has come true and I am stuck in a molasses puddle, I cast my eyes slowly to the floor. "What the f...!?" I think as I look down. Chuck Norris is holding my feet still with one hand. With the other, he lifts his finger to his lips in the "sshhhh" motion and whispers, "be vewy, vewy quiet..."(Cannonball)

So, now for the honors...for being my only friends on mo'time besides Yoshick: Windhazel, AmeriganGirl, and Greeneyes should have something brilliant to add to this. And I will also go out on a limb and say, Howard, if you are reading this, I think you should get involved...and for my final selection...JustMe, let's see if you have a knack for the absurd. Copy, paste, and add...

posted by: Cannonball14 at 16:24 | link | comments (2) |

Comments:

#1  12 December 2007 - 18:49

 

You... you added Chuck Norris.

That's so beautiful.

Yoshick

#2  13 December 2007 - 01:16

 

I'm not afraid. I'll take the story from here...

Well, I'll take the backstory from here, I should say.

Windhazel

Comments: