Dr. Franklin laughed.
“Sam is so gullible, you can drop him in a padded round room, tell him the door out is right around the corner, and he’ll wear himself out looking for it.”
Dr. Franklin turned on the speaker for the chamber’s locked hatch. “Found it yet, Sam?”
I tapped Dr. Franklin on the shoulder. “I think so.”
Dr. Franklin gasped. “But… how… Sam… did… where…”
“Look for yourself,” I said.
Dr Franklin spent the next six years pacing that round room. “I know it’s here somewhere, Sam.”
I’d show him, but it would only make him even crazier.
A voice wakes me. Reminds me of The Three AM Cutover.
“Thanks,” I say, and open my bloodshot eyes.
Nobody else is around.
Hey, ever notice how the world’s screwed up? Some things just don’t make sense?
We’re fixing that tonight. All of it. One big Cosmic Service Pack.
He only rested on the Seventh Day, you know. Been working up this bug fix ever since then. Explains the absence, No?
It’s coming up on three in the morning. Cutover time. We’re calling it Zero Hour, but three in the morning?
As I said, typical.
I’d better get ready.
Frisky the cat hangs out in the kitchen and demands two things: Parmesan cheese and butter.
Now that I’ve switched to that omega-3 spread plant sterol stuff, there’s plenty of butter left over for Frisky.
I don’t know where we got it, but recently we bought Grade AA butter instead of the Grade A butter. Until now, I didn’t know there were different grades of butter.
One was yellower than the other, but I couldn’t tell the difference.
Frisky could. He turned his nose up at it and chirped angrily.
I gave in and gave him the good stuff.
When I look in the mirror, I see a monster.
This hideous monster looks back at me, giving me just as thorough an inspection as I give it.
He follows me from mirror to mirror, never leaving me alone.
I’ve been tempted to smash the mirrors, but cracking them might smash the barrier between our worlds and let him step through to our world.
No, I cannot do that.
Instead, I cover the mirrors.
Frustrated, he tries to spy on me in the bottoms of pots and pans. Or in the sheen of a just-washed dinner plate.
Stay away, monster.
How many people can say they were killed by a butter knife?
Well, thanks to RJ, I’m proud to say I was.
It was a game called Assassination. You have to “kill” the players next to you in the circle without being killed.
RJ hid in a closet. When I passed by, he “slit” my throat. Best kill of any game.
Just got an email from him. He says my puzzled look was a highlight of his college career.
In the next round, I was armed with fire extinguishers. When asked, I said “Well, only I can prevent forest fires.”
Dinner was ready. They all sat down, said a prayer, and the wine was uncorked.
“When was the last time we had turkey?” asked Susan.
Fred scratched his chin. “Not since last Thanksgiving,” he said.
“Wait a second,” said Jo Jo. “We had some leftovers, so technically that was the last turkey we had together.”
“If turkey is such a wonderful feast, why don’t we have it more often?” asked Susan.
“Because it’s such a bitch to cook,” said Arthur.
“And I’m stuck with the cleanup this year,” said Susan. “Screw all this?”
They agreed. Next year, a Chinese take-out.
“History shall remember us as the Knights of the Round Table!” bellowed Arthur.
“Guenievere isn’t a knight,” mumbled Gawain. “But she’s sitting at our table.”
“She’s my wife,” said Arthur.
“Can I bring my wife?” said Tristan.
“No,” said Arthur. “I hereby declare Guenievere to be special authorized personnel.”
“I used that same exact argument for myself and you said no,” said Merlin. He vanished in a puff of smoke.
“I don’t mind her being at the table at all,” said Lancelot.
Arthur felt something rub against his armor.
“Stop that, ” said Arthur. “Go sit on the opposite side.”