You’re probably wondering where I’ve been.
Well, the recent earthquake in Pakistan and India affected a lot of the mustard crop. A lot of the world’s mustard supply comes from those two rival countries.
Did you know that? I did.
And that’s why I went. Not just to lend a helping hand to the human victims of the tragedy, but to make sure that the mustard supply wasn’t endangered.
Because after those two countries, we’d have to rely on Canada.
If there’s one thing I’ve learned in my years as Mustard Man, it’s that you can never rely on Canada.
“All I am, or hope to be, I owe to my angel mother,” said Abraham Lincoln.
“So what advice did she give you?” asked Mary Todd.
“The last thing she said was ‘God fucks everyone up the ass with a hammer!’ really loud,” said Abe. “It makes perfect sense, too.”
“What kind of hammer?” asked Mary Todd.
“Um…” stammered Abe. “I don’t know.”
Abe spent the rest of his life shoving different hammers up his ass. Claw hammers, sledge hammers, jackhammers…
Only as he was strolling bowlegged into Ford’s Theater did he realize he should have shoved them in handle-first.
My wife, she went out of town. Seven days.
I dropped her off at the airport, tell her I love her, or did she tell me? Both?
I’m so confused.
First day gone, I trip and fall. I can’t move.
My neck’s broken?
How many days has it been?
I’m thirsty. I’m hungry. I’ve pissed and shit myself a bunch of times.
Phone’s ringing. Again. They’ll leave a message.
Yup. Message beep.
I’ve tried to yell, but I’m face down. Doesn’t go far. Muffled cries.
I can weep. But that’s drying me out.
So thirsty. So hungry.
“More coffee, boy!” shouts Galileo from the tower.
It’s always the same. My master shouts More Coffee, I run down to Pizaro’s to fetch it, and then run back up to the tower while he does his stupid experiments.
“More coffee, boy!”
“I have a name!” I shout.
“Yes, ” says Galileo. “It is More Coffee Boy. Now fetch more coffee, boy!”
As I walk out the door, I hear Galileo shout.
I look up.
A brown cloud, tumbling… turning… spreading… a searing rain on my face…
My eyes! My eyes!
And then I’m covered with a pound of feathers.
“There’s odd noises coming from under the bed,” said my wife.
I rubbed my eyes. “It must be Nardo and Piper.”
Both Nardo and Piper were on the blanket.
“Will you please look?” my wife asked. “I don’t like odd noises.”
“Fine,” I said. I leaned over the side and looked.
A dwarf was tucked up under the bed, reading from a calculator: “Three… five… seven… nine…”
“Can you please stop it with the odd noises?” I asked him.
He nodded. “Two… four… six… eight… ten…”
I pulled back up on the bed. “How’s that, dear?”
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.”