#51 Napalm

My screams shattered the silence as they echoed throughout the darkened room. "Why, God Why?" I wailed. I was beset by a pain that was unlike any I had ever known. My loins were on fire. It felt as if Hades had my bowels in his merciless clutches. My cry ebbed as the last ounce of breath passed through my lips. The pain had grown so intense that I was unable to draw another breath. I writhed violently about on the cold tiles, desperately trying to refil my lungs.

I eventually managed to regain my breath but this breath, like the previous one, was squandered on yet another pathetic howl. I tried to stand, but my ankles were hopelessly tangled in my boxers. Pain-induced nausea gripped me and I could feel my throat tighten in preparation for the impendent emisis. I momentarily aborted my antics to steal a glance at my crotch. There were no flames emanating from my rectum as I had supposed.

Alas, my writhing had exhausted me. The frigid tiles pressed against my buttocks, sending a chill up my spine as I sat there in the corner with my legs stretched out in front of me. Beads of cold seat accumulated on my brow as I began to contemplate the origin of my agony. It was then that the light came on and I beheld Ginger standing in the doorway in her night gown. She was clearly cross. She had been forced to abandon her precious slumber and was wholly incapable of dispensing solace.

She stormed across the bathroom to the open drawer and removed a tube of Preparation-H. "Looking for this?!" She muttered angrily as she hurled the tube in my direction. I flinched as it struck me in the face and fell to the floor. A single nagging question arose as I stared at the tube. "If the cooling-gel is on the floor, then what's in my hand?" I glanced quickly at the contents of my left hand.

Ginger had turned and shuffled off down the hall. Her slippers rubbed against the carpet producing a soft cadence that was accompanied by the "swish-swish" of her satin gown. At that moment, I wanted nothing more than to chase her down and smack her in her stupid head. This was all her fault. The Listerine toothpaste belonged in the SECOND drawer from the bottom!

#45 Derivation

I knew that hysteretically damped rotor dynamic models were inherently nonlinear. Furthermore, I knew that such nonlinearities manifest themselves in the form of the absolute values of the cross-coupled terms. It was also clear to me that any eigenvalues extracted from a stability analysis of such a system would indicate the existence of a center manifold. Such results are, of course, inconclusive for a nonlinear system.

And so I decided to fit the nonlinearities with multivariate polynomials. This, I assured myself, would leave me with more manageable nonlinearities. I could simply normalize the new system and extract eigenvalues that would yield more conclusive results! If I could just free myself from this straightjacket, I could use my fingernails to etch the initial calculations into the walls.

#33 Not Again

The water poured through my nostrils and rushed in through my mouth and succeeded in wrenching me effortlessly from my slumber. I opened my eyes to the shimmering darkness of my aquatic surroundings. I was completely submerged. An explosion of bubbles erupted from my mouth as I fought to expel the invading water from my lungs. What oxygen I had was now gone. My heart raced as the panic set in. Which way was up? "Follow the bubbles" I thought. It had not worked the last time and as I thrashed about in the darkness, I knew that it would not work this time either.

"Ah yes!" I nearly blurted as I recalled my last episode. I thrust my arms and legs outward in search of a flat surface. I could feel the panic regress as my hands and knees made contact with what I hoped was the bottom. I knelt before attempting to stand. Up I went, emerging from the knee-deep water. My t-shirt sucked tight against my back as the violent coughing forced me to lean forward.

I finally managed to catch my breath and as I stood there shivering in the darkness, I realized that this was the second time in three weeks that this had happened! To hell with the warranty! This waterbed was going back!

#48 Treasure

My eyeballs nearly exploded from their sockets. I wanted to laugh and yell in my excitement but I knew that I had to conserve my air supply. I was ecstatic. My scuba diving lessons had paid for themselves on this, my very first , dive. I grabbed a fistful of the shiny coins and shoved them into one of my mesh bags. I could hear them clinking against each other as they settled. I worked feverishly shoveling handful after handful.

I had filled two bags when I noticed the voices. They were faintly audible over the sound of my bubbles. I turned and looked towards the surface. I was shocked to find a multitude of faces staring down at me. I couldn’t hear what they were saying but one fellow, in particular , seemed especially boisterous. I left my treasure, inflated my B.C., and floated to the surface. Damn! It was mall security. I could tell by their scowls that they were not going to go easy on me. One of the guards stepped forward. "Sir, step out of the fountain."

#49 Bachelor Party

I guess I could sympathize. I guess if they had done the same thing to me at my bachelor party, I would have been pissed too. Jerold had over reacted, though. My wince echoed across the men’s room as I wiped the blood from my face. I was positive that my nose was broken. There was no excuse for this!

I stood there in front of the mirror and stared at my swollen face. Jerold had finally quit vomiting and had emerged from his stall and wiped his mouth on the back of his hand. Our eyes met briefly in the mirror. He turned and stormed out of the restroom. The lap dance had been bad enough. We should have stopped it, though, when he started feeling her up. Even with the Mardi Gras mask covering most of her face, I still expected him to realize that it was his sister.

#41 Bessie

Bill had witnessed my nasty divorce. I suppose everyone at the company had. The endless maze of cubicles that I had to navigate each morning was always buzzing with hushed voices. The only word that I could make out was "cuckold." It was as if they were chanting it in those whispered voices. I could feel them staring at me. My ears would grow red, my pace would quicken.

I could only interpret Bills decision to send me to the annual shareholders’ convention in ‘Vegas as a sympathetic gesture. I was merely a junior executive and my presence at the convention was clearly unnecessary. But here I was, lying on the California king-sized bed, staring out through the huge panoramic window at an ocean of brilliantly lit neon lights. The complementary silk bathrobe felt great against my skin as did the silk sheets on the enormous bed. I shook the champagne flute and watched the little bubbles rise to the surface. "Perhaps the convention wasn’t such a bad idea after all" I thought. I heard the bathroom door open and I looked over just in time to see Bessie tip-toe out and shut the light off behind her.

My attendance at the convention was Bill’s idea, the hooker, however, was mine. She seemed to be everything that the flier had promised. Cowboy hat, leather chaps, bullwhip, bandanna scarf, and…whoa!!! What tha’ phelching moses fish was that?! No mention had been made of a tumble weed! She just stood there like she was modeling it! That was the biggest "bush" I’d ever seen! Suddenly the whole "Get Bushwhacked" part of the flier made sense. Geeze! I’d paid for some hot one-on-one action…not to get double-teamed by some hot cowgirl and…and Richard Simmons! It was too late to back out now.

Her unsightly muff was likely as rough as steel wool! I could not bear the thought of having it grind against me. It’d probably cause me to chafe or something. I thought quickly. "Ah yes!" I exclaimed. Bessie squinted and nodded apprehensively as I made my request. She seemed annoyed and impatient as she removed the chaps and handed them to me.

#16 Give It Here

I'd always hated sharks. I made no exceptions for this one. It took all six of us to pull the shark out of the water and into the boat. My grandfather nodded in approval as the shark writhed on the deck, desperate for oxygen. The guys stood around as I kicked the vile beast in the head. Those dark malevolent eyes stared up at me. "Damn I hate these things!" I screamed as I stabbed the shark in the face with my pocket knife. I then proceeded to plunge the blade into the shark's belly. I made a long incision and thrust my arm into the wriggling shark's gut.

It did not take me long to find it. "Give it here" my grandfather chuckled as I pulled the prosthetic leg from the shark's belly. I handed him the leg and washed the blood off of my arms and hands. I heard a splash behind me and I turned around. My grandfather had resecured his prosthesis and was back in the water paddling about in his innertube and singing "sloop John B." at the top of his lungs. This man knew no fear!

#50 Norman

I locked the car and began walking across the parking lot towards the aquatics center. The sun was beating down on me and it made the prospect of swimming seem a little less unappealing. Six years of lap swimming had taken their toll on my enthusiasm.

I continued through the parking lot, willing myself onward. As I walked, I unzipped my duffel bag and removed my half-consumed bottle of Aquafina. It seemed ironic, to me, that I could casually consume a substance that would only minutes from now be trying to choke me. "Become one with the water" I muttered under my breath. I chuckled as I was reminded of something that Jeff had said.

As I stepped over a parking block, I was startled by the screeching of tires on the asphalt behind me. I turned sharply just in time to see the dirty, beat-up, bumper-sticker-plastered, Chevy Metro squeal into a parking space that I had occupied only a split second earlier. "Norman!" I exclaimed in a disgusted tone. "Damn that son of a bitch." My pulse quickened , as did my pace. I reached the glass doors and was halfway across the lobby floor before Greg reminded me that I had to sign in. Greg laughed at me. "Norm's not out there is he?" he asked with a smirk on his face. I scrawled my signature across the sign-in sheet and hurried off to the locker room. I would be safe there.

Norm, despite his morbid obesity, had an exceptionally small penis and he always wore his bathing suit under his clothes so that he could avoid the locker room. He was a short, pasty-white, fat guy with a thick dark 'fro, beady eyes, and an over-abundance of body hair. I was pretty sure that he was the type of guy who was a level ten dungeon master with a hopeless porn addiction, and an affinity for homemade up-skirt voyeurism videos. He probably laid around at home, naked, in a pile of fried chicken, eating, and burping-the-worm to pre-recorded Girls Gone Wild commercials.

To be perfectly honest, I had absolutely no factual evidence on which to base my evaluations and speculations regarding Norm's private life. However, I had always considered myself to be an astute judge of character and I was reasonably confident with my speculations. I only knew his name because he had signed the sign-in sheet before me a couple of times. There was, however, an abundance of justification for my hatred.

It all began four years earlier. The pool was crowded and I had been forced to share a lane with Norm. It was clearly Norm's first day and I had been confident that he would prove to be nothing more than just another New-Years-resolution loser. I, on the other hand, was a honed athlete. Years of swimming had developed my endurance. I could swim up to four miles non-stop. My stroke was flawless. I swam freestyle, breathing every three strokes, and flip-turning at the end of each length. I had great pride in my aquatic maneuvering prowess. Obviously, I had to pace myself in order to successfully swim such great distances. Norm, however, was oblivious to this fact.

He would wait for me at the end of the lane and as I went into my flip-turn, he would push off of the side and flail about as he performed what I assume he thought was the butterfly. He would beat me to the other side by about a yard, drag his fat ass halfway out of the water, lie there wheezing and gasping, and still manage to display a snide triumphant look on his face. I could tell that he was one of those ultra-competitive egomaniacs. Norm would swim maybe five laps like this and when I finally finished my mile, he would be there waiting for me with that look on his face. That look that said "Hey, dude, I can kick your ass and I haven't been swimming nearly as long as you, you speedo-wearing faggot."

Nothing had changed over the last four years. Much to my dismay, Norm became a regular at the pool. He always managed to secure a lane next to mine, and his mere five laps of flailing "Norm Stroke", as I began calling it, were as pathetic and unathletic as they were on the first day. I was always greeted after my swim by his smug countenance which bore his trademark your-welcome-for-the-ass-whipping smirk.

I'm not completely sure why it had never occurred to me before. Perhaps, subconsciously, I had always considered it a waste of time. For some reason, though, on this particular day it seemed to be the logical thing to do. Today I would swim sprints. I would not swim my usual mile. I would fly through the water like a greased torpedo, Norm would choke on my wake, and I, not he, would don the victory smirk.

I strolled out onto the deck and approached my usual lane. The flopping of Norm's man boobs echoed across the pool as he waddled along behind me. Norm had extraordinarily disturbing nipples, the fat juicy kind that made you think about doing bizarre things like clipping jumper cables to them. Yuck! A chill went down my spine as I allowed myself to contemplate the extensive magnitude of Norm's nastiness.

I paused, adjusted my goggles, and plunged feet-first into the water. I loved being the first one in. The tranquility was soothing. The sound of bubbles and the faint and distant clicking and humming of the filtration system welcomed me into the depths. I exhaled, letting myself sink to the bottom. For a moment, I was weightless, I was free, I was happy. There were no deadlines here, no mortgages, no alimonies. I felt as if I had returned to the womb...

My trance was brutally violated by the tremendous roar of Norm's colossal girth raping the surface. I looked up at him. His WWF swimming trunks were bloated with air and the pockets had ballooned outward and were flapping about in the bubbles like the pectoral fins of a killer whale. The fogging lenses of those cheap K-mart goggles did little to conceal the beady eyes that stared down at me over that beefy triple chin. Norm looked like Baron Harkonnan as he floated there. Fat was Norm's only ally in the battle against drowning.

I pushed off of the bottom, performed a sharp dolphin kick, and shot gracefully to the surface. Norm had already curled his pudgy legs up beneath him and planted his feet against the side of the pool. I took one deep breath and followed suit. The sheer explosiveness of my start must have come as a shock to Norm, who had grown used to my typically relaxed starts. I surged forward, allowing myself to streamline just below the surface. Norm was history. I could hear him thrashing around behind me. My visions of ultimate victory were premature, though; for what would transpire there in the following strokes of that ill-fated competition, would forever alter my perception of Murphy's Law.

It was the single most horrific cramp that I have ever experienced. I was halted mid-stroke as my right leg folded up behind me. A stream of bubbles accompanied my muffled scream as it erupted from my mouth. I foundered there, temporarily paralyzed in my agony and able only to float face-down with my mouth wide open like a stunned catfish. The lane-rope bobbed up and down chaotically in the frothy turbulence as Norm passed me. I couldn't let this happen. The throbbing cramp seemed trivial as I contemplated the ramifications of defeat. I swallowed hard and began pulling with my arms and kicking with my left leg. I edged forward, propelled by a stroke that was nearly as spastic as Norm's. I labored valiantly to regain the lead and, though I was gaining steadily on Norm, I knew that there was not enough time to close the gap.

Mysteriously enough, the cramp released me from its malevolent clutches at the exact second that Norm reached the opposite side. The cramp had drained me and I barely had the strength to drag myself out of the pool. I lay there on my back, gasping, and staring up at the girders above.

Theretofore, Norm and I had never exchanged words. Body language had been sufficient. Norm's voice was just as I had imagined it. It was deep and scratchy and it had an arrogant tone to it. "Ya know, ya swam pretty good there, pal" he said sarcastically. "Ya did ril good there at tha beginnin'. I recon ya need to work on yer endurance, though" he said.

The words seemed to roll off of his tongue in slow motion as he sat there with that smug grin. The lyrics to one of my favorite songs began to play in my head...faint at first and then louder. I could see Norm's mouth moving but I could no longer hear him. All that I could hear was Chet Thrasher's demonic voice screaming in my head. "Kill! Kill! Kill! Take what you desire!" Chet screamed as the stratocaster blared away.

I sat up abruptly and took a swing at Norm. The blow failed to connect. Norm leapt to his feet and began bouncing up and down with his fists up. His breasts flopped rhythmically, spawning enormous waves of lard that propagated down his gut. "C'mon, let's do it, bitch" he growled. "Want some git some. Bad 'nuff, take some!" he snarled. I tried to stand and as I did so, I was met by a gut wrenching kick in the ribs. I collapsed onto the cold tiles and looked up just in time to see Norm closing in for another kick. He never got the second kick off. An expression of shock replaced his sadistic grin as he was gang-tackled by a mountain of police officers.

"Sir, are you alright?" the police officer's voice was muffled and distant as I sat there with my mouth hanging open. I watched as several police officers dragged Norm away. It would be several moments before I would manage to regain my composure.

I never saw Norm again and I found out later that afternoon that he was wanted in eight states for the production of illegal up-skirt voyeurism videos along with three counts of goat sodomy. His arrest, however, had been for the murder of a coworker whom he had stabbed in the face with a bovine rectal thermometer earlier that day.

#27 Bull's Eye

I sat there, breathless, in my make-shift tree stand. This was it. I'd waited months for this shot. I carefully removed the lens covers from the scope and took aim. My hands and arms shook in anticipation and it took everything I had to steady the gun. This was a once-in-a-lifetime shot and I dared not waste it. I could see her prancing back and forth like a showgirl. She was healthy and plump. I squeezed the trigger. My BB gun fired with a loud pop which was followed immediately by a squeal. My little sister jolted upright and clutched her buttocks. "Bull's eye!" I snickered.

#32 Phobia

It was a beautiful Fall morning. The grass was still thick and green and the oak and maple trees that lined the street in front of my house were laden with all of the vibrant oranges, reds, and yellows of the season. My older siblings had boarded the school bus about ten minutes ago. I wasn't yet old enough to join them and on such a fine morning, envy was the farthest thing from my mind.

I lay there on the front lawn staring up through the yellow leaves at the deep blue sky beyond. The breeze was cool and smelled of fallen leaves and chimney smoke. It blew through the tree-tops causing the sun beams to flicker and dance about underneath the leafy oak canopy. I could feel the cool blades of grass pressed against the back of my neck. My mind wandered as I lay there in that blissful state.

The Holidays were not far off. The festivities and family gatherings of such occasions evoked not fervor but melancholy. For I was a plump boy of five, with big eyes and ruddy cheeks. The kind of cheeks that drove old ladies to what I perceived to be pure sadism. Grandmothers and aunts would corner me before exploding into a pinching frenzy. I'd even been attacked by old women in the supermarket and even at Mass!

It was confusing. How could my being "adorable" merit the ripping of my flesh from my face?! They did things that I would not even consider doing to play-doh!!! And my mother only laughed when I asked for a catcher's mask on my fourth birthday.

I was jarred from my brooding as my nostrils were assailed by the scent of out-dated perfume and Bengay. Time seemed to slow as I turned my head and blinked. A most horrific scene met me. I opened my mouth to scream but it was too late. The roving band of geriatric neighborhood speed walkers was upon me! The ocean of rustling lycra and colorful metallic wind suits engulfed me. Oh, the humanity!!!

#28 The Rice

The terraced rice paddies of the Thai countryside stretched for what seemed like miles before being abruptly halted by the towering walls of the valley. A humid westerly breeze caused the rice to sway about in the warm rays of the rising sun. Somehow, the rhythmic swaying of the rice brought to mind foggy images of the dancing girls in the brothel and the brief tryst of the night before. "What's the Thai word for rice paddy?" I wondered as I retrieved the dictionary from my pack. The birds were chirping now and I could hear the roosters crowing in the village downstream.

Satisfied with the new addition to my vocabulary, I placed the dictionary on my pack and prepared to conclude my a.m. bowel movement. I had no toilet paper so a dried banana leaf would have to suffice. I stood to wipe and as I did so, I could hear something crashing through the tall grass behind me. I turned sharply but it was too late. The water buffalo was upon me. I was beneath the trampling hooves in an instant. The massive beast proceeded to dance a merciless jig on my writhing body. I suppose the crunching of my bones would have made it more of a tap dance than a jig.

Anyhow, the pain was horrific. I screamed in agony as his left hind hoof came down hard on my left shoulder. It was at that precise moment that they captured my full attention. There, mere inches from my face and jiggling vigorously about in the commotion, was the most gargantuan scrotum I had ever witnessed! Those hulking behemoth nards would haunt the dreams of the ensuing coma.

#23 Hold Still

I had not anticipated this level of aggression. The scratches on the wall paper, the soiled furniture, and the toppled lamps all gave testimony to the intensity of the skirmish. "Dammit, Jonah! Hold still!" I screamed as I struggled to subdue the flailing spider monkey. Why couldn't he understand that I was doing this for his own good? They'd made it look so easy on Animal Planet. As the sense of defeat closed in, I could think of only one thing. What had I done with the receipt for the Home Colon Cleansing Kit?

#4 Amphibious Assault

The muddy bank was clear of debris with the exception of a few small stones. It was ideally suited for an amphibious landing. The tall grass just up the bank would conceal the invasion from the enemy's probing eyes. The swampy region that lay to the east of the main landing area would hide the combat divers as they wriggled ashore. The falling rain pummeled the water's surface. I wondered if anyone would notice if I removed the toy hovercraft and action figures from my duffel bag and placed them in the puddle.

#24 Man to Man

Oscar and I stared over the desk at each other. The jumbled piles of paper and towering stacks of books on my desk seemed poised to fall and extinguish what was left of the dwindling conversation. He was clearly perplexed and the bewildered look on his face moved me to pity. The leather on his armchair creaked as he shifted his weight. How could I explain it to him? I concentrated on the whisps of smoke that were curling up from the smoldering cigar. It was no use… I could not escape the awkwardness of the situation. "You see, Oscar…" I began. "The man has a peni…" I paused, rolled my eyes, slumped back into my chair, and stared up at the ceiling. I could not begin that way; it was just too generic. "When a man and a woman really love each other…" There was obviously no dignified way of getting this point across. "Son, Rex is not trying to play leap-frog with you and your buddies…he’s…" I sighed and put my hands over my eyes. "…just don’t play leap-frog with Rex anymore, ok?"

#11 This Guidebook Sucks!

I felt cheated as I ran through the meadow. My guide book had clearly been mistaken when it said that the bears in this region were "not particularly aggressive." Nearby campers stared in horror as the enraged bear gave chase. I could feel her hot breath on my neck. "Stingy bitch! One was enough, Why did she need two?!" I wondered as I struggled to hold on to the squealing cub.

#40 Bio-hazardous Material

It was a delicate procedure. One I’d rehearsed a thousand times over in my head. A thousand times and still my inadequacies seemed to be amplified by my inability to manipulate my hands in those thick rubber gloves. I could feel the sweat beading on the tip of my nose as the lenses of my gas mask began to fog. My desire to remove the suffocating contraption was, of course, hindered by my awareness of the consequences of such an action. Any exposure would lead to the inevitable gagging, vomiting, and eventual loss of consciousness. The idea that one human being could be cruel enough to subject another to this was unthinkable! I fumbled with the contaminated material and as I did so, I made a startling discovery. "Honey, we’re out of wipes! Could you bring me a paper towel?!" I yelled through the mask as I struggled to subdue the flailing infant.

#16 First Day

It was gruesome and yet strangely amusing. Amusing because I could not find an explanation, gruesome because his left leg was bent back behind him allowing his head to rest on the sole of his foot. He smiled at me helplessly from that hideous position. I held his right leg in my hand. He was no longer whole, I had ripped his leg off in my rage. This was only my first day on the job and it was already very clear…dressing mannequins was not my thing.

#46 Badgers and Rascals

Starting the badger farm had been Glenn's idea. We'd been best friends since childhood. We'd spent over four decades working for the same company and upon retirement, we had packed our lives into a couple of U-hauls and together with our wives and pets, we had moved to Florida to live out our remaining years in peace and warmth while savoring the smell of salt water and the taste of cheap beer. For nearly a year life was good and retirement was everything we had dreamed. That is, until I broke my hip the night that we all got drunk and ran Evan's boat into the pier. The subsequent emergency room visit and hospital stay had depleted my retirement funds so thoroughly that Glenn, out of the goodness of his heart, had taken it upon himself to include me in a business venture that he insisted would prove very lucrative.

I however, was skeptical from the start. "The demand for badgers can’t be that great" I would argue. "Malarkey!" Glenn would counter. In spite of my objections, and after several days of deliberation and incessant cajoling, I finally relented. What remained of my retirement fund, I begrudgingly lent to Glenn who wasted no time using it to purchase a sandy tract of sparsely vegetated land.

An old dilapidated barn stood in the center of the property surrounded by a few scraggly pine trees and an unhealthy tangle of grass and sand spurs. Maybe it wasn’t that bad. Perhaps the other side of the property was in better condition. I was advised not to walk until my hip had mended suitably and thus I had been confined to a motorized, three-wheeled scooter that the doctor had informed was called a "rascal." As if I could not read the chrome letters on the side of the machine for myself. At this particular moment, my rascal had become hopelessly stuck in the sand and so I had been denied a complete tour of the premises. Glenn stood there in front of me pointing and waving his hands around as he tried in vain to help me visualize all of the elements of a fully functional badger farm. His voice seemed distant as I sat there chewing on the stem of my pipe and pleading with God to either get my rascal unstuck or humor me with a heart attach of un-survivable proportions. He granted me the former and I scooted back to the van while Glenn followed, still engrossed in his lecture. Glenn must have sensed my disappointment because I did not see much of him for the next few days.

It was Sunday afternoon when I woke from my nap to find Glenn shaking me and grinning from ear to ear. I tied my bathrobe, mounted my rascal, and followed Glenn to the garage. "You’re gonna love this" Glenn said. I could not believe what I was looking at. "You know, badger prices are pretty volatile." Glenn had to yell to be heard over the screeching and hissing. "By the time we get the barn fixed, they could cost twice as much so I …" "Dammit, Glenn!!!!" I screamed. I turned the rascal around and coasted back into the kitchen. "I’m gonna get cages to keep them in." Glenn was trying to reason as he took big steps to avoid the badger poo. Glenn followed me into the kitchen, closing the door behind him.

I was irate and trembling aboard my motorized chariot. I yanked the throttle. The rascal lurched forward, tires squealing. "Why!!?" I screamed as I shot across the kitchen. Glenn was stunned and unable to react. There was a tremendous crash as we sailed through the bay window accompanied by the rascal and Nemo, my wife’s Cayrn terrier, whose leash had been snatched up in the rascal’s left rear axle during takeoff.

The severity of the ensuing impact was immense. The thick juicy Bermuda sod had failed to provide even the slightest bit of cushioning and I could tell by their unnatural positions, that both of Glenn’s legs were badly broken. Nemo, on the other hand, was fine…just a little shaken. I was pinned beneath the rascal. I was too exhausted to move and so was Glenn. We lay there in silence staring at the sky. I had some pretty serious lacerations on my forehead from the glass. Nemo whimpered as he licked the blood from my face. Glenn moaned. Neither of us could move and Nemo was still tethered to the rascal so he couldn’t go for help. "Am I going to die here like this?" I wondered.

I could hear it, faint at first, but unmistakable. It was Rachael’s golf cart. I had to drag myself around to the front of the house and warn her. It was no use. I could hear the suspension squeak as the golf cart entered the driveway, I could hear the garage door rattling as it began to open. I could hear Rachael shrieking as badgers scattered into the neighborhood. I stared at the sky and wished for death. Glenn’s ribs must have been broken because he was having trouble speaking. "Frank, you bastard…" Glenn paused to catch his breath. "I never bought that property. The badgers aren’t even mine…" He wheezed and grimaced. "I won the lottery and I was just having some fun, you a-hole!" Glenn’s New England accent always grew thick when he got angry. "Does Rachael know?" I asked. "No" he replied. "Good, good! Don’t say anything." I chuckled.