While the rest of you were no doubt enjoying your Independence Day with friends and family, stuffing your American faces, drinking your American beer, and blowing off your American fingers, I was fighting for my life.
I was at work and in the backroom when I was attacked.
I was reading the D.M.O. (Daily Modus Operandi-A list of shit that needs to get done for the day) when I felt something land on my face. I paid no attention to it, but as I turned I happened to catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror. (As to why there is a little mirror in receiving....I have no idea. My best guess is John puts on his makeup back there.)
It was then that I saw it. A giant beetle (Let's just call him Paul McCartney) was trying to eat my face!
I'm not sure exactly what kind of beetle Paul was, but judging by his size and color, I'm gonna go with Volkswagen.
Well I couldn't just let Paul eat my face, so I tried to swat him off of me but he wouldn't budge. So I started throwing wild haymakers at him, some connecting with Paul's back, some with my own face. Finally I was able to knock Paul off of my face and onto the floor.
It was at that point that Paul pulled out a knife and beckoned me to come after him.
Seeing as how he had stolen my favorite pen in the process of our struggles, I didn't see how I had any options.
I let out my fiercest warrior scream and lunged after him. Now obviously I was at a bit of a disadvantage; I only have two arms in which to attack, while Paul had 4 available appendages. On top of that Paul had his hard outer shell, while my outer shell is only symbolic and protects me from nothing but feelings and emotions.
That wasn't enough for Paul though, he still felt the need to fight dirty. He went for my junk at least 32 times, connecting at about a 50% rate. All while I had to dodge his repeated attempts to stab me in the face. Now I would have returned the jewel shots in kind if I could have, but there was just one problem.
Where in the hell does a beetle keep it's junk? I sure as hell couldn't see it. ( I was looking too. I wanted to see if all those rumors I heard about Beetle dong were true.)
Finally after about 15 minutes I wrestled Paul to the ground where we continually rolled over one another. I was ultimately able to wrestle the knife from Pauls hands. Gaining control of it I held it to his throat while our faces were seperated by mere centimeters. (Paul's breath smelled of a sweet mixture of lilacs and human blood.)
Paul then begged for mercy, "Please don't kill me!! I have millions of children to feed!!"
It was at that point I made the mistake of letting my guard down a little, like when your favorite villain takes the time to explain to his captured hero his plans for world domination.
It was just what Paul wanted me to do.
He delivered a knee (or whatever the hell it is Beetle's have) directly to my groin and threw me off of him with his six legs.
"You fool!," Paul yelled, "I'm a beetle! I don't take care of my children." He then took off and burst through the brick wall of the back room like the Kool-Aid man, with my pen in tow.
I don't know when, nor where, but I vow to you my readers that I shall find Paul and have my vengeance!!!!! I will get my pen back, even if it's the last god damn thing I do.
Oh, and I'll wear a cup too.
Keepin It Real Since 1980,
Tom
A.J. Pierzynski was announced as the winner in the American League. Minnesota Twin pitcher Francisco Liriano finished a close second in what MLB said was the closest final vote in the 5 year history of the contest. Nomar Garciaparra won the National League vote.
