Whiskey, Knives, and Sex (Okay I lied about the Sex)
It's a Wednesday morning and I am in my underwear, minding my own business and approaching what is probably the peak of a Black-Velvet hangover. Having agreed to play a "Wicker Park" drinking game the night before, the beautiful Kelly "The Commanding Officer of Fun" Fitzjarrell enforces my promise to take a whiskey-shot every time a phone rings, or someone talks on the phone, or a phone is visible, or pretty much whenever Kelly wants to see me sneeze and make a face like an eight-year old girl getting her vaccinations. Other caveats included "Doors in any circumstance," "Kissing Scenes," and "anytime Josh Hartnett looks hot."
The doorbell rings. I creep to the door and - lo and behold! - it's the fed ex man, carrying a package towards me, one that originated in Rockville, Florida, and has taken the last 6 days to reach me by truck. I could swear I see the shimmer of a halo around his fed ex company cap, and a golden light seems to be emanating from the package as he places it into my hands. I tingle, and I sit cross-legged in the grass, admiring the "KA-BAR" insignia on the long, slender cardboard box. I clutch the parcel to my chest like a mother pressing a newborn to her bosom for the very fist time. Then, I rip into it like an only-child with attention deficit disorder on Christmas Day chewing his way into a gift box.
Holding 17 inches of manhood firmly in my right hand, tears well up in my eyes. Suddenly, everything becomes a target. I start dashing through my front yard, slicing left and right, obliterating unwanted weeds, unnecessary tree limbs, unsightly flowerbeds, offending potted plants that are looking at me in the wrong way... you get the drift. I lose consciousness to highly concentrated levels of knife lust, and when I regain it 5 minutes later, I realize that my running in circles in my front yard in my underwear flailing a dangerous weapon above my head and vanquishing the landscaping is all being observed by an elderly gentleman out walking his dog. I think he actually pulled his pet closer to himself when I made eye contact. Feeling a bit childish, I walk calmly to my garage, where, once within the confines of my own home, the mania begins anew as I frantically slash down cobwebs and skewer an unfortunate two or three of the thousands of spiders that live comfortably in our home, shrouding our every moment of residence here in fear.
The knife came with sheath that has a belt loop - needless to say the knife is dangling from my waist this very moment, a short hand grab away from dispatching the next spider, flower, or neighbor's pet that thinks its funny to shit in my front lawn. You should see the difference in height of the grass that is shat on, not to mention the exponential growth of mushrooms that are hideously large and likely to be poisonous. I'm off to go eat one and gauge whether or not there are any euphoric effects.
