Okay, I SWEAR TO GOD this actually happened. I HAD the ticket; it was pinned to my bulletin board. My plane left at 7:35 in the A.M, on May 13th.
So anyway, it's 12:30 in the morning, on May 13th, and I still haven't started packing, because I'm just a lazy teenager like that. I finally pry myself away from the computer for the night and do a little packing. Just the bare necessities - lavers, shorts, passport/wallet/keys/phone in a bag. Then I stood up and stared at my calendar for about 20 minutes, just zoning out, and proceeded to mindlessly wander back into my kitchen.
I pried open a new half-gallon of ice cream and sat my ass down in front of the TV. Chocolate Chip Cookie Dough. I turn on the TV, and, I SHIT YOU NOT, there's a mother fucking Leave it to Beaver marathon on TV Land!
Leave it to Beaver!!
Wally!
Needless to say, I didn't pack SHIT for the next six hours. Suddenly, right in the middle of that scene where Theodore gets his shit smeared, I hear:
"
*knock knock* Answa' ya' telephone" in that really raspy New England accent, you know? It sounded maybe a lil' prettier than one of those $20 whores you find down in Southie.
In my deluded sleep-deprived state of exhaustion, it takes me a few minutes to realize that it is in fact my computer alarm clock. On snooze. Telling me that it's SIX FORTY-FIVE IN THE MORNING.
Like a rabid yeller on steroids, I've instantly locked Jazz up in its cage, grabbed my previously packed bag and boarding pass, and am outside on the street flagging down a cab. He screeches around the corner, barely making the turn and drives by me slowly enough for me to dive in through the backseat window, and then he's screeching off again.
The cabbie was half driving safely, half blaring incoherent obscenities in a language I couldn't comprehend out the window behind him. I looked at the nametag on the dashboard. Javid Rezvani.
Evidently, based on the green and orange station wagons on our tail, and my working knowledge of European history, Mr. Rezvani was under investigation by the Gestapo, as well as the local chapter of the American National Socialist Party.
I'm hip.
"Steer," he ordered. I grabbed the wheel as he extracted a tommy gun from the glove compartment, wedged his whole upper body out the driver's side window, and let loose on the Nazis. I shifted my vision from the road ahead, to my eccentric cabbie, and back. "Can you get me to DIA in 20 minutes?" I shouted over the machine gun fire.
"That should hold theem for a leetle while," he noted to himself, as he came back in and stowed away the tommy gun. "DeeIA?" he said, "That ees theerty meenutes away. I veel bee theere een ten," and he sped off onto the I-70 entrance ramp.
Yeah, it all sounds nice and good at this segway, doesn't it? I'm really only writing this because I can't think of a good segway.
Anyway, needless to say, the Nazis had not had the last laugh, and it wasn't two minutes before they were on our tail again.
They shot out our rear tires, somewhere around Peña Blvd. and we careened off the road into a drainage ditch. It was then that I started to get a little worried. "Y'alright, bro?" I said to the cabbie. "Yes. Heere! Grab thee creestal beefore eet's too late!" He held up a strange, glowing blue crystal that was attached to his neck. I gripped it, and suddenly....
Wait, where were we? We certainly weren't in the drainage ditch anymore. I picked my face out of the dirt and looked around. Rezvani was laying face down in the mud about 100 yards away. I look up, and there's Randolph Scott hovering above me, eating a can of beans. WHO KNEW he could grow a mustache??
I'm still wondering where the hell I am. With this blazing hot sun, there's no way I'm still in Colorado. Oh, wait, there's a sign.
"Lone Star Auto Crushers"
Aw, shit. I nod and smile to Mr. Scott, and start to get up so I can wake up the cabbie, when I suddenly feel a sharp blow to the back of my head, rendering me most definitely unconscious.
When I come to, Rezvani and me are bound and gagged in a dark room, on two chairs facing back to back, which are also bound together. We appear to be on some sort of rotating platform, which is making its way slowly downward, to deposit us in a GIANT AUTOMOBILE CRUSHER! (Henceforth referred to as a CORPSE GRINDER, of sorts).
Lucky, I remembered I still had some beaver food stuck up my asshole from the other night (that is a REALLY long story, for another time), and, with a bit of Rezvani’s oral guidance, was able to procure a bit of it onto the ropes. And, if you know beavers, you know they can smell their food from miles away. Within minutes the platform was swarming with beavers, gnawing at our ropes, and we were free in no time.
At this point, I realized we really had to stop this platform before it chucked us into the CORPSE GRINDER. I kicked away all the damn beavers surrounding me (they wouldn’t stop sniffing my butt crack), grabbed one by the tail, and chucked it into the gears underneath the platform. Unfortunately, and I don’t know why I hadn’t ever realized this in the past, beavers don’t serve as very good jamming instruments. It sort of bounced off and then fell into the CORPSE GRINDER. Now, only seconds left. Must hurry. For the sake of footbag as we know it. Thinking this, I jerked off my right Rod Laver, and, “By God, get me to this tournament unscathed, and let the blessed beacon of the Lord guide my aim,” (I fucking swear to god, I actually said this). With that, I hurled the blessed shoe, its aim true, right into the gears which were propelling the platform downwards (into the CORPSE GRINDER), buying us enough time to hurl ourselves out of that situation, into a peaceful green pasture, where two of the king’s finest horses awaited us.
We started to gallop away into the sunset, when suddenly, the WHOLE Third Reich appeared out of the hill over yonder. Like, seriously. They were on horseback, too. So Rezvani procures the tommy gun once again, and goes to town. I flicked my left foot in the stirrup, like I habitually always do when riding horses. Except this time, and huge blue fireball flew out of my foot and took out several guys in one blow! Evidently, things like this happen when you travel to alternate universes.
So I toe flicked a few more times and we had killed everyone. We feared we might still be being chased, so we rode and rode and rode as far as we could ride. Unfortunately, I didn’t know this, but a horse never stops riding, even when it’s going to die! So after a good half day of riding full speed, I guess their hearts exploded or something, and we had to continue on foot.
A couple days of walking, and we stumbled upon a decent sized town. Things start to get a little hazy, here. Because I guess there was some citywide festival happening, all the people were getting their party on. I don’t remember anything past that. Next thing I know, I’m laying face down in a pool of mud on the side of the New Jersey Turnpike, and it’s 4:30 in the morning on May 18th.
So much for Footjam.
...but how could I have done that if I wasn't there. Hmmm....
I knew i should have used my second wish to get to Footjam and the 3rd wish to Free the geni from his shackles! i guess i didn't learn my lesson from Aladin...
