Slack Slacker Meets the Abominable Snow Man
It was windy, dark, and bitterly cold after leaving the office last night. With black ice and slush to navigate every other step, there were untold perils I'd encounter on the way home. Feeling a strange chill along my walk, I had the distinct sense of being followed. But in my haste to get home, I just shrugged it off and attributed the odd sensation to the frosty weather. All I could think about was slipping the key into the door lock and calling it a night.
After a hellish bout with radicalized leprechauns last Thursday, I was determined to spend a quiet evening watching cartoons and having milk and cookies. The Plan: Turn in early and shock my colleagues by showing up bright and early on a Friday morning for once.
Unfortunately, when my pal Slim Slimy texted me that Honey Buns and Rump Rage were competing in a Twerk-off contest at my favorite Tequila joint on Manhattan's Upper West Side, I suddenly remembered that I was lactose intolerant and cookies were wasted calories. So, in the interest of maintaining a healthy lifestyle, I headed over to the bar for a night of shots and some late-night eyestrain.
Entering the spot, I could see that good seats were at a premium, so bellying up to the bar, I ordered a triple-sized Cadillac Margarita with some chips and Guacamole to get started. Just as the announcer began introducing the first contestants, Slim Slimy arrived with the rest of the Slack Pack, and the Mezcal began to flow like Niagara Falls on a warm spring day. Hefty Hips and Slammin' Bammin' warmed up the audience while most of the crowd mingled about in anticipation of what would come next. Yeah, baby, it was a hot time in Tequila Town tonight.
Still, as steamy as the party was getting, I couldn't shake this weird chill in my bones for some odd reason. After Fanny Fresh and Bubblicious finished a little extra bump and grind, I headed to the men's room to drain the lizard. While taking care of business, I noticed, two urinals away, a ten-foot-tall albino-looking guy covered head to toe with white hair. With rabbit red eyes and a menacing glare, somehow I had a feeling this dude was the cause of my cold discomfort and now, some serious goose bumps.
"Do you know who I am?" he growled. Quickly zipping up and planning to skip washing my hands, I answered, "The Abominable Snowman, maybe?" I could see I'd struck a nerve because he bared a grizzly set of k-9s and began moving closer to where I stood. "Funny man," he says, as he slowly maneuvered around me. "Look, pal." I don't know your beef, so I slurred, but what do you say? Can we get you a drink or two and check out the show? From his frosty stare, I knew that was not an option.
By now, the Abominable Snowman was blocking my exit and began telling me he'd heard I was one of New York's loudest critics of this year's harsh winter. He said this was his kind of weather and didn't like my comments or attitude. I explained that the entire nation was fed up with this year's snow, ice, sleet, and rain, but he didn't seem to care. For some reason, he was fixated on me. The Abominable Snowman then said he was gonna shove his Popsicle up my ass to teach me a lesson I'd never forget. OMG, it was huge! That's when the struggle began.
Thrown clear across the men's room floor, I hit the light switch before scurrying beneath a row of closed stalls to pray his red eyes couldn't find me in the dark. No such luck. The Snowman ripped the door off the space I was cowering in, glared, and growled again. Snatching me by the throat, he slammed against the wall, and with a blast of arctic air from deep within his lungs, he aimed directly at my face and blew. Instantly, I was frozen solid and eventually blacked out. (Some struggle!)
It couldn't have been too long before somebody came into the men's room because when Slim Slimy found me, I was still unconscious and completely frostbitten. Thinking quickly, the Slack Pack dragged me outta men's room and hoisted up on the bar to be deforested from the body heat of Honey Buns and Rump Rage. Even though it was working I, pretended I needed more.
Determined to save my worthless life, Rump Rage pulled me off the bar and onto the center of the floor. Encouraging all the twerkers to join in, they surrounded me and started hip thrusting and gyrating until the temperature in the joint rose high enough to set off the sprinkler system. The crowd went wild. Unable to hide an obvious sign of my recovery anymore, I opened my eyes and hugged the good samaritans for not letting me end up as an ice cube in some drunk's Long Island iced tea.
I was so happy to be thawed and back among the living that it didn't even matter when the arriving paramedics, who were transporting me to Bellevue Hospital, inquired as to how the giant Popsicle stick ended up where it did. C-ya Monday. Sitting in a desk chair may be a bit of a challenge for a day or two.
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