My name is McClane. Matt McClane.
I'm here to get you up to speed on things in my part of the world, and I only have a short time to do it. You see, I've broken into the children's wing at the local hospital to switch around a few babies (I love this), and I thought I'd take some time to make a quick blog update.
First of all, my phone is jacked up again and this time it's not because I threw it out the window of my truck. I actually have no idea what's happened to it, but it's got this crazy weird display... scrambled like Waffle House cheese eggs on one of those horrifying carnival rides that spin you around until you actually see God.
So if you fools are trying to text message me, call me or summon me up with your mental telepathic powers or whatever, you're wasting your time. My display is busted, my ringer isn't working and I've recently committed to constantly wearing an aluminum foil skull cap specifically designed to keep hoodlums like you from robbing me of my thoughts. Better luck next time, bud.
Next up, I've just had to pay the city of Knoxville more than $450 dollars in unpaid parking tickets since January 2006. This kind of thing would give me some major heartburn and cause me to really flip out and steal some forks from a restaurant... but that was the old me. The new me is just actually laughing a little bit because... come on, really... what the hell else am I gonna do?
The letter I got was absolutely awesome, in that scary kind of way. They tell me that unless I pay the full amount due in less than 10 days, they're issuing a warrant for my arrest because of these parking tickets. I think that the genius of that mental picture is so awesome that it really doesn't even merit a comment from me. But I will anyway:
McClane:
So what got you in here, man?
Inmate Buddy:
I went in to a Pilot to steal some power bars, a 40 oz Red Dog and yesterday's newspaper, when the guy behind the counter spoke to me with a condescending cadence when I asked if he'd seen the last episode of "LOST." So I pulled out my knife, reached across the counter, slitting his throat like a Zip-lock bag full of marinara sauce. The old woman behind me got a little nervous, so I roundhouse-kicked her into the Krispy Kreme display and mocked her as I broke both her legs with the giant plastic slushy cup display sign. Next thing, some hero guy came in, thinking he was all badass, waving a gun or something at me... I guess he shot me a few times in my legs and arms, I don't know. I ended up bitch-tackling him through the front door glass, dousing him with gasoline from one of the pumps (the high-velocity deluxe gas), and put my cigarette out in his face. As he burned, I silently ate my power bar, took a sip of Red Dog, and warmed myself by the fiery remains of this pitiful little man smoldering under my boot.
So what are you in here for?
McClane:
Oh, I didn't pay for a bunch of parking tickets.
The moral of this whole engrossing-yet-idiotic rant is that if you're trying to contact me, send me an email to this address. Just kidding. It's THIS address.
I'll get back to you as soon as I can. In the mean time, take the turkey out when you can poke at it and it feels firm but squishy, keep working on your sonnet, get the laundry done and do whatever the babysitter tells you. I'll be back in a few days. With some souvenirs.
Muah.
-McClane
P.S. Also take some time to watch this:
And while you're at it, roll over to Corey McPherson's blog and check out 'Ol Glory.
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