"Monkeys"
He got up, feeling like he'd been beaten by a bunch of monkeys the entire night long.
Felt his stomach. Thankfully, there was no telltale bulge.
Rolled out of bed, and hit the floor in his customary half-crouched position that turned into a run for the bathroom door. It was his commando training, he always thought, in his still not fully awake state. Ducking and dodging through the jungles of the Congo, jiving just to stay alive... a duck of a couple millimeters could mean the difference between being cut down by enemy traps or by
the odd jungle snake, hanging out in the tree, lying in wait. Well, hanging in wait, anyway.
When the monkey really did hit him, though, is when he woke up a little bit more, and the rational part of his brain, the part that knew he'd never been to the Congo, except in Congo Bongo, video game of the same name, and the part which knew he'd received no commando training for either Congo Bongo or for any other advanced maneuvers began suspecting something was up in the cold, harsh light of the morning. He crashed into the closed bathroom door and crumpled to the ground, whimpering slightly.
Or that have been it. The door. The closed door to the bathroom. As he looked around and failed to see the offending monkey, or any monkey at all, his eyes rolled up in his head as the door opened, and his almost eight month pregnant wife loomed out over him.
"Why can't you just wait until I'm done instead of slamming on the door, eh?"
And his only thought was, "When did she turn Canadian?" This is also what he told the doctors when they had to bring him in to the emergency room to get his collarbone set later in the day.
She simply stood by, holding on to her stomach, with that serene but weary look on her face.
Summary
disclaimer:
This is not about me, trust me.
So kids, here we are. Something of a continuation of last week's issue, but in a different kind of way. Or is it? Same character or clever ploy to, ehm, I don't know. We're a free site, so it's not like we're getting any extra money out of you.
And yes, if you're sensing a theme, you're probably right on. This is what happens when we thought we'd be publishing this one earlier, but wound up publishing it after a certain set of classes, yet one more time. Go figure.
Our devoted staff all head up to the Oakland/Network Associates Coliseum, where hopefully they don't get killed by possibly the worst fans in baseball, to watch the best team in baseball (Hint: it's not the Oakland A's). Go Sox!
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