Wednesday, September 28, 2011

I woke up on the front lawn...

First sentence provided by: Toni Vignogna 

I woke up on the front lawn, staring up at a sea of pink plastic flamingoes, once again.

 It never fails. I go out drinking with the other lawn gnomes and I end up here. On the Sanchez's lawn. Why I let those guys talk me into Boiler Maker Night I have no idea.  Now I have to watch Mr. Sanchez get his newspaper wearing nothing but a robe and slippers. It's times like this when I wish I was lying face down. 

I can see the pinwheel whirling in the breeze. Mocking me. You son of a bitch. I'll get you one day. Let's see how you look with Mrs. Sanchez farting the only wind you spin to. 

I'm regaining memories from last night activities. We were trying to infiltrate the flamingoes to see what they did at night. Why aren't they ever in the same position in the morning? They're up to something.  I remember something about a mailbox, a garden hose, and a half eaten corn dog. In what order they appeared... I have no clue. Now here I am.... right smack dab in the middle of enemy territory. 

My biggest concern right now is how am I going to make it to my own lawn. The Mrs. will surely be upset. How long until the Sanchez kids go to school and see me here? I have to think fast. Thinking fast is hurting my head. I must think slower. Yes! Fido! Come here boy! Now all I need to do is grab... onto... his.... collar.... There we go! 
"To the Johnson's, boy! Giddy up!"

What's this on my foot? Is that.... glitter? FML.

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