It’s official: Hell has frozen over.
That’s the only logical explanation I can come up with. You see, our movers (aka the Knuckleheads aka Bozos aka Ruthless Crooks) are, get this, ACTUALLY COMING, wait wait, it gets better, TODAY!
Sound the trumpets. Alert the media. The movers are coming, the movers are coming!
Now everybody knows that miracles like this don’t just happen everyday. The Virgin Mary can appear on a grilled cheese sandwich, sure. But this, this is truly monumental. And Hell freezing over is the only explanation that makes any sense.
But I'm a realist. I understand that it's going to take some hard scientific proof to back up my claim. No problem. I'll just consult the single most scientific (sounding) gadget known to children of the media, like myself. I'm talking, of course, about the Super Whopper Frozen Hell Weather Doppler.
How is it that, even in an empty apartment, I can’t find the stupid remote? Ah, here it is…underneath the pile of complaints I filed with the DOT. Okay, power ON. Forgive me, I haven’t learned the Philly stations yet. Now where did I put that TV Guide? Ah, forget it. Flipping is faster.
Dr. Phil, no. Regis and Kelly; God no. World’s Strongest Man Competition; no. Wait, is that guy lifting a bus up with his elbows? Oddly intriguing, but no. Informercial for cool Ziploc baggies that can seal food for 25 years; no. Then again, it’s only $19.95. I shouldn’t. But this is a special offer, available for a limited time only. I’m going to call! Crap, I can’t find the phone. Back to flipping. Finally…newscasters!
Wow, they look like robots. Pretty robots, but still, robots. That’s a helluva big smile. It looks painful. Nice teeth, though. The blinding white contrasts nicely with the orangish skin color. Great, Weather Time. I’ll turn up the sound so you can hear:
“Heeeeeeeeeeeeey there, Philadelphia! It’s your wacky, weird, wild, and wediculous weather weport! Today’s forecast is going to be clear, clear, clear. Not a pimple in sight. Ewwww, but seriously, it's another bee-you-tiful day in our neighborhood. Conner, Kaitlen, back to you!”
Click. I don’t care what the weather report says. Hell has frozen over. Thankfully the roads are still open. Just a few moments from now, a large moving truck will arrive at Chestnut Street. It will pull up to the curb in front of our apartment building, waking up the guys who sleep near the front door. These men will shout for a while, screaming various arrangements of four-letter words, then they’ll steal the hubcaps from the truck. Whatever. NOTHING is going to spoil this glorious day.
And what a glorious day it is! No more falling asleep on an air mattress and waking up on the floor, only to spend the next 2 hours looking for a leak. No more rotating between the same five pairs of underwear. Fine. Three pairs. No more staring at four beige walls and cursing 528 square feet of empty brown, shag carpeting. It all ends today.
Wonder of wonders, miracle of miracles, how did this come to be? Maybe it was the threat of a big, nasty lawsuit. Or maybe the movers simply found their conscience and realized what they were doing was illegal and morally wrong. HA HA HA HA! Oh, that’s funny! Movers, conscience; wow, that’s rich! Whoa, give me a minute.
Truth is, it doesn’t really matter how this miracle happened. What’s important is that our stuff is finally arriving!
SCREEEEEEEEEEEEEECH!
What to my wondering eyes should appear, but a moving truck, it’s actually here! I’m sitting near the window, I can see everything. Nice landing; the truck’s on the sidewalk. It’s actually on top of a parking meter. A herd of people has now gathered to wrestle for the loose quarters. A sweaty, heavyset man – trying to gain an advantage – is pushing an older woman and her poodle out of the way. The driver swings open the truck door, knocking the sweaty man down. On top of the poodle.
The driver’s stepping down from the truck now, he’s walking around the side, Oh, watch out for the – ewwww – poodle. The driver’s at the back of the truck. He’s unlocking the bolt thingy whatchamacallit. He’s lifting up the back door of the truck.
This is it.
The truck is open.
I can see everything clearly.
I can see all our bo…
WHAT THE @*&%?!? WHY DO ALL OUR BOXES LOOK LIKE CRUSHED WATERMELONS?!?!
© 2005 robbloom.com.
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