A cold, rainy Sunday in Bagwine, Ohio.
Praise Jeebus and join me in asking him to straighten my crippled back.
The reason I am so late this morning is that I had to run over to Ryno’s for a minute AND my back is contorted.
Typically I sleep on the short couch that we have.
The couch allows me to sleep with my feet and legs elevated. It also affords me privacy during my wet dreams.
Well, last night I slept in…The Bed. The Bed. From. Fricking. HELL!!!!
The Devil’s Bed!!
It never fails. For some reason, that bed has never liked me. It gnaws at my skin, sinew, and marrow whenever I lie in it.
It likes Schmoop only slightly more. It’s evil…pure evil.
I am walking around this morning like Quasimodo…Crippled, hunched, and gutturally uttering expletives as I move through the abode.
You may know that I picked up a P/T job. I work at a Beverage Drive-Thru. It’s perfect for me; I sell beer, wine, and smokes. Yum.
The hours are sweet, four weekday evenings 5-9. But on Sundays, I work 11-7.
The one day I work eight hours, is the one day that I awake feeling as though Orson Wells sat on my back for eight hours while eating a bucket of chicken.
Let’s just hope that not too many folks come through wanting cases of beer. I hope it’s a 12-Pack kinda day.
Amen, and Amen.
And now for our Sunday Serenade. In honor of the bed from Hell, why not a song about burning beds.
Ladies and Gentlemen, from the land down under, Midnight Oil…
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