I was sitting in a large armchair reading a book on Mary Todd Lincoln. My eyes ached and my head was throbbing. 14 hours…

My eyes ached and my head was throbbing… 15 hours and 32 minutes.

At 20 hours, I noticed an ingrown hair on my left neck.

At 22 hours, a symmetrical blip appeared on my right neck.

I hate symmetry, and so, using my lucky barber’s scissors, I sliced it off.

Yellow slime oozed out in gallons. Surprisingly, I am not exaggerating. I began to fill vast quantities of nuclear barrels full of yellow slime and selling it to children near the local preschool. This was widely accepted to the police officer who handed me a pile of his son’s ingrown hairs for safekeeping. Never have I been entrusted with such a valuable commodity. The fear began to take hold.

I became consumed by the idea that someone wanted my hairs. As illogical as this sounds, as far as I know, the only person I can trust in these situations is Mary Todd Lincoln. At least, what is left of her. Yes, the ashes were pricy, but compared to the urn it was chump change. But, you pay for what you get. Only MTC’s ashes can satisfy my complicated palette.

---

POST A COMMENT

Submit

---

See Also

Want to read more news? Click here for a random article.