So, how is everyone? Working off that holiday pudge? Wondering what in hell to do with all the crap leftover from the holidays that you have no possible use for? Ah, post holiday bliss. Coming down off the wonderfully odd buzz created by a combination of tryptophan, spiced rum and cheap chocolate is a feeling completely reserved for this particular time of year, it seems. Make any New Year’s resolutions? I don’t believe in them myself. I never seem to keep any. But, if you manage to, good on ya.
But, no one came here to hear me kibitz (and did anyone know that word processors automatically fix the word “kibitz” when it’s spelled wrong? Just found that out for myself. Someone out there must have found it horribly important) about pointless garbage. You came here to be entertained. And conversely, I come here to entertain, enthrall, and sometimes enlighten. Rarely do I have something concrete and important to say, but, lucky readers, this is one of those times. It seems you all owe me a word of thanks. Why, you ask? Well my friends, it just so happens that on one fateful day over the holiday break, I bravely risked life and limb, for the paltry cause of saving the entire universe from destruction. That’s right, I saved our asses. Strangely enough, the media coverage of this spectacular feat of heroism was slim to nonexistent, but that changes here.
Now, I’m not usually one for self-congratulatory aggrandizing, but when one is savior of the cosmos, it becomes at least slightly deserved. I can hear some of you now, “Yeah, sure Liam, you saved the universe. Uh huh.” And I can actually hear you. Scoff all you like, it happened, and here’s how.
So, I was just sitting, minding my own business, watching reruns of The Daily Show, when my phone rings. Now, this being enough of a rarity in and of itself, I became intrigued. I dashed for the phone and picked it up, only to be confronted, of course, by the president of the United States, Bill Pullman. At least, to the best of my recollection from the movie Independence Day, that’s who it was.
“Liam, we need you. Now.” This was all he said. This was all he needed to say. A chopper landed on my lawn a few seconds later, so I grabbed my coat and headed out. It was a rush of adrenaline like none other I’ve ever felt. Believe me, when you get that call, that call from Bill Pullman, you’ll feel it too. He was great in Zero Effect.
The chopper landed just outside a Burger King, so I hopped out and went inside to meet my destiny. My destiny was dressed all in white, except for the ketchup stain down the front of its shirt. And luckily, Bill Pullman was seated right next to it, so this was turning out to be a profitable journey indeed.
“Bad news,” Bill said. “I’m afraid the worst has happened. Freddy Prinze Jr. has come into possession of a nuclear weapon. Forget the sleazy, punch drunk, dopey facial expressions that he feared most, he’s ready to blow shit up.”
“Don’t worry, Mr. President,” I said, “you can count on me. I’ll be all over this Prinze fellow like a teenage girl.”
Back in the chopper, I was convinced I knew a quicker route to Prinze’s Cayman Islands hideout than the pilot was taking, so I punch him out the door and took over the controls myself. It would seem that this was a mistake however, as flying a chopper isn’t as easy as it looks, and the Cayman Islands are not, in fact, just behind the 7-11 near my house, so my shortcut was bunk.
After climbing out of the wreckage of the chopper, I went searching for a payphone. Enroute, I ended up inside the belly of a rather large tiger shark, (don’t ask how, its embarrassing) but thankfully, the shark was headed to the Caymans, so I just sat back, read the complimentary copy of the Globe and Mail, and enjoyed the ride.
Upon reaching the Caymans, I fought my way through the squads of guards protecting the overlord, until I finally came face to face with the ugly little bastard himself. I decked him, took the nuke, and flushed it down the toilet.
President Bill was grateful, and in honour of my heroic service, presented me with an autographed copy of Spaceballs. Which I lost.
The moral of this story? Never try to write a story while huffing gas. Any gas.