My ass is an unforgiving beast. I try to keep it under control but there are times when it breaks free and wreaks absolute havoc. Many things, people, and political ideologies have been utterly destroyed by my ass.
This post is a place to help us remember what we have lost because of my ass. My ass has no comment.
Thousands of years ago, my good friend Kevin threw a graduation party. This was early enough in my life to where I had no idea what kind of havoc my ass could wreak. My ass scouted out Kevin’s furniture, looking for a way to unleash its deep-seated fury at the world. It found his ottoman. I sat on it and my ass utterly destroyed it. Completely and utterly obliterated. I could almost hear my ass laugh as I fell through the newly scrapped ottoman. We held a funeral for the proud piece of furniture later that night. By funeral, I mean we took what was left outside and thrashed the shit out of it.
Some time later, my ass began to send Kevin anonymous love letters. It reeled him in with promises of candy and new ottomans (ottomen?). When they finally agreed to meet up, my ass told him to meet at an abandoned warehouse. When Kevin opened the doors, there was a beautifully painted mural across the back wall of the warehouse depicting how much Kevin sucked. Kevin fell to his knees and cursed the world as I woke from a deep slumber, suddenly startled by the evil laughter emanating from my ass.
I don’t know how many of you guys know who D.B. Cooper is. Long story short, he hijacked an airplane, extorted two hundred thousand dollars, and then grabbed a parachute and jumped out of the plane mid-flight. Mind you, this is a passenger aircraft. The incident happened in 1971 and no trace of Cooper has been found since; his true identity remains a mystery.
Well, it’s time to come clean. D.B. Cooper landed in a forest, battered because of a storm but alive and with all of his ransom in tow. He wasn’t expecting to see anyone, but sure enough, he did. My ass was waiting for him, a secret agent deployed by the source of the two hundred thousand dollars. Before Cooper could do anything, my ass reared back and headbutted him, knocking him to the ground unconscious. He took the money but left some around the scene of the crime to make it look like D.B. had lost the case and the money was gone forever.
As for D.B. himself, he was left to die in the rain, unconscious. If he’s still around, lord knows he hasn’t spoken up about what happened. Who would believe him?