On my last trip I was in Nebraska, and I did come across some children that had turned to evil! And as everyone knows all Nebraska children are born cornhuskers and are therefore children of the corn.
And yes, as Stephen mentioned, I did have an incident involving a gas station. And I ran, I ran so far away. But not because of the structural damage to the gas station, but because the real children of the corn would want to sacrifice me to their football God in hopes of winning at least one college football game by the end of this century.
I remember like it was yesterday. After unsucsessfully trying to put out the gas station fire, I saw from the corner of my eye hundreds of youngin’s emerging from a nearby corn field, with Harry Husker leading the pack. They looked like those fast running zombies, running in a trance, chanting, “Husker me, husker do…Husker me, husker you!”
Being a Nebraskan, I knew that look. I knew that chant. It was the beginning of a story that ended with me tied up, and set upon a mountain of corn husks that are set ablaze while they prayed to thier football God.
As they approached, I ran back to the truck and put it in gear. But 18 wheelers start off very slow, so it takes a minute just to get up to 20 mph. By the time I got to 25 mph, I glanced in the rearview mirror to see Harry Husker holding on to my ICU bumper while his body dragged on the ground.
Two of the children of the corn were crawling on his back. They got their feet to the bumper just as Harry Husker let go from exhaustion and went rolling along the dirt road. Then, taking hold of the back latches of the trailer, they climbed to the roof of the trailer and scaled toward the cab.
One of the evil children had an ear of corn in his hand and I knew what he was going to do with it. He would climb to the cab and shove that ear of corn in my ear until it reached my brain. I would crash the truck and the throng of other children running behind would desend upon my lifeless body.
I had moments to act or it would be the end.
I saw another gas station just ahead and it had a nice awning. I swerved toward the station and made a bee line toward the pumps. The awning ripped away part of the trailer roof taking the children with it.
As I drove away, I looked in the rear view mirror and for the second time that night witnessed another gas station go up in flames.
I just kept going. Knuckles white from grasping the steering wheel as tight as I could. Fueled by adrenaline, I drove alll night until I reached the dispatch headquarters located somewhere in Iowa. When I arrived I was shaking from staying up all night and almost being killed.
Back at dispatch, they witnessed a disheveled man, shaking like a crack addict with wide crazy eyes and just assumed I was on drugs. I told the whole story as it happened, but that only confirmed their drug theory and I was immediately terminated.
Security drove my to a Bus Station, bought me a ticket back to Omaha and drove off. When I arrived, at 2 am I called Stephen and asked if he could pick me up. Even though downtown Omaha was a good hour drive from his apartment, he came and took me home.
Which leaves me with this bit of advice to you. If your ever in Nebraska, and hear this chant, “Huskeer me, husker do…Husker me, husker you!”
Run.
Run like your life depends on it…because it does.
Song in my head:
