by Stephen Johnson
Well, there goes my fun. My jeans experience was not as well received as the previous sneakers experience. This leads me to believe that more people care about sneakers than jeans. That’s wrong. Don’t ask my why, it just is. I’ll let you think about it for awhile so you can figure it out yourselves.
What really bums me out is when I’m driving around and I spot a billboard that states “You Know Who Killed Me!” and I start freaking out trying to find out how they actually know this. I try to keep a low profile, but obviously I slipped up somehow since I KNOW.
Of course this makes me start driving erratically and soon enough the cops pull me over and ask why I’m driving the way I am, maybe I’m drunk? I just start saying “They know I know” over and over again which pretty much drives them insane so they have no choice but to leave me sitting on the side of the road, sobbing uncontrollably.
Then it hits me. I DON’T know who killed them and it’s like I’m born anew. Now my day is bright and sparkly and I resume my driving. Sure as shit though, another one of those billboards pops up and it’s the same vicious cycle all over again. I don’t know if it’s guilt that causes this since I’m not guilty of anything that anybody knows about, but Michigan is bound and determined to get me to fess up to something.
One day I’ll make the mistake and do so. I’ll be so distraught that I’ll make up some story about an alien abduction just to get them off my back. They’ll either think I’m a loon or brilliant and maybe then those billboards that point the finger at me will stop. I swear I don’t know. Really.
Oh boy. Thinking about this right now has made me break down again. Maybe I do know and just don’t know that I know. Typing that just made me freak out because it’s really, well, FREAKISH. It’s like I’m living in a bad t.v. show or “The Twilight Zone”.
Wow, thinking of that makes me want to run outside and see if missiles are falling from the skies.
I just don’t know anymore.
COMING NEXT: The Saga Of The Fallen Tree