Only by making a bonfire from the splintered remains of the kitchen cabinets, and roasting the carcass of the first potbelly pig they could run down in their neighborhood, could they possibly outdo this episode of Epic Meal Time.
You could freak out because your phone runs out of charge while you’re texting. You could pop another Xanax because you got passed over for a promotion, even though you slacked every day at work and you know it. You could ride your bicycle, but it’s over 72 degrees. Too hot. You could circle the parking lot over and over until a space opens up out front –of the gym. You could let the call go to voicemail because you know it’s your best friend calling, and he’s moving today and he lives in a third-floor walkup.
You could, or you could be like Dean Zimmer.
What do you have in the half of your garage your wife lets you putter in? A table saw? Coupla hammers? Forty screw-top jars full of wood screws, and a handsaw?
Whatever it is, I doubt it’s a centuries-old drop hammer and an open forge. You’re not wandering around in your basement, shirtless and dirty, hiding your beer when anyone’s looking, and mashing red hot iron things all day, are you? No, you’re still trying to put your wife’s Dyson vacuum back together after you tried (and failed) to repair the cord retractor.
Perhaps this is just a ruse; a multi-century dodge. Maybe these guys aren’t actually making anything. They just turn that bad boy on, and any womenfolk present immediately leave to escape the noise and heat, and then they just stand around in there drinking beer and watching NASCAR the whole time. Maybe he’s a genius, besides owning The Manliest Workshop In The World.
(Thanks to Charles Schneider for sending that one along)
There’s no nervous laughter in this world that can compare to nervous assistant laughter.
Of course the operative word in this procedure, like so many other touchy situations, is calm. Keep Calm and Carry On, as they say. The true borderline sociopathic boy is calm — in a frantic sort of a way, of course. We’d calmly get that queen into the box, and calmly wait for all her minions to join her in there, calmly seal the box with lots of tape, calmly address the box to someone we don’t like, and then calmly drive to the Post Office and mail it.