Every Man Is An Island

I stand by that. But clearly some men are island chains. Underneath, they are connected...

Sunday, January 23, 2005

Sometimes I wish I were ten years old again. When the first blizzard comes, it's a joyous occasion. There is the potential for sledding, snowball fights, snow forts, and snow football. Now it seems that there are only side walks to shovel and crappy road conditions.

As I shoveled the front step this past Friday evening after my broomball game, I had a blast from the past. I was suddenly ambushed by my bastard roommates Big Papa C and Stonehandsio with snowballs made of snow drenched in hot water. I was defenseless. All I had was my shovel, but I was unwilling to pull a Beefcake and strike them down with it. After throwing 2 or 3 snowballs each, they would retreat to the backyard where they had built up a stockpile of these more or less slush balls. All the while I continued to shovel the front step and sidewalk. One time they tried to sneak around and catch me off guard, but their pathetic stealth capabilities were no match for my sensitive ears. I made a few snowballs myself and caught Big Papa C as he rounded the corner. It wasn't quite the head shot I had been hoping for, but it was a direct hit on a surprised victim.

Soon after that failed attempt they gave up on the stealth approach. They began running around the corner screaming wildly like rebels. I just kept shoveling and did a decent job at dodging their erratic snowballs. As I cleared the front step and approached the sidewalk, I remembered the time when Chris Moser and I buried Adam Smith's car in snow after school. It became clear that Stonehandsio's car would be buried by the end of the night. Between my roommates' attacks, I piled the snow from the front step and sidewalk onto Stonehandsio's car. Big Papa C later said that he caught on to what was happening after a few attacks, but Stonehandsio did not realize it until he ran into it and found his car was half buried.

During their attacks I realized that I could use the shovel to throw piles of snow at those bastards to keep them at a distance. During one attack, I flipped a pile around Big Papa C and nailed Stonehandsio with a facial. It stunned him in his tracks and ended his evening of snow frolicking.

As the stockpile of snow on the sidewalk by Stonehandsio's car grew low, I resorted to shoveling the boulevard grass to pile more snow onto his car. I soon grew even more desperate and shoveled snow in the street in front and behind his car. By the end of the evening even a bit of snow from across the street had been cleared. The final touch was a large pointy pile resembling a horn on the front of the hood. My masterpiece was finished. The Stone Mobile had been transformed from a red convertible into a snowy rhino.

Upon returning to my room I expected some sort of revenge with a disgusting porn invasion of my computer being the most likely, but to my surprise there was none. Thanks Stonehandsio for not Beefcaking on me.



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