Pemberton McNimble

One fine April 15th good old Pemberton McNimble woke up at 3PM (like every day) and started to go about his business. He, of course, skipped his shower. He ate the slice of pizza that had been stuck to the floor for the past week. Orange strands of carpeting were embedded in the crust. The cheese was hard, like rubber used for tires. Even the pepperoni had some unknown life form attached to it, which resembled wild mushrooms. Pemberton didn’t care, he devoured the slice in a few bites. He tried to turn on the television, but it didn’t work. Pemberton didn’t pay his cable or electric bill, so his power was turned off. He wandered into his kitchen and checked out his fridge. There was a thin coating of moss on the inside of the refrigerator. He grabbed the red cardboard carton of milk and tried taking a drink. He was not surprised to find the milk had again solidified in the carton. He tossed the milk back in the fridge next to a carton of eggs so old, that they could probably hatch chickens. Pemberton stepped outside to check his mail. He had received two things. The first was a postcard from the post office saying that his mail would not be delivered until he cleared a path through the garbage that cluttered his front lawn. “Great,” he thought, “No more bills.” The second piece of mail was a final notice on his water bill. Pemberton mumbled some obscenities to himself and tossed both pieces of mail into the heap of trash on his yard. Pemberton then returned to his couch and his slumber.

Pemberton was awaken about 9 hours later by a megaphone blaring thing directed towards him. As he regained consciousness he heard the following; “Pemberton McNimble, this is the IRS, it’s 12:01AM and your income taxes are officially late!” “Oh crap!” exclaimed Pemberton, “I knew something like that was coming up soon.” Suddenly, at least 10 men with black clothes and Kevlar vests began firing automatic weapons into Pemberton’s windows. These “˜warning shots’ nearly killed Pemberton on the spot. He had to act fast. Suddenly he came up with a desperate stroke of brilliance. The rotten eggs in the fridge, he could use them as a weapon. Pemberton quickly retrieved the eggs and began hurling them at the IRS hit men. The profuse stench caused many agents to vomit, forcing a retreat. Pemberton fought the law and won. He then went back to sleep.

Jay

Jay Ratkowski runs this joint, which is why his name is on the front door. You can find him elsewhere at Google+, Facebook, or Twitter

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Author: Jay

Jay Ratkowski runs this joint, which is why his name is on the front door. You can find him elsewhere at Google+, Facebook, or Twitter

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