(^ヮ^) Hey YouTube! Guess what today is? It’s murumple day!

Pearl Gleeson squinted
into the sunset and mashed the gas pedal
to the floor. The glare should have been blinding, but with her cataracts, it
was only a mild discomfort. In fact, this was
the best she’d seen in years—almost as if the setting sun had enhanced
her eyesight.

“I’ve got Superman
vision,” she cackled as her engine roared. “And no one steals Superman’s cream whipper, bitch.”

A punk with a safety through his nose shoved his way to the front of the crowd, snatched Gilbert’s mandolin from his fingers and snapped it over his knee. The rest of us stopped short in the middle of the song we were playing and gaped, the open strings of my Rickenbacker still ringing out.

The door opened. Two rather large spiders dressed neatly in business suits crawled in. Sally gaped as they hopped from the floor to the tops of a chair, and then from the chair to the table top.

From our first interaction I could tell it was going to be a dog fight. Neither combatant was going to give the adversary an inch. That’s just how things are when you are of a class as distinguished as mine. A target is placed upon your back unfairly by the world and you must try with all your might not to be struck by an arrow. I shall set the scene for one such occasion when a man of lower class tried to put me in my place. I was on a date. It was a 3rd date if you must know. I thought I’d display a touch of class by taking her to an eatery known for its gourmet burgers and brews. I could tell she was impressed.