A light bulb on one of our 50-foot ceilings burnt out, and only 40-foot ladders are readily available. Why we didn’t invest in a 50-foot ladder from the start still eludes me, but you know how things can end up going. We’re going to have to make a special order; I wouldn’t be surprised to see it taking at least a week to get here, since it’s a custom job. We’re actually ordering a 51-foot ladder, so it won’t be too much of a stretch to get up there. That extra foot will be very valuable indeed, which is why it will take so long to construct. They’ll have to make a new template that’s a foot longer, costing us an extra 40% over the MSRP. But it will all be absolutely worth it. In the meantime, we’ll have to rely solely on the 38 other bulbs up there to light our exhibit on the folly of string cheese.
I’ll heave a hefty bag at the situation
and tell my dentist that I really don’t want
anything to do with these Fonzie imitators anymore.
They’re all so obsessed with having
a good time and donning leather jackets
that I’m just getting sick of it all!
How tired a custom is this, where you’re reduced
to spouting cliché catchphrases at gunpoint?
Remember when you took that loan from the mafia,
and they told you that they would be expecting
a favor in return some day? Well, your bell’s been rung,
buddy. All you can do now is pray that you get
in touch with Henry Winkler, for the purpose of
delivering a faithful Fonz to your brutal overlords.
I mean, otherwise, they might end up breaking
your fingers and toes. I wouldn’t consider that
situation to be 100% ideal, would you?