Say it Ain't So, Mighty Joe...

Jesi and I sort of came to around three ish one afternoon. With a jaundiced eye we examined our surroundings. On the positive side, we found no broken limbs on either one of us, or obvious signs, beyond a bruise or two, of any physical damage. On the negative, our surroundings seemed occupied and totally unfamiliar.

The house itself showed signs of excessive and depraved debauchery. We prepared to scram, hoping to evade any outraged owners when, at about the same time, both of us realized we were missing something. Jesi was the first to give voice.

“Where’s Mighty Joe?” she queried.

“Lord knows where the infamous redneck Jew has got to,” I replied.

We picked ourselves up on weak limbs and began searching the area. We made it outside to find an empty and rusting above ground pool, in the bottom of which Mighty Joe Young slept, wearing only rubber gloves and slutty women’s underwear, with a Barney doll clutched to his chest.

“Well,” Jesi said,“it was the last thing you’d expect to find in a swimming pool.”

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