It’s time to go the extra mile to make a mountain out of this molehill, so I’m spinning my wheels to tell this story like it’s the greatest thing since sliced bread. I made my bed, so now I’m gonna have to lie in it. To tell you the truth, I feel naked as a jaybird. But opportunity doesn’t knock twice, so I’m betting a dollar to a donut that I can make hay while the sun shines.
Without further adieu, it’s time to take the bull by the horns, and run like the wind back to the salt mines. Check it out: it’s another tall tale.
It looked like there was a new sheriff in town, but I was the long arm of the law. She was the girl next door and as welcome as a skunk at a lawn party. I thought, well this is a fine how do you do, but some things are better left unsaid, and I was rolling with the punches so I wouldn’t shoot myself in the foot. We were jockeying for position and I thought this town wasn’t big enough for the two of us. It took my breath away when she said, “I’ve got your back little lady.”
From that day forward, we were two sides of the same coin keeping the world safe for democracy. With friends like these who needs enemies.
Then one day a stranger came to town armed to the teeth with chip on his shoulder. Known for highway robbery, he was mean as a snake and nuttier than a squirrel turd. He was built like a brick shithouse, but we knew the bigger they are, the harder they fall, so we took a fair suck of the sauce bottle, got our act together, and hatched a plan.
It was easier said than done. He was trouble with a capital T, and hard to come by, but that’s pretty run of the mill for someone in bed with his boots on. It was like looking for a needle in a haystack, and he was hiding in plain sight. We hadn’t seen hide nor hair of him, so we watched and waited, but were none too pleased and seeing red. He was winning hands down.
We lifted ourselves up by the bootstraps, went back to the drawing board, and built a better mousetrap. He beat a path to our door. He was thinking with the wrong head, and horny as a three peckered billy goat. Every man has his price and he lost his shirt. We were waiting in the wings and caught him red-handed. I hit him right between the numbers, but it was no magic bullet. He went out in a blaze of glory wearing nothing but his birthday suit, and now he’s six feet under.
Lock, stock, and barrel, we hit pay dirt and were laughing all the way to the bank. So cool your jets and keep your shirt on, or, rest assured, you’ll be one toe over the line and there for the taking.
There now, that wasn’t so bad, was it?
Thank you to everyone who sent a suggested cliché. I didn’t get to them all in this week’s edition, but fear not, I just might be crazy enough to try this again.