Night was falling—it landed right on top of me. I have a hollow head, so the echo is deafening.

Lightning streaked across the sky and I hollered, “Don’t look Ethel.” But it was too late, she’d already been thundered.

On the upside, though, my cough sounds better—of course I’ve been practicing all week.

“Can I at least call you a doctor?” someone from the crowd asked. “I’d prefer you call me Ben.”

Still, they were adamant, so I fell upon the mercy of the court. Mercy was pissed. She wouldn’t stop yelling. “You crushed my spirits, you big, clumsy oaf.”

I told her that it wasn’t my fault. “Whose fault is it?” she asked. “San Andreas,” I replied.

After that, I picked up my broom and started sweeping the country. In the process, I held up a bank. I had to sweep under it. I did some light shoplifting, but my arms got tired so I set them down and swept around them. One shopper told me she had just graduated from college. “Really I asked, “From which college did you graduate?”

“UCLA,” she said.

“No I haven’t, is it nice.”

“I graduated from there.”

“Oh really, where?”

“I just told you, UCLA!”

“And I just told you, No, I have NOT seen LA” This conversation was going nowhere.