The Nut, a ventriloquist and a dummy walk into a bar…

Every time I start feeling like a well-adjusted, productive member of society, the powers that be roll up their sleeves and devise a new scheme to remind me that life is essentially one big ongoing joke, and I’m just one of its many punchlines.

Sometimes I lose my birth control pills to horny arachnids. Sometimes I get trapped in bathrooms at formal occasions. And sometimes, I’m just a plain ol’ dummy.

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Watch it, that travel bug’s a biter.

On a scale of 1 to GETMETHEHELLOUTOFHERE, I’m definitely edging towards the stereotypical me-shaped hole in the wall as I escape while manically cackling “I’m free! I’m free!”

Crap, Daffy beat me to it.

I know I’m a grown-up (STOP SNICKERING, I AM!) and there’s a whole lot of childhood I wouldn’t want to revisit, but damn, do I miss having a real summer vacation. Or any vacation, really. When your body’s a dirty traitor and you’re sick as much as I am, vacation days just kind of sneak away before you realize they’re gone.

There’s something so cruel about looking out the window and seeing all that blue sky and sun calling me to me, and then having to turn back to Quickbooks and Excel and Outlook and real life and the knowledge that unless I somehow beat the odds and win the lottery without being struck by lightning and killed first, I’m stuck being a responsible adult.

But lord, is it tempting to get in that car every morning and just keep on driving.

Awwwww yeahhhhh.

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